Spoils of War

By: Raven612

Chapter 1: ReCon

Summary: A war is breaking out in the London underground. Innocent people are being killed in the crossfire. The normal people think it's just gang fallout, but Sherlock and John know the truth. Can they prove it, and bring those responsible for it to justice before the war claims one of their own? Slash. J/S.

Disclaimer: If you think I might own these boys, well then we share the same daydream. I do not own them. They belong to Gatiss, Mofitt, Doyle, BBC, the UK, and whoever else has the money and the power to claim them.

A/N: Originally this was going to be titled, "To Possess Dr. John Watson," but then the story decided to go in a different direction. I wanted to explore the concept of John Watson, unknowingly, being England's greatest and deadliest weapon. In theory, should someone take John from Sherlock, they can nearly gain whatever they want because they could control Sherlock, and through Sherlock, they can control the British government. That concept is still going to be explored, but in a different way than I had originally wanted. I will also tell you right off the bat that I have no beta, sniffle sniffle, and nor do I know a lot about England or London, but I will try to be as British as I can. I can't promise that I will catch everything, but I will try. Also, fair warning, there will be slash, which means man on man action. The story is rated M for a reason! There will be blood, gore, drugs, drug references, gangs, lots of slash, murders, suicide, angst till the cows come home, and occasional fluff and happy. If anything in that list gives you pause, please go back now. So, with all of that intro crap out of the way, let me wrap up by saying, I love reviews, they fuel my posting speed and I love creative criticism. You can find me on tumblr under the handle of: iamsherlockedandtied. Thank you all for everything, and I hope you enjoy this new story!

"And to the victor go the spoils."

"What the hell am I wearing, Sherlock?" John's voice pierced the fog of Sherlock's mind, nearly the only thing that could. The detective looked up from where he sat poised in his chair. He had his fingers steepled beneath his chin. The cogs of his mind had been churning and groaning for nearly twelve hours now. He and John had recently been called in to assist DI Lestrade who was investigating a sting of gang related murders. Things between two London based gangs were heating up, and innocent people were getting caught in the crossfire as the gangs battled for turf and members. With everything in his head, Sherlock had almost forgotten his request to John this morning for his assistance going undercover.

"Sherlock, is this really necessary, I think this defeats the purpose of, 'undercover,'" he muttered and plucked at the tight fabric hugging his abs. He hadn't worn such clothing in years, and he wondered what purpose they would serve tonight. He looked up to see Sherlock studying him. He frowned and looked away crossing his arms over his chest.

"Dog tags," Sherlock finally said as he unfolded his long limbs and stood.

John turned his gaze back to Sherlock, his frown worsened, "Seriously? We're going to a club aren't we? Some sort of loud club where the drinks are made too strong and legs spread with the simplest word?"

Sherlock cocked a brow, "Should I be alarmed that you're well versed in the club etiquette?"

John gave him a look, and snorted, "I'm a single man from the Army, I needed my kicks somewhere, now what do you want with my tags?" he asked the detective as he brushed his palms along the tight denim encasing his lean and muscular thighs.

Sherlock sighed and turned away from John to head for the door, "Wear them outside of your shirt, they give off a sort of charm that attracts people easily. We want to be sought out tonight. We need information, and if we're lucky enough, the man we're after might vie for one of our affections," he stated as he shrugged into a short blazer. The jacket was a dark black and hung to Sherlock's hips. The back of it pulled nicely over his shoulders. It showed off his lean physique. We wore a pair of tight black jeans with a pale blue, v-neck tee shirt. His curls were masterfully disorganized and a leather cord with a silver pendant dangled from his neck.

John furrowed his brows, but did as Sherlock asked, "I don't see why you didn't just dress me up in my uniform, that would twist some knickers more than these tags could," John retorted as he finally looked up at Sherlock. A flash of appreciation crossed his eyes and he did a once over of his flatmate. He grinned and looked down at himself. He wore an outfit Sherlock picked out for him. Apparently John was incapable of choosing his own clothes. He had been a bit miffed at the discovery, but had to admit that it worked out well for him now. He wore a tight black tee shirt with a pair of dark blue jeans that fit snugly in all the right places and made his arse look downright mouth watering, he had to admit, he didn't look half bad.

Sherlock watched John study himself for a second before letting out a sigh and tossing him his black coat, "I assure you, you look fine, now stop being so self conscious and let's go. We need to move quickly," Sherlock huffed as he pulled the door open. He shoved his hands into his trouser pockets as he quickly descended the stairs. John hardly had time to catch up before the detective's long legs were being pulled into the back of a cab.

John looked around the club. Despite all the bodies and glasses of alcohol floating around, everything managed to look new and shiny. He was brought back to his earlier days of club hopping, when he was actively looking for a mate, but now, he was happy in his life with a stream of girlfriends, thanks to Sherlock, and solving crimes with a self prescribed Sociopath. He looked around, there seemed to be more males than females, but John figured it was due to it being a weeknight. He removed his jacket and handed it to the girl at the counter. He flashed a smile, but she paid him no heed. He frowned and was turning to ask Sherlock where the loo was, but the lanky detective was gone. John frowned. He looked around the immediate area, but couldn't find Sherlock. He muttered to himself and decided it was best to head for the bar. He slide into a stool and ordered a Bass. He had his back to the raucous dance floor, something he didn't particularly find interesting now with his age. The woman serving behind the bar slide his bottle to him before heading off to deal with the throng of men and women down at the other end. He sighed and stared down his bottle a moment before looking up. His eyes followed a trail of neon green to the DJ booth. His gaze skipped around the floor at the different bodies dancing, and again it seemed to be more male than female. John didn't have a problem with that, but he wondered about Sherlock, and just as the thought entered his mind he caught sight of the man.

John's eyes grew in their sockets. A slow breathed flowed from his lips as he watched the body Sherlock possessed move to the music. The man was flawless. His lanky form should be awkward and gangly, but his movements were controlled and calculated, just like everything he did in life. Not only could Sherlock create music with his fingers, but right now his body was creating poetry. John was in awe. He'd never seen anyone move to gracefully before. It wasn't so much as sensual as it was artful. His hips moved in tandem to the beat and his arms moved over his body, as if by that action alone he could portray the music he was hearing.

John's tongue snaked out to wet his lips. His eyes blinked slowly, not wanting to hamper the vision in any way. As John watched Sherlock's body on the floor, he was unaware of the things his own body was doing, and much without his knowledge. He frowned, and looked down, well that was great. He sighed and turned back to the bar and placed his elbows onto it. Of course Sherlock would dance like a beautiful wanker, it wasn't enough that lately John wrestled with these new feelings for Sherlock, but he had to drag him here and then leave him to do what he was doing on the dance floor, which, not to John's liking, was drawing a lot of attention. John sighed again and sagged even more against the counter, one of his hands clasped around the cold, sweaty bottle of beer in front of him.

"Friend or lover?" a voice asked from John's right.

John jumped slightly and looked up seeing a man clad in a grey suite leaning against the bar next to him. John followed his gaze to Sherlock, who was now swaying his hips to the beat, John sighed and regarded his bottle, "Neither; flatmate," he muttered.

The man nodded and slid into the vacant stool next to John and turned towards the bar so that he could better talk with him, "The look in your eyes says more, but then that could be caused by those moves he's doing out there," the man replied and let out a low whistle.

John snapped his head up to fully look at the man again. He had short brown hair, barely an inch long, styled smartly atop his scalp. His eyes were a deep green and framed by wire rimmed glasses. He was over average height and had a lean, muscular build. His jaw and cheeks were framed by a light dusting of dark stubble and he had faint lines around the corners of his lips. His smile was easy and pleasant, enticing whomever he was talking to to feel comfortable with him. John couldn't help the sheepish smile that pulled on his lips, "No, I'm just surprised he can move like that, I didn't think he even knew what dancing was, but then again he is a bloody genius," John muttered the last bit as he lifted his bottle and took a long pull from it.

The man chuckled and stirred the toothpick in his glass around the rim, "He looks like the type that can surprise you," he said with a slow nod, which seemed to bother John a bit, but he remained quiet. "My name is Jarrett Lynn," he said and held his hand out for John.

John grinned and shook the proffered hand, "Ah, hello Jarrett, nice to meet you, my name is John Watson," he supplied in turn. He and Sherlock hadn't discussed aliases, so he figured he could use his real name.

Jarrett nodded and slipped his hand from John's to wrap his fingers elegantly around the stem of his martini glass, "So, are you two here to vent and relieve stress, or is this a business visit?"

John narrowed his gaze at his bottle. He rubbed his thumbs along the cool, and wet neck before turning his stool towards Jarrett, "I'm not sure anymore. It started as business, but now I think it might be pleasure," he said and motioned his chin towards Sherlock who continued to dance, seemingly unaware of the bodies surrounding him.

Jarrett followed his gaze, and a lazily smiled pulled at his lips. He stared at Sherlock for a moment before turning back to John. He cocked his head and reached out confidently and set a hand on John's thigh, "Why does he get the freedom to have fun? Why don't you loosen up and have some fun too?" the man asked, his voice lowering an octave.

John's didn't flinch when the hand settled on his thigh, but he didn't entirely know what to do. He swallowed and looked down at it. The man's palm was literally burning him. He looked back up at Jarrett and offered him a shaky smile, "Ah, well I uh…I'm not into men," he said, his voice warbling a bit as he spoke.

Jarrett's teeth flashed in the neon lights. He leaned closer to John, who was now sitting ramrod straight. Jarrett leaned in close to John's ear, "Then why are you looking at him like that?" he asked. His voice was soft and the air from his lips caused John to shiver. Jarrett drew back to study John's face, his thumb now moving slowly along the inner seam of John's jeans.

John shifted in his seat. He wanted to draw his leg from Jarrett's grasp and leave, but instead he turned towards the bar and made a show of ordering another beer before giving Jarrett his attention again. "Everyone is staring at him, he moves like a fucking artist. He shouldn't be moving so gracefully with those limbs," John said strongly and pulled his new beer to his lips and took a long pull.

Jarrett chuckled as he lifted his own glass to sip from, "I think it's his limbs that are allowing him to move like that," he stated and turned his head to John.

John chuckled dryly and nodded, "He was probably created to go against every fucking societal norm."

Jarrett chuckled too, "It seems you two have an interesting relationship, but you seem like you have your own things you're good at too," he purred and moved his stool a bit to innocently bump knees with John.

John felt his cheeks heat up as he coughed into his hand, "Well, I suppose you could say that, I'm a former soldier and am a doctor," he answered with a humble shrug.

Jarrett regarded him with a cool smile, "Well, that's exciting too; it's a shame your fingers are wrapped around that bottle when they clearly seem to want to wrap around something else."

John cleared his throat and looked up to really tell Jarrett off, but found his stool suddenly occupied by Sherlock. John jumped, surprised at his flat mate's sudden appearance, "Jesus Sherlock, don't scare me like that," he scolded with a scowl and lifted his bottle to his lips.

Sherlock merely raised a brow, "I apologise," he muttered and waved down the bar tender and ordered water. His curls were damp with sweat and flattened against his forehead.

John just nodded before turning his body to fully face the dance floor now, saved from staring in complete awe at Sherlock.

"Who were you talking to?" Sherlock asked when John turned back to face the bar.

John gave him a sidelong glance, "No one," he answered shortly and shifted in his seat.

Sherlock reached out and shoved his hand into John's jean's pocket, "Oh, then what is this?" he asked and held up a small slip of white paper.

John frowned and snatched it from Sherlock, "How the bloody hell should I know?" he snapped and unfolded the paper only to see small numbers and letter there. Jarrett had, somehow, slipped his number into John's pocket. That was interesting. He frowned and shoved it into the pocket that was away from Sherlock, "That's also nothing; some bloke got the wrong idea, apparently."

Sherlock nodded and got to his feet, "Our guy is a no show so we can head back to the flat now, that is if you're ready to go?" he smirked at the murderous look John was shooting at him.

"Yes, yes, I'm ready to go, now," he said sharply and slapped some money down on the bar before stalking off without Sherlock, grumbling under his breath as he did so.

Sherlock watched him grab his coat. He grinned to himself. Apparently the night wasn't a total waste. He looked up and watched John slip through the front door. His gaze was just sweeping the club once more before a man in a grey suite caught his eye. The man grinned at him and nodded slightly before turning and getting swallowed by the crowd. Sherlock frowned, and shoved the man to the back of his mind as he got to his feet to follow after John.

Jarrett pushed the club's back door open and stepped out into the cool night. He inhaled deeply of the stale air as he pulled a pack of fags from his inner suite pocket. He lifted one to his lips and lit it. He moved to lean against the club wall. He felt the vibrations from within traveling along his spine. He lifted one leg and rested the bottom of his foot against the bricks. He drew in the smoke and felt his phone vibrate. He pulled it out and thumbed it on. He had a new text.

[Unknown number:] Did you plant it?

Jarrett frowned, his cigarette hanging from his bottom lip as he quickly thumbed a reply:

He got it, will make my visit tomorrow. Plan is moving forward.

He waited only a few seconds before he got a reply:

[Unknown number:] Good, very good. Report tomorrow. Ciao!

Jarrett muttered under his breath and pocketed his phone before throwing his cigarette to the ground and grinding his shoe into it. He then kicked away from the wall and put his hands into the pockets of his trousers and walked out of the alley, whistling to himself as he went. Phase one was underway, he just had to wait until tomorrow to complete it. He grinned to himself as a sleek car pulled up to the curb and he slid into the back. He leaned back into the plush leather and crossed his legs. He lifted his wrist and checked the time, his favourite café was still open and he was desperately craving a latte. He gave his driver the order and sat back to ruminate on a certain army doctor that he had just met, and who he would be seeing very soon.

A/N: So? Review pretty please, and I will get the next chapter up as soon as possible! Thanks so much for reading!