Authors Note: This is the first chapter in (hopefully) a longer fic. I'm not really sure what I'm going with this, so if you have any ideas, requests, criticism, or hate messages, feel free to submit them! All feedback is welcome.
Disclaimer: I wish I did, but all these characters are owned by the lovely BBC. Cheers!
The night was chilly, and as a cold gust of air hit the lone figure he shivered. Hefting the book-bag, heavy with textbooks, higher onto his back, John walked faster down the badly lit street. It had been a late night in the library studying for a huge exam the next day, and after reading the same page 5 or 6 times without understanding any of it, he had given up cramming. Terminology was swirling through his head, and he was looking forward to passing out his soft, warm bed. His eyelids drooped, but the sharp sting of the wind kept him moving.
John turned a corner and strode past the black alleyways, wanting to get back to his flat quickly. Usually he would have taken the tube, but his flat was only a few blocks away. Even so, London wasn't exactly a safe place at this time of night, especially when you were half dead on your feet. In fact, John was so exhausted that he almost didn't hear the muffled yelp of pain as he walked past one of the mouths of an alley. He kept going for a moment, then registered what he had heard. Eyes narrowed, he backtracked to the alley where the sound had come from.
He stood just outside the reach of one of the streetlamps, the light dimly filtering into the alleyway. Cloaked in darkness, he heard a voice in his head telling him to keep walking and leave well enough alone. He ignored it. John quietly slid the bag off of his back and set it against the wall with a muffled thump. Then, with his back pressed against the cold stone of the building, he peeked around the corner of the building into the alley.
What he saw quickly drained John's exhaustion away. He was awake and on full alert. Three men were surrounding someone on the ground, their postures threatening. Two of them were giants, being well over six feet tall, their arms huge, and their chests straining around tightly fitted black t-shirts. They must be some sort of bodyguards or mercenaries. The third man was slightly shorter and slimmer, but –for some reason- John found him much more intimidating than the other two. He was wearing a dark fitted suit, and had straight, jet black hair. John couldn't see very well by the one lamp, but the face of the third man looked- harder, somehow. Crueler, like there wasn't an ounce of compassion left in him. There was a hard light in his eyes, and they glinted, looking almost totally black in their sockets. His expression was impossible to read. John felt a shiver run down his spine, and he shook himself slightly.
What was more pressing at the moment was the figure curled up in a ball on the ground. The muffled sobs were coming from him. A mop of tangled black curls covered his head, but the darkness obscured most of his features. A dark coat wrapped tightly around him, the man buried his face into his tucked in knees as the smaller man put a kick into his back. A strangled gasp was muffled by his coat, and John froze in horror, then quickly pulled his head back around the corner. What should he do? Thoughts raced through his mind as he tried to work out a solution. Call the police? Most likely they wouldn't be able to get there in time. The nearest station at least 10 minutes away, and he didn't know how badly the man was hurt. He could be dead by the time the police arrived. Step in himself? John didn't want to get hurt, and three against one weren't very good odds. Maybe he should just walk away. That would be the smartest thing to do, and as he debated the idea with himself for a split second, he knew that he wouldn't do it. He would never forgive himself for leaving someone on their own when he could have done something. John decided on calling the police, praying they would get there in time. Fumbling for his phone, he started as he heard the man on the ground speak. He hesitantly peaked back around the corner of the wall.
"Please! You'll have what I owe you by Friday," the man whimpered. His voice was deep, but at the moment it trembled in fear and exhaustion. "Just give me time. I just need more time."
The assailant's face was livid with anger for a split second. Then, his features re-arranged themselves into a calm mask, and John blinked, not sure if he had only imagined it.
"It's too late, sweetie. You stole from me, and now you have to pay for it." He booted the prone figure again, this time in the stomach, and he jerked, letting out a choked sob.
"Jim!" he begged. "Don't… I didn't… please Jim…please."
'Jim's' mouth curled up into a smirk. Just a small one, but it was definitely there. John's jaw dropped. The monster was enjoying it. He actually had the nerve to smile at this. The scene hit a nerve, and John saw red. No one should ever be treated like that. The last time he had witnessed a beating like this, he had been too young to do anything. This time, though, it was different. This time he could do something. The panic dissipated, and even as his part of his mind told him, screamed at him not to, his body acted on its own. He dropped his phone, and it landed on the pavement with a clatter. The three assailants' faces shot up as John stepped from the shadows.
"What the fuck do you think you are doing?" John growled. His hands were clenched into fists at his sides, and his whole body radiated anger.
The victim glanced up, and John got a better look at his face. He was taken aback for a moment. It would have been angular and extremely elegant, but there was a deep gash on one cheek which was starting to swell. The second thing that struck John was the man's eyes. One of them had a dark purple bruise around it, and the eye had almost swollen shut. The eye that he could see was a deep blue-grey, and it seemed to shimmer even in the low light.
Relief flashed across the man's face, but it was almost immediately followed by alarm.
"Get out of here," he hissed. "You can't help m-," he was cut off by a boot to the stomach, and small droplets of blood flew from his mouth, along with a strangled cry.
Jim smirked lazily at John. "Take care of that for me boys," he commanded, seemingly unconcerned. Well, shit. John hadn't exactly thought too far about his course of action. He braced himself for a fight, knowing he was about to lose badly, but he didn't regret what he had done. The two men strode toward him, cracking their knuckles. John barely had time to register a little red dot wavering on a forehead, though, before a loud gunshot rang out. John froze for a second, and then dropped to the ground, lying pressed flat against the cold, stone sidewalk. He peeked up just in time to see the second body guard cry out as another gunshot sounded, blood spurting out of his chest. He staggered, then collapsed to the ground. Both men weren't moving. John tucked his face back into the ground, the roar of blood pounding in his ears and adrenaline coursing through his body. He could dimly hear footsteps quickly retreating down the alleyway. What the hell just happened? Where had the gunshots come from?! His breaths came in quick gasps. He tried to make them as quiet as possible as he strained his ears for any hint of what had just happened, but all he could hear was the faint sound of a siren in the distance.
When he finally looked up, all John could focus on was the crimson blood of the bodyguards, shining dully in the lamplight. He barely had any time to register his shock and confusion when he heard footsteps. John scrambled up, ready for a fight, but was surprised when a rather sharply dressed man came striding into the alley, flanked by what looked like some sort of SWAT team. The man was tall, lanky, with a bit of a stomach, but that didn't subtract from the intimidation factor in the least. The air about him suggested this man usually got what he wanted, and nothing could get in his way.
At the moment, though, he seemed to be trying to repress an anxious expression as two of his men rushed forward, running to the poor bloke who had been beaten half to death. He appeared to have gone unconscious. In fact, John had almost forgotten about him, and he felt a surge of guilt that he hadn't thought to see if the man was alright after the gunfire. He was a doctor in training, after all.
Then, the well-dressed man focused his gaze on John. He locked eyes with the man, and John was surprised to see anger in his face. He walked over and grabbed John's bad shoulder.
"Idiot," he growled lowly. The man's grip tightened, causing John to wince slightly. "What were you thinking? I had my brother under surveillance and was about to resolve the situation myself. There is a difference between being brave and being foolish. You might have been killed! If my snipers had not intervened, that might have been you. " He gestured toward the motionless bodyguards, inhaling deeply, then shook his head, expression (and grip, thank goodness) softening a bit. "Although, I suppose you were only attempting to help. Sherlock always manages to get himself into the worst trouble." He sighed, still shaking his head, then held out his hand. "Mycroft Holmes," he simply said, as a way of introduction.
John ignored the hand, still in too much shock to say anything at all, even though his mind was starting to clear a bit. He started to feel angry. John was confused, and he didn't know what was going on. All he knew was he had only been trying to help, and now two men were lying dead at his feet! And why was that man being beaten half to death? What was his name- Sherlock? What kind of stupid posh name was that, anyway? John opened his mouth to tell the man to piss off, he was leaving, but was interrupted by a voice coming from behind him.
"We need to call an ambulance," a man said urgently. "I think there's internal bleeding, but we can't be sure until he gets to the hospital." The dark figure was kneeling beside Sherlock, .
"It has already been done." Mycroft reassured him. It was true. John could hear the wail of sirens getting closer. "In the meantime, I will have Doctor Watson escorted home." As he spoke, a black car pulled up to the kerb.
John finally spoke, barely managing to contain his fury. "You- you honestly believe that I intend to go home after what I just saw? There are two men lying dead at my feet!" It was only after he spoke that he realized he had never told this stranger his name.
"That is an extremely insightful observation, Doctor Watson. Please do let us know if you discover anything el-,"
John cut him off. "What is wrong with you?! Why haven't the police arrived yet? Didn't they hear the guns?"
"Of course they have. They also have been informed that the situation was resolved at my initiative."
John blinked. "By you? Who are you? How did you manage to tell off the police?" He was becoming more confused by the second.
The man smiled, but it never reached his eyes. He opened his mouth, but was interrupted by a weak voice behind him.
"That," the voice behind them croaked," is Mycroft. He is an extremely annoying arse, and- I deeply regret to inform you- is also my brother."
John bounced along as the ambulance barreled down the street. Hardly anyone was driving so late at night, so they were virtually unimpeded as they raced through the streets.
After Sherlock's brief moment of apparent lucidity, he had started speaking nonsense, gesturing jerkily in the air. Mycroft looked concerned; worried that the assailant (John later learned that his name was James Moriarty, a prominent drug dealer on this side of London) had done something to him, he called for his men to take a blood sample, wanting to check for anything out of place in his system. When the medics bent over him with a needle, the screaming started. Sherlock tackled the shocked medic, scrambling for the needle. John, with the help of two other men, managed to restrain and sedate him, but not before John heard what he was saying. 'I need it! Please- I need it,' was repeated over and over until Sherlock collapsed in a drug induced sleep.
That was when the ambulance had arrived. John had refused Mycroft's offer to take him home, instead opting to ride in the ambulance. Mycroft had looked puzzled, but agreed to let John stay with Sherlock. He was now seated on a stool by the stretcher, watching the busy medics and listening to the erratic beeping of Sherlock's heart monitor.
John pressed the palms of his hands into his eyes. Now that the excitement of the earlier encounter was wearing off, he could feel the exhaustion returning to his body. On top of the million questions buzzing through John's head was the intense need to sleep. In effort to stay awake, John studied the sleeping face of the man on the stretcher. 'Sherlock,' he reminded himself.
Now that they were out of the dark alleyway, John had a clearer look at Sherlock's face. His first impression was one of elegance, though that was somewhat hampered by the injuries on his face. His face had high cheekbones covered by the palest skin imaginable. What John had first thought to be black hair had turned out to be dark brown in the light. He broadened his view, and saw that, despite the bulky coat Sherlock was wearing, he was slender. Skinny, even. Long limbs hung loosely over the edges of the stretcher, and John gingerly tucked an arm back by Sherlock's side, not wanting to disturb the IV tethered to it.
The ambulance swerved around a corner, and John grabbed the stretcher to keep it from sliding. He held on, wondering, not for the first time, why he had decided to come with Sherlock. He told himself that he felt guilty and worried about Sherlock's condition, and he did. He really did. He also told himself that if he had happened by sooner, this whole situation might have been avoided, somehow. But he didn't think that was the only reason. He just couldn't think what else it could be. Honestly, John was too tired to do much thinking at the moment.
John folded his arms on the railing of the stretcher, and rested his forehead on them. He closed his eyes, and the last thing he heard as he fell asleep was a small voice in his head, informing him that yes, he would definitely be failing his exam in the morning.
Authors Note: Hopefully, the next chapter will be posted soon. Thanks for reading, you sexy readers you!