In retrospect, John supposes that he really should have seen it coming. After all, being intimately acquainted with one Holmes let alone both Holmes's was most definitely a way to get yourself held hostage for some reason or another.
Had he even thought about it he might have analyzed further and he might have noticed the fact that he had been kidnapped, more than once actually, because of Sherlock but never even once had he been because of Mycroft and that was something that it seemed the universe had a problem with and was seeking to rectify immediately. Although to tell the truth he wasn't really kidnapped because of Mycroft, at least not directly, because he just kind of become caught in the crossfire since at the moment that they had chosen to strike he was with Sherlock.
Sherlock on the other hand had been kidnapped solely because of Mycroft. Apparently some criminal had gotten wind that the way to strike at Mycroft Holmes was through his baby brother and that was exactly what the criminal did.
John and Sherlock had been chasing a suspect, as per normal on a cold, windy, and overcast day in London, when mere centimeters away from the target of the chase they had found themselves being knocked out. When they awoke they were in an old house tied to some very old, very uncomfortable chairs. The windows were covered and by the conditions it was obvious, even to John, that nobody lived here. They had been knocked about and when they wouldn't say anything about Mycroft and his agenda, (John because he honestly didn't know anything and Sherlock because he couldn't tell them anything that would be without repercussion on a global scale) they were whacked about some more resulting in John bleeding and bruised and Sherlock in the same condition as John was with the addition of a concussion.
They had been thrown down into the basement of the house and John had managed to find some old camping gear stored down there. He piled the sleeping bags together on the cleanest portion of the floor and added to it anything else that was soft that he could find with the dim light coming from the tiny window in the basement that he was too short to reach. Even if he could he would have never fit and besides that was the fact that Sherlock was in no condition to be moved and he wasn't about to leave him here even if he could escape. There was nothing that he could use to clean the wounds they had either and even if there was he doubted it would be sanitary thanks to the conditions of the basement. If he tried he feared it would infect the wounds if they weren't already. So he situated himself on the makeshift pallet and pulled Sherlock between his legs with his head pillowed on his thigh.
"Hey Sherlock, stay with me. Sleeping is boring remember." he said softly when he saw that Sherlock was trying to drift off.
"Wazan sleeping," Sherlock slurred moving a little against him.
"Talk to me then." John said.
"About what?" Sherlock replied making the effort to not slur his words which was a good sign.
"Tell me about... the kidnappers." John requested using the first thing that came to his mind. In any case the knowledge could be useful and besides that Sherlock always relished the chance to astound him with deductions.
"The fat one is divorced. His wife left him and took the kids and his money. The young skinny one with no fashion sense is gay and got kicked out of home when he came out to his parents by having a shag with his younger and underage cousin. The ring leader..."
"Come on, what about the ringleader?" John prompted urgently eager to keep him talking.
Sherlock huffed out a pained laugh. "She wants my brother to suffer cause he rejected her affections. The others want money she wants revenge. Dull really."
"Absolutely dull." John agreed with a small chuckle.
"I love my brother." Sherlock announced.
John was startled and felt a bit bad that Sherlock was confiding in him because of a head injury but he needed Sherlock to keep talking. "Do you?"
"Yes. We fight all the time but we both like it cause we can pretend we don't care since we both detest sentiment."
"It figures that you Holmes's can't do anything normally." John said gently.
"Anyone else make the list of loved ones?" John asked after a moment.
"You," Sherlock said without hesitation. "I luv you, but you can't feel the thame cuz I'm not lovable and you thay you're not gay all of da time. " Sherlock moaned as he slurred his words and... was that a lisp John heard? He never knew that Sherlock had one.
John had been using one hand to rub gently at Sherlock's neck hoping that it would give him something other than the pain to concentrate on and at some point he had gravitated to Sherlock's head carefully avoiding the bloody patch in the curls.
"I like it," Sherlock said. "Da petting. Feelth good."
John was worried about how incoherent Sherlock was but he was still talking at least.
"You're my love-master." Sherlock said trying hard to control his speech.
"What?!" John asked.
"Like in White Fang. I was wild then you came. Didn't want to like you but then you proved you loyal to me and you were nice you thtayed. Didn't try to change me but always helped me."
"You deleted the solar system but you kept a Jack London novel?" John asked as soon as he caught up to the analogy.
"Yeth it wath a good book." Sherlock smiled. "You're not allowed to leave me. I would die if you leave me." Sherlock said.
"Like I could ever do that you idiot." John said still caressing Sherlock inky curls. He was almost tempted to call it fur what with the conversation about White Fang.
Suddenly there was a loud noise from upstairs. The door was wrenched open and soon the basement was flooded with cops and two paramedics. They pulled Sherlock away from John. John wanted to fight but without the need to help Sherlock all his will power fizzled out and his injuries came back to the front of his mind.
John never even realized that he had passed out.
When John woke up it was to the blinding white walls of a hospital. He obviously was on pain meds because it took him far to long to notice the Holmes in the chair at the bedside. "Hello." he croaked out in greeting.
"Ah, Doctor Watson, glad you're awake." Mycroft said. He sounded like his posh old self but he looked a bit ragged.
John was no Holmes but it was obvious that the man was here because of guilt. "Not your fault, you didn't kid- er hurt me the criminals did that, it doesn't matter the reason but it is all on them. Now get that gobsmacked look off your face and tell me how that irritating brother of yours is doing."
Mycroft cleared his throat he wasn't used to being read that easily by anyone besides Sherlock. "Sherlock is fine. He was still awake when they brought him in. He was highly agitated because they pulled him from you but they managed to take care of it. If you feel up to it now you can have a visit with him."
John did a self-check he was quite sore but he had been through much worse. He got up from the bed using the IV pole for support. When he was sure he could walk he nodded to Mycroft to lead the way to Sherlock because. as always, he needed to see the mad man to be sure that he was okay. Of course he was a bit wary because of what Sherlock had spouted due to the concussion but his need for Sherlock to be okay overrode anything else.
As it was, John needn't have worried for when they arrived Sherlock was asleep. John didn't know if he should be grateful or depressed about that. He supposed he was a bit of both because he knew that the conversation would have to happen eventually.
It seemed eventually was after they had been released from the hospital and returned via Mycroft's black vehicle to Baker Street. They both had a mug of tea in their hands and John was staring at Sherlock from his chair as the man lay upon the sofa.
"You have questions?" Sherlock said without preamble.
John swallowed, he should have known that Sherlock would notice. "How much do you remember of what you said when you were concussed?" He asked at last.
John saw a tint of red upon Sherlock's cheeks and realized that he was blushing. "Enough," the man responded.
"Did you mean it?" John pressed suddenly uncertain.
"I meant everything that I said."
"So to recap. You love your brother, you enjoy being petted at least when I do it, and you love... me." John said in a tone that clearly spoke of disbelief during the last part.
"Right on all accounts." Sherlock said.
Just then something John remembered something else from the conversation in the basement. "You have a lisp." he said.
Sherlock blushed.
John laughed at that. The man could more or less admit to love twice in a few seconds but mention of his lisp made him blush. "Don't worry I find it very cu...um... I meant endearing."
"I hate it." Sherlock declared.
From the way he said it John inferred that he had been teased because of it when he was younger. He got up from his chair and went to join his friend on the sofa pulling Sherlock's head up sitting and resting the genius's head in his lap. "I really do like your lisp. Will you use it around me if I agree to pet you sometimes?"
Sherlock considered it. John wasn't making fun of him and he really did like to be petted by him because when John did it he was able to obtain a sense of calm that he had never felt before, which was most likely why he had spouted his secrets before, and he knew that that calmness could potentially improve his ability to focus. He really did want to test it to see just how much the petting increased his ability to think and in any case it felt good. The thing that made him agree though was the fact that he knew even if he said no to the lisping John would still pet him if that was what wanted Sherlock nodded his agreement.
Thus the ritual was born. Whenever Sherlock wished to be petted he would cuddle up to John and throughout the session whenever he spoke he lisped. He was right. When John petted him he could always think more clearly so it wasn't unusual for him to use this during cases. Of course they did go further sometimes but even after they worked their way into various bedroom activities they still enjoyed the cuddles on the sofa sometimes.
It was about six months after the kidnapping when the Yarders found out. Sherlock and John were at a scene and Sherlock was rapidly becoming frustrated.
"Why... and it isn't... how?" he was mumbling.
John, for his part, was standing at the wall trying not to think of ways to kill Anderson who was over with Sally having a great time since Sherlock seemed stumped by the case.
Ironically, John was just about to walk over and introduce Anderson to his fist when Sherlock called to John and saved Anderson from that fate. "John, I'm missing something truly vital here but I can't figure out what it is. Help me."
John's eyes widened. "You want to do that here?" he asked looking over the people present.
"I need to think and it's important. I know that if I can find the clue I'll know who he is."
John nodded. He stepped over to the corner and shrugged of his jacket. Sherlock willingly followed not caring that there were several pairs of eyes on him as he did so.
"Oi what are you two doing," Lestrade said.
"Solving your case," Sherlock said.
"Nothing indecent," John said at the same time.
Sherlock sat and curled himself around John. Once he was settled the hand came up and stoked his hair with a steady, practiced, rhythm.
"I need you to talk to me." Sherlock said.
John's eyes widened. When Sherlock needed to talk it out it meant it was very difficult.
"What are the important facts of the case?"
"Female, twenty nine, gunned down in her flat. Nothing wath touched."
"What is odd about it?"
"That nothing wath touched."
"Why is that odd?"
"Becauthe if it wath a robbery thomething would have been thtolen. If it wath a mithtake there would have been itemth moved. Nothing to hint at a lover either."
"Not a robbery, lover or accident, so suicide?"
"No. definitely murder." Suddenly he jerked. "Oh that ith brilliant." he said as he jumped.
He moved about the crime scene once more pointing out how it was done and who was guilty. He didn't know how he missed the vital clue, which was a small piece of thin thread on the floor that was the same color as the carpet, but he was Sherlock Holmes he should have seen it.
John grinned widely too awed by the amazing creature that was Sherlock Holmes to utter a single word but fortunately Sherlock could hear the unspoken praise. John's speechlessness was in part caused by the fact that he had helped Sherlock do what he did best. He felt important.
Of course Anderson had to rain on their parade. "What was that?" he sneered.
John wondered if the man had any redeeming qualities because somehow he was married to a woman and was shagging another so there had to be an explanation for it. Surely no woman could be that desperate. Perhaps Sherlock would know how such a improbable thing was happening.
"That was me solving the case." Sherlock said with the obviously unsaid but clearly tacked on at the ending.
"Not that, the other thing." he retorted.
John rolled his eyes and looked over at Sherlock with a question in his eyes. They hadn't exactly told anyone of the change in their relationship status and because outside of the sexual nature of the relationship nothing had changed (that alone made John realize that yes they had been a couple and he was blind not to have seen that).
Sherlock nodded slightly understanding the question and smirked. Shifting his weight to watch the battle that was about to ensue.
"That was me helping my lover," John said making the word lover sound positively filthy and oh what it did to Sherlock's recently awakened libido. " I was helping him solve a case in," He looked at his phone for the time, "ten minutes that you would have been lucky to solve in ten weeks."
Then one of the Yarders heaved a sigh of disgust and for once it wasn't Anderson or Sally. "Oh hush up," John said turning to the man. He was about to tear him a new one when Sherlock leaned down and whispered something in his ear. His eyes widened and Sherlock ever so discretely nudged him with what was either a something very poky pole of some kind that just happened to be in his pocket or a full blown erection that was concealed within the great coat and the trousers and still obviously there.
John swallowed. He was unsure what he had done to make Sherlock that aroused but whatever it was he needed to know so he could do it more often.
"Home?" he asked a little breathless.
"Home." Sherlock agreed.
A/N I leave it here because we all know what happened after they got back to 221B. This was a prompt I had found a while back somewhere on the internet. It basically wanted a concussed!Sherlock spilling his secrets and then John petting him as a distraction. The bonus was for making it happen in front of the Yarders. I really liked the prompt so I wrote this. To whoever placed out the prompt thanks and I hope you come across this one day.