JOHN
"Is he okay?" Lestrade asks
"He will be alright but he does have a broken rib and plenty of bruises." My voice, sounds sharp with anger at the prick that kinapped Sherlock.
The yard, Mycroft, and I had be searching for the missing detective for thirteen hours before, I found him, in an abandoned factory. Two men had just been released from prison after serving twelve years. Apparently, Sherlock was the one to prove they had been part of a human trafficking gang and they had went out for blood.
Mycroft and his men had arrived shortly after, while I was checking Sherlock over. He had been unconscious, so it was easier than normal to "mother him" as Sherlock calls it. Mycroft face was emotionless but the raised eyebrow gave away his surprise, to me getting here first. I still feel a little insulted. I'm no genius but neither were the kidnappers and I was a soldier. I know how to put piece together. Also, being friends with Sherlock for so long has taught me a thing or two.
"The two men are pretty rough up." Lestrade is giving me a knowing glance.
"Really?" I say, trying to keep the satisfaction out of my tone.
No one gets away with harming Sherlock. I remember the first time I stood up for him.
Flashback (secondary school/ second meeting)
I was walking down the hall to the lab hopping to meet Sherlock there. It was only yesterday that I had met the genius but i felt drawn to the boy. I then heard a loud thud coming from the bathroom. My curiosity got the better of me. There were three boys, all in my year standing by the far wall. The middle boy was pinning someone to the wall.
"What do you want broken next? Your middle finger or your thumb?" The boy to the left asked. My stomach had twisted at the question.
"Boring" was the reply. It sounded honest, as if what was happening was no big deal. That voice had sounded familiar, though I couldn't place it.
"Hey, leave him alone." I had tried to imitate my dad's military voice.
The boys had turned around giving me a view of the younger boy.
It was Sherlock. His nose was bleeding and had a cut on one cheek and from the sound of it at least one finger was broken.
"Mine your own business Watson." The third boy had said unconcerned.
Sherlock was looking at me as if he expected me to just leave and do nothing.
"Leave him alone."
"Why don't you make us?" The boy that had held Sherlock against a wall challenged.
"Fine, I will."