Warnings: Slight Non-Con, definite triggers for Drugs and Rape.
POV switches, so keep an eye out for that.
This is rated M for a reason.
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A dangerous drug cartel was quickly on the rise within Britain. While much of their inner workings were expertly contained, enough was known about them to make it clear they were a potential threat to the nation. It put Mycroft on edge.
And so Sherlock and John were hired.
A normal week, really.
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"But I don't speak Hungarian," John said to Lestrade and Sherlock's backs as they plotted together. They continued speaking in hushed tones, not hearing John.
John repeated a bit more loudly, "But I do not speak Hungarian." Sherlock cocked his head towards John.
"Hm?"
John's eyes fluttered and he sighed, giving Sherlock the look that told him he was about to smack him.
Lestrade finally answered, "It doesn't matter. The leader is Hungarian, but hardly anyone else is. Actually, we're not sure where many of them are from, nor do we know their real names or where the drugs are coming from, or where they're going or-"
"-Nothing is known, John. It's all muddled. We will surely blend in just fine."
"Until you get there."
"Hm?"
"Nothing is known, that is, until you get there. You'll solve everything quickly and..." John blushed. "and brilliantly." He looked away and tucked his hands into his pockets. "Can we go home now?"
"You may, yes." Sherlock turned his back on John once more, intending to finish up with Lestrade. John started for the door but, as an afterthought, grabbed Sherlock's arm and pulled him out with him.
"John, I am not a petulant child and will not be treated as such, I am attempting to conduct business!"
"You're done for tonight!" And, like a child being disciplined, Sherlock followed John out of the door and into a taxi without another word.
Once the taxi started up and was on its way to 221B, Sherlock questioned John.
"What's wrong with you?"
"Just tired."
"But, it's only four o'clock."
John sighed, "Yes, but we have an early day tomorrow."
"Even more reason to get more done tonight."
"I'm just worried, okay? Politely piss off."
Walking up the stairs, Sherlock held John's elbow lightly as if steadying him. Sherlock muttered into his ear, "There's no need to worry. Not when you're with me."
John stood on the top step, stunned, and let Sherlock disappear into the flat in a subtle swish of his jacket.
He couldn't explain it, but his heart weighed heavily with all the worries he had for the case ahead of them. Still worse, John's gut feelings had never before been wrong. John's gut feelings were part of why Sherlock found so John so helpful. His gut feeling had saved Sherlock soon after their first meeting, when he shot the cabbie.
The door clicked closed. John shook his head free of the pessimistic thoughts and entered the flat.
