Smouldering Desire, a sherlock fanfic

Introduction

Their friendship was never really meant to happen, but by an unlikely series of events (really it was highly likely but neither of them ever saw it that way) they both somehow ended up meeting each other.

"I'm so sorry Mr. Holmes, sir, for bringing my child along but his elementary school had a bit of a problem, and my wife works quite a bit aways. Is it alright if he, um, plays around in your yard a bit, while I fix your fuse-box? I promise he won't be a bother, right Johnny?" Mr. Watson roughly pushed John, who grumpily grumbled an ominous reply.

"Oh, no it's fine!" tittered Mrs. Holmes, "Actually, Sherlock has just finished his studies, and would be delighted to meet John." Suddenly she leaned in to whisper to Mr. Watson, "Actually we've been meaning to find him a playmate, but the poor dear just scares them off with his 'deductions'. Maybe your John will take to him and bring him out of his shell, hm?"

A sarcastic sigh sounded behind them, and Mrs. Holmes bounced up to look who was eavesdropping behind her, surprised to find that it was Sherlock, "Do try to be a little more discrete mother, I could tell what you were saying even from the second floor," Mrs. Holmes blushed furiously and opened her mouth to scold her son but Sherlock wasn't done, "And no, I wouldn't be delighted to meet this new 'playmate' because he's just so easy to read it's boring. Don't believe me? Well no surprise there, most people don't, but I'll humor you for a bit, since I'm just so bored," Sherlock paused to raise a finger at John and began to ramble, "There was no 'problem at his elementary', but a problem with John, or more specifically why John was so beat up after break. John is often alienated in his school because of his 'poor background' and because of the bullies constantly following him. Based on this, it's blatantly obvious that a couple of bullies approached John during break and chased him into the bit of woods located along the school perimeter. There they cornered him and beat him up, probably leaving him with the typical direct threat of 'tell anyone and you die'.

"John lay there with the injuries for approximately an hour before a teacher or official found him and finally issued the proper care for him. Once John was accounted for, they made a discreet call to Mr. Watson, who was wrenched from an important discussion with one of his 'higher paying' clients, probably Mrs. Smith. He arrived in thirty-five minutes to the school, which is just ten minutes longer than the normal arrive time, to pick John up. Seeing that John and his father aren't really on the best of terms right now, it's obvious that he made a scene dragging John away from the school, despite John begging him…" Sherlock trailed off realizing that his mother had been trying to get his attention for over ten times, "What, mother? Don't you see I'm in the middle of a deduction?"

"Sherlock I think you better go play with John in the yard, dear, and I'll show Mr. Watson here the fuse-box," deadpanned Mrs. Holmes, gently taking John's livid father by the shoulders and leading him inside.

"But mother-" Sherlock called, but was quickly silenced by a glare from and a 'shoo shoo' motion of the hand, "Why does nobody ever want to listen to my deductions?"

He turned around to sulk off into the garden, and saw the astounded John still standing in the same spot, staring at him, "What?" snapped Sherlock, "I don't have all day, so spit it out!"

"That was bloody brilliant," John whispered incredulously, "How in the world did you guess all that?"

"Wait, you're not repulsed?" Sherlock asked, astounded.

"Why would I be? That was brilliant how you knew all that! Are you some sort of mind reader?" John giggled eagerly.

"Proper term would be psychic, and no I don't resort to tricks and deception, why would you think that?" Sherlock glared at John, who backed off with his hands in the air, "I'm not an amateur like they are, if that's what you think. Though everyone denies it, I know I have an abnormally high IQ which helps me see important details which most people wouldn't dismiss as trivial. That satisfy your curiosity?"

"But how did you know exactly what happened to me today?" queried John, still incredibly curious about this tall strange kid who seemed to know everything.

Sherlock sighed in frustration, grumbling, "What in the world goes through people's tiny heads?! Your clothes are obviously scuffed with dirt and a few grass stains showing that you've been in a recent scuffle in a heavily vegetated area, most likely the woods. Also you couldn't have just fallen down and injured yourself because the red cuts are clustered mostly around your face which is unusual for self-injury..."

As Sherlock continued to ramble, John's lower jaw gradually dropped lower and lower until it opened to its maximal extent.

"Wow! You're like a walking encyclopedia! You know everything!" John exclaimed incredulously.

"Mmmm, no not everything, nobody will know everything, but I am very close to this," Sherlock corrected, already bored of this normal conversation, "Anyway, I have a very important experiment on archaic bacteria, so I trust you can find a way to amuse-"

"That's so cool," hushed John, "Can I watch?"

Sherlock stopped and pivoted to face John, "You really want to watch me do something you're going to find utterly confusing and dull?"

John frowned, mumbling, "But, aren't you going to explain what you're doing? It doesn't seem like you really have an audience for that, and I'm not that stupid to know that you're dying to have someone listen and understand your 'deductions' and what not."

Sherlock blushed slightly, embarrassed to be wrong in his estimation, but at the same time incredulous that John deduced so much from him, "Maybe he's not going to be like the others," Sherlock thought, "Anyways, I'm still going to have to observe John, he's a very interesting specimen, an outlier for his age group…"

As Sherlock's mind rattled off he automatically turned to John and grumbled, "Alright, but do try not to interfere."

A small smile cracked open on John's face, glad that he had finally found a friend that didn't bully or push him away like all the others. But as Sherlock turned to go, reality slapped John in the face reminding him that he might never see this odd stranger again, and the smile vanished as quickly as it came, as John hustled after Sherlock.

And that was how the two met, both highly cautious and skeptical that their friendship would ever work out. Little did they know what obstacles were in store for them to discourage them from their blossoming friendship.

8 years later

"Come on John, keep up! We've almost got her!" shouted Sherlock, dashing after the scampering figure, with John barely keeping pace with him.

John still couldn't believe that he was here with Sherlock, many years later, chasing down a notorious serial killer. What he could slightly believe was that this was arguably the best moment of his life and that he wouldn't trade anything in for this. Suddenly the alley way gave way to an intersection with the serial killer nowhere to be found.

The two skidded to a halt, confused as to where they should go, as Sherlock grumbled between huffs and puffs, "Damn... that blasted... woman," his eyes scanned the surroundings for clues, "Where... could she... have gone…"

"I don't… know," panted John, winded from the sprint, "but… I think… we should… split up. See if she's gone in any of these directions. Because if she had gone straight we would still have seen her."

"Great deduction Watson, but we're not splitting up," Sherlock stated firmly, "That serial killer would take you down no problem. She'd have a little more trouble with me, but you'll go down in approximately five minutes-"

John would hear no more of it, "Perfect, and would I be able to paralyze the culprit?

"Well, if you plan your attack correctly, your chances of that are a slim 55%. But John-"

"And for how long?"

"I'd estimate for an average 5 minutes. But John it's highly unlikely-"

"Excellent, and no buts Sherlock, if we're out to catch the culprit, we better damn well catch her; we promised, remember?"

Sherlock sighed, "Alright, alright, I'm assuming you have a plan now right?"

"Yeah, it's kinda risky but I'm sure we can do it if we plan our moves right…" John leaned in to whisper the plan to Sherlock.

After a few moments and a few complaints by Sherlock - all of which were easily countered by John- John was off sprinting down the left alleyway with Sherlock's phone in hand. Sherlock stared after John, until his figure was swallowed up by the narrow alley's darkness, before dashing off to the left.

John's light footsteps echoed softly, as he raced down the empty alleyway save for some homeless bums, and whatnot. "Damn it," thought John, "I hope she didn't get too far. Or all of this would be for naught." Suddenly he heard adult voices conversing nearby, and skidded to a halt, before taking cover behind a couple of trash cans.

"Whew, there were a few pesky kids pursuing me before but I think I lost them," a female voice answered- "The culprits!" John realized, "Now where's that grass my husband dealt with?"

John's eyes widened as he realized that Sherlock's deductions had a huge flaw in it; the woman had killed her husband so she could profit from the business!

"Here," a man's voice answered and a crinkling of a being withdrawn was heard, "Now hand over the cash, and you better pay extra because your husband has not paid in a long time."

"Whoa, whoa, whoa, Mr. Bossypants, that's not how we agreed to do this. We agreed to hand me the hot stuff, and then I'd pay you," the lady hissed, "How do I know that you're not fibbing?"

The supplier sadly wasn't hearing any of it, "Sorry sweetcheeks, no cash, no stash, I've had enough of people doubting my product- which is top quality grass, I guarantee- and I'm not going put up with it any longer, " he grumbled, the bag crackling as if it was being stored, "So what will it be, darling? The cash or the mash?"

The female grumbled a bit, with a few choice swears mixed in but a faint rustling was heard, like money being taken out of a pocket, as John scrambled to set the camera up on Sherlock's phone, "Fine, but I expect the best from this hooch, you hear me?"

"Alright, alright, honeybunch, don't get your panties all in a twist. You'll see it is when you taste it."

John carefully leaned out from his hiding spot with the camera, trying to get a good view of the transaction.

"Gotcha!" mumbled John, but overestimated how far he was leaning out. With a loud thump he landed in the middle of the alleyway, in plain sight of the culprits, "Shoot."

"Hey! That's one of the kids that was following me here!" cried the woman dashing over to John who quickly scrambled to his feet ready to sprint the heck away.

"I thought you gave him the slip!" cried the supplier, "And is that… an iPhone?!"

John realizing that negotiations weren't really an option here, burst into a full-throttle sprint, "Shoot, shoot, shoot, what am I gonna do here?" panicked John, looking over his shoulder at his nearing pursuers, "Okay, okay, calm down here John, and think. Remember what sherlock said 'The emotional qualities are antagonistic to clear reasoning.'... Darn that isn't helping! What the hell do I doooo?!" Suddenly John saw a lamppost and god a cunning idea. With a burst of speed his hand curved around the lamppost's metallic pole and swung himself into another street. The angry shouts of his pursuers meant that his plan had worked!

"Alright! That should buy me some time! Maybe I can do this!" John celebrated, as he sprinted along the deserted street, before turning his mind to graver ideas, "But they'll still catch up to me sooner or later," In that same exact split second he heard the shouts of the criminals right behind him and getting closer,"Damn they were quick about it! I think I can outrun these criminals for a couple more minutes as long as I'm-" with that grunt John took hold of two trash barrels and knocked them over strewing the trash all over the place, "Cunning enough…Now while they're picking themselves over that obstacle, I'll call the police."

John somehow managed to unlock Sherlock's phone- only a privileged few were allowed in on the password- and dial 999, "Police, what is your emergency."

"Ummm, I'm being chased by two drug dealers who are kind of about to kill me, could you dispatch some help like right now? I don't think I can outrun them much longer," puffed John, kicking down another two trash cans desperate to slow the criminals down in any way.

"Oh come on kid, don't pull my leg like that, we know its not that. Now what's the real reason?" laughed the policeman on the line.

If John could he would've strangled the policeman right there and then, "I'm seriously being chased by two bloody drug dealers. Now would you please do your bleeding job and send some help already?! It's John Watson, and I'm somewhere between, urrrgggg, nevermind I'm on Swanzey boulevard just off of Richard Avenue now."

"Wait, you're not kidding?! Where did you find them? And what the heck did you do to have them chase after you?" cried the dispatcher.

"Long story, but lets just say I took some incriminating evidence that could put them behind bars." puffed John, irritated with this incompetent dispatcher.

"Wait, you have their drugs with you?" the dispatcher yelled.

"No you bloody dimwit, I have a photo of their exchange, I wouldn't be stupid enough to put myself in the middle of their exchange, where they could beat me to a pulp," grumbled John, honestly are all dispatchers this stupid?, " "Now could you hurry up with that help, I'm running out of precious time and energy!"

"Alright, alright! What's your location now?

Are you flipping kidding me, "I'm on... Light lane... now."

"Uh huh, and where did you see the exchange?"

"Ummm, I think it was on the beginning of Salut boulevard…"

"Wait, you ran all the way from Salut boulevard to Light avenue?!" the dispatcher exclaimed, "What are you an olympic medalist?!"

John just about had it with this idiotic dispatcher, "Piss… off... you wanker. I only do track as normal boys should. And its Surrey court now, you dimwit, and will you get on with the questions?!"

"Fine, fine," grumbled the man, "You don't have to be so stingy." These criminals are about to kill me and he says I'm stingy…?! "Do you know how far away these criminals are from you?"

"Huhhh… Huhhh…"

"Sorry panting isn't a distance,"

"I… swear… you're the worst… dispatcher… I've ever had…"

"What? Do you mean you've had other bad dispatchers before?" the arse snickered.

This must be the thickest most annoying prick there is on the world, and that's saying something, "Ummm… oh shoot… they're about… five seconds from me… and gaining... I don't know... if I can run… much longer…"

"Nevermind, I retract that statement about you being an Olympic medalist. You're obviously not cut out for it, if you haven't even shaken these people off your tail." the bugger sniped.

Can I have Sherlock back?

"Anyways, what do they look-?"

Right at that moment, John felt himself being jerked back just as he was uttering, "Fucking prick-" before being thrown on the ground so hard his breath was knocked out of his lungs.

"Gotcha!" cried a male voice, the supplier John realized, before proceeding to try to pry the phone from John's hands, shouting "Now gimme… that… flippin'… phone! Owowow!"

John bit the culprit's arm in an attempt for him to let go, and heard a faint cry, "Yeah, now go for the legs! Go for the legs-" coming from the phone, before being cut off as the culprit punched John in the head so hard he saw huge sparks jump out of his vision.

"You bleeding prick! You flipping made my arm bleed! You're gonna pay for that!" punching John in the face again making him fall flat on the ground. John just barely managed to curl up into a ball, as the man began to kick John as hard as he could with his heavy boots, screaming, "Toffy, hoity, toity, bleeding, arse, twot! Get up, and take this on as a man!"

John's body rocketed up and down, bouncing off the cobblestones with each kick that was delivered. Tears leaked out of John's eyes, as he curled even tighter, trying to shield his arms and face. Even though John had his own fair share of kicks in his life, they were nothing compared to this guy's purposefully painful boots. He forced himself to repeat Sherlock's mantra, "The emotional qualities are antagonistic to clear reasoning" out loud over and over and over again to block out the pain, block out the pain with the words.