A.N: First fanfiction EVER so please don't hate me! I think it's pretty good (surprisingly), so I sincerely hope you enjoy! There will probably be three chapters in this fanfiction. Right now I've finished two. There's nothing to bad in this chapter except John's dirty little mind!
The scent of booze, loss, celebration and sweaty drunk men, ruled the small bar in which Sherlock, and his companion, John, sat, chugging down their beers heartily.
They had just finished solving five murders that all had one thing in common; a certain symbol was carved into each victims bedroom walls. The symbol was of a trident with three large circles around it. The victims had nothing in common, aside from the fact that they had all recently left the same gang, The Titans. In the end, it was as predicted, the gang leader had asked the members to burn the ones that had left, and carve the symbol in the wall. Stupid move on their part.
"Shouldn't you be getting ready for your date with Mrs. Mollyyy?" John giggled, slightly (very) drunk as he took another swig of his beer. Secretly, he was quite jealous of Molly.
Ever since she had confessed her undying love for Sherlock, he had been spending more and more time with her. What happened to being a complete sociopath? For some reason, he preferred that Sherlock better. It was better that he didn't have a girlfriend in John's mind. John shook those odd thoughts out of his head. Why did it matter what Sherlock did? John was married for god sakes!
Sherlock pretended to stroke his non-existent beard, also very drunk, "Mm, I don't know, she's a little to... feisty to me." He pulled his hand out of his coat pocket and imitated a cat paw scratching someone.
They both burst out laughing, even though somewhere deep in their mind, they knew it wasn't funny at all.
"Seriously, Sherlock, baby, she's perfect." John spoke through each fit of laughter.
John was laughing so hard, that he hadn't realized that Sherlock had stopped. In fact, Sherlock was staring at John as if he could brutally assassin him through his thoughts.
"John," Sherlock's voice was filled with pure anger, the little fits of laughs and giggles was long since gone.
John stopped laughing as well, looked up and stared into Sherlock's eyes. They were full of lust and love, but also anger and sadness, or so John's drunk mind thought. His breath had turned short and raspy, a half hard erection pressed onto his jeans. He didn't even bother to hide it, to transfixed on how Sherlock was staring at him.
He raked his eyes over Sherlock, undressing him bit by bit, as if they were alone in the bedroom. First he would be taking off Sherlock's scarf, then wrapping it around Sherlock's neck to pull him in for a deep kiss. His tongue sliding along Sherlock's teeth, battling for dominance, the softness of their lips pressed against each other would be mind blowing. Sherlock would taste like faint cigarettes and everything nice. Then, he would take off his jacket and throw it on the ground while ripping off Sherlock's shirt in the process. He would run his hands up and down his stomach teasing his hard nipples.
John gulped rather loudly, "Um, yes, Sherlock?" He tried to push the dirty little thoughts out of his mind.
Sherlock's eyes had turned darker, "Don't. You. Ever. Call. Me. A. Baby. Again." And with that, he spun around on his chair, stood up, and stomped out of the bar.
What just happened? John's thoughts were all over the place and he raced after Sherlock, not noticing all the eyes that were plastered on him.
"Sherlock! Sherlock wait!" John yelled after a taxi that peeled off the curb, Sherlock's tall figure could be seen from the taxi's dark windows.
John did up his jacket and wrapped his arms around himself to keep warm on this cold night. He stuck his hand out for a taxi, struggling to stand up. Maybe that last beer wasn't such a good idea. John thought. He wondered how the hell Sherlock got a taxi so fast, most of them were jackass's in England. One of the taxi drivers had probably owed Sherlock a favour, or five.
Ten minutes later he was still standing out in the cold waiting for a taxi, he had begun singing to himself, "Oh the weather outside is frightful, but the fire is so delightful. And since we've no place to go, let it snow, let it snow, let it snooowwww!" he yelled the last part at the top of his lungs, voice cracking throughout the entire two lines.
He felt a hand on his shoulder, he turned to face the person. Standing there was a young man, no older than twenty. He had a small smile on his face from overhearing the delightful singing from before. His hair was short and curly, like Sherlock's. He was also wearing a similar scarf and jacket.
John cleared his throat and smiled at him with all his teeth, frankly, it looked rather horrifying. "What can I do for you, young lady?" John said through his teeth, wanting to please the younger man.
The man laughed and said, "You look like you need a ride, John, get in the car." He gestured towards a small red car with tinted windows, a small smile still on his face.
"I must ask your name first! Can't have a rescuer with no name!" John laughed and removed his arms from himself and placing them around the so called rescuer for a big bear hug.
The man noticeably tensed up and John let go.
"Um, well, you can call me, Friend. I don't usually share my name until the second date." 'Friend' winked casually at John.
John smiled again, wanting to make the best impression, "Why of course I'll get in the car Friend, for we are no longer strangers. I want to know all your secrets." John giggled as he replied tapping 'Friend's' nose.
The man opened up the passengers side door and John got in, still giggling. Friend got in beside him and slammed the door shut.
"221 Baker Street. Step on it." Friend said to the driver, his voice turning deep and less friendly. The driver was an older man, about 50, tattoos visible on his arm, for he was only wearing a tank top.
"Oh, can we go to the carnival instead, you see, my friend Sherlock is home. He's rather mad at me at the moment." John reached up to stroke the man's tattoos, "I like these, should I get some?" he asked turning to Friend. He continued to run his hand up and down the drivers arm.
"Make him stop or I'll snap his neck." the driver said.
John quickly pulled his hand away. Wringing necks would not get him any closer to the carnival.
Friend only laughed, "I wish, I know he's annoying, but he's drunk, and the boss wants him delivered to Sherlock alive."
The thought of Sherlock only made John angry. "Friend, can I talk to you about something?" John asked.
The man sighed, but put on a fake smile for John, "Of course. Anything for you." his voice turned deep and lustful, sending shivers up and down John's spine and then straight to his cock.
"Okay. Well. You see, I have this friend, Sherlock. He's a really great guy and he likes to help people. I know he tries to help me when I'm struggling, but I don't think he can help me with this. I think I'm in love with him. I love the way he looks at me, the way his eyes seem to peer into my soul, the way his hair curls, kind of like yours. I love the way he wears he scarf and jacket. Kind of like you. I love how he makes me smile and laugh, like you."
John looked into Friend's eyes, they were dark and lustful. Just like the way Sherlock's were at the bar. Suddenly, the younger man wasn't Friend, it was Sherlock. He could picture Sherlock kissing him all over, muttering his name sinfully over and over. He could picture him stopping at the top of his hardened erection, his hand touching it, rubbing it up and down, fascinated with it's length . He could imagine Sherlock wrapping his pink lips around the head and sucking long and hard, then taking him all. He could imagine the pleasure of it. He could imagine Sherlock slamming into him deeply and then rocking their bodies together at a perfect pace, hitting John's prostate every. single. time. He could imagine it all.
He leaned in and kissed Friend, sliding his tongue around his lips, wanting in. The younger man pushed John away forcefully.
"Friends don't kiss friends." he said with disgust in his voice.
John was hurt. 'Sherlock' had rejected him twice in one night. "Okay."
They pulled up at 221B and John opened the door to get out, "Thank you for driving me home. Goodnight Sherlock 2.0."
"John, wait." Friend called grabbing John's hand, "I changed my mind. Sometimes, friends do kiss friends." The younger man threw an award winning smile at John hoping that he would buy the lame excuse to get back in. He wanted as little attention as possible towards the blood that was about to spill.
John nodded his head quickly and scrambled to get back in the car, very excited. Friend smiled lovingly at him and reached over to caress his rosy cheeks. Just as his hand reached John's face, he pulled it back and slapped John as hard as he could.
His face stung with pain, tears welling up in his eyes. "Oh God! What the hell was that?" he screamed at the man.
The younger man only smiled and reared back to punch John again, this time in the nose, causing it to bleed. He then proceeded to pull out a knife and slash his cheek with it. John was screaming with immense pain, his pride hurt as well. 'Friend' opened the side door and yanked John out, his head hitting the sidewalk. Spots danced before his eyes as he reached up to wipe away the blood pooling into his eyes.
"John, I want you to look at me." the man said murderously.
John couldn't bring himself to move for he was in to much pain. He could only think of Sherlock, not 50 feet away from him, sitting on his comfy chair, looking for the next case. His flawless face was clear in his mind, grey eyes, flushed cheeks, stuck-in-a-smirk lips. All of it.
"Damn it John, I said, Look. At. Me!" he yelled, a sharp blow into his side. He groaned and then another pierced him. "Look. At. Me.!" Friend screamed.
With all the strength he could muster, he flipped over, his head dangling painfully off of the curb. Friend glared down at him, hate in his eyes, but a smile on his face.
"You want to know my name John?" the man said slowly, "Do want to know? Because if you do I will tell you." he laughed. "And if you don't I'll punch you."
He reached down and grabbed Johns collar, pulling him up so fast his head spun. He hit him square in the mouth, causing it to bleed. The blood poured swiftly down his throat and the tears rushed down his face.
"Do you want to know my name John? Do you?" Another punch. "Please tell me I've been dying to tell you." A kick to the groin. "I'm going to tell you anyways." And with that he let go of John allowing him to crumple to the ground.
John curled up in shame. Everything was burning with pain, his pride gone, while the man stood there and laughed. How could he trust a monster like him? How come he couldn't fight back? Why was he so weak? He tried to muster up all the remaining strength he had and push himself up. John fell, but flipped over in time so he didn't land on his face.
"I'll tell you my name John, but you have to make sure your little Sherlock friend gets this message."
John's ears perked up at the sound of Sherlock's name.
"Oh sweetheart, you didn't think all this was for you, did you? Well trust me it's not. All this is about how Sherlock busted us for getting revenge. You know what it's like right? To lose someone you care about I mean. Not everybody does. When my brother quit the gang I was all alone, so I told my boss, why not gank the sons-of-bitches that left us to rot? So we did, including my brother." The younger man paused to laugh. "And I enjoyed every single second of it. His screams, the smell of burning flesh, the fire, all of it. But when we got busted for delivering what they deserved, sure we'll be a little mad. We couldn't get Sherlock, even when he's drunk, so we got the next best thing, his lover." he laughed again.
Lover? He wasn't Sherlock's lover, Sherlock probably perceived him as a brother, nothing more.
"So I'll tell you my name John Watson, and the message. My name is Grayson White, part of the gang, The Titans. We will kill you Sherlock, and everyone you know and care about. Burn in hell. From: Dominic." And with that he delivered a quick, but hard, blow to John's face with his foot and everything went black.
