Sherlock grinned as he got off the plane. John was still on the runway, he didn't know.
"What the hell Sherlock?!"
Ok so maybe he did know.
"You knew this was going to happen," John was angry. Sherlock grinned; John was kind of hot when he got angry. Not that he would tell him of course, if it wasn't for Mary disrupting his plans.
"Hello Sherlock," Sherlock said mockingly "I've missed you ohh so very much" John rolled his eyes and Sherlock winked. The doctor cocked his head and shook it as he bit his lip.
"Glad to have you back, brother," Mycroft said regretfully.
Suddenly, without warning, as if Sherlock returning from the dead wasn't alarming enough, there was a loud explosion. The plane blew up huge orange flames and black smoke licked the sky. Time appeared to slow as Sherlock grabbed John and pulled him down into the hard tarmac. John clenched his eyes shut, trying not to bring back dark memories of Afghanistan. Mycroft opened up his black umbrella; he looked down to see his brother…. And his 'lover', he grimaced. He strolled away, the small debris burning holes in his umbrella.
"Get down! Everything's going to be alright," John clung to Sherlock, who held his head in his chest. Another explosion.
"Aaaghhh," Sherlock screamed in agony as a piece of shrapnel sunk deep into his lower back, shielding john's abdomen. Deperatly trying to get from under Sherlock, John put his Afghan memories aside as he fought to save Sherlock's life. He ripped off Sherlock's famous coat and applied pressure to the wound. His skin was paling and he struggled to keep his eyes open. "Can't breathe," Sherlock gasped.
"Umm" John weaved his fingers through his hair, Sherlock was going into shock- for the second time… this time it might not work out… no, he couldn't think of it. "Right, Sherlock I'm going to need you to breathe deeply, I know you can breathe or you wouldn't have been able to speak. Air passes through the lungs to the voice box, you know" John tore off Sherlock's shirt. "Come on stay with me!"
Another explosion ripped through the runway sending small shock waves to the victims on the ground, Johns ears rang as hard as the bells on his wedding day- except more high pitched and deafening. "Sherlock! Stay with me you arrogant bastard! You've already left me once, please spare me another funeral."
The detective's eyes began to close.
"Sherlock!" John bit his lip and tears pricked his eyes. "Sherlock," he whispered.
The hospital was blurry as Sherlock opened his eyes. His back hurt like hell and it was difficult to move being attached to so many wires. He realised he had been in this position before, only a few months back and instinctively reached for the morphine control. His eyes rested on a blurry figure sitting in a chair next to his bed. The man was asleep and looked so peaceful, but the lines on his face and the bags under his eyes said otherwise. He smiled, Sherlock knew that jumper from anywhere. John murmured in his sleep, Sherlock looked fondly at him, he was relived John was ok, even if he wasn't. The silence of sleep was broken; Mrs Hudson burst through the blind covered door carrying what looked like edible content.
"Oh, my God Sherlock! What in heaven's name have you got up to this time?!" She rushed over to the man's side, looked full of pity for the broken man and noticed his friend or lover - as she would much rather call him - who stirred quietly on his chair "Aww, poor thing's been here for days, hasn't left the hospital once; talk about dedication."
John's eyes battered open. He sighed and shook his head "Why did you do it Sherlock?" he said with a voice full of sorrow.
"What do you mean?" came a gruff reply of a man intent on burrowing away in his sheets.
"You didn't have to do it, you know,"
"I'm your," Sherlock sucked in a deep breath, "I'm your friend," there was a slight twang inside his chest. "You're my best friend… my only friend."
"You could have died!"
"Oh for heaven's sake here you go again," Sherlock sank back into his pillow
"Why would you-"
"I-I'm going to go," said Mrs Hudson quietly, sensing the tension "I better get you a nurse now you're awake. Boys please don't fight. John don't kill him now he's just woken up, that would be a waste of good tax payer's money."
"A waste of- a bloody big waste of tax payer's money, because that's what matters!" Sherlock's voice rose.
"Sherlock," John tried.
"Oh go to hell!" shouted Sherlock and pulled up the sheets around him, so he wouldn't have to face the one he cared so much about, in such an angry manner.
"Well the blueberry muffins are on the side…" the woman called, "I'm not staying for a domestic."
"We are not a couple!" Shouted John. Mrs Hudson pursed her lips, offended, and slammed the door as she left.
Not a couple. Sherlock's heart sank lower than titanic in his gut; he couldn't even look at him.
"I'm sorry Sherlock; I'm just a bit stressed, with the baby coming and all,"
"Of course, the baby," Sherlock spat.
"Look," John took his hand, "I am really grateful for what you did, I really am… I just don't like seeing you hurt," Sherlock burrowed his face into the pillow, when he didn't reply, regretfully, John left.
The rhythmic pounding came from inside Mycroft's office. At it again Gregory Lestrade thought as he walked past the fish tank in the hall and snuck into Mycroft's office. His running machine was facing his desk and he was listening to music - so he wouldn't hear a thing.
"BOO!" Greg shouted, Mycroft jumped, span round and was spat off the running machine. He swore. "Hahaha! Doing a little shaping up are we?" Greg said teasingly, helping him up off the floor.
"Well I was, until you rudely interrupted me," he smiled a rare smile. Greg wrapped his arms around him.
"Oooo sweaty man, I like," he winked mockingly and they kissed.
"So," Mycroft said, tracing around Greg's neck with his finger. "What are you doing here?"
"It's Saturday,"
"So?" He smiled seductively.
"It's my day off, more to the point - why do I have to drive all across town so I can find my work-obsessed fiancée doing the same thing he could be doing at home?"
"I do wish you'd stop complaining, the whole reason why I'm working-out is for you."
"Tell me again, when I can next see this well - chiselled body of yours,"
"You just have to ask," Mycroft whispered, "So, what did you need me for?"
"I think you know the answer to that," he walked over to the door, shutting it quietly.
"Hello sleepy head," Mycroft kissed Greg. They were on an old fashioned settee, still in the office. It was late-afternoon and the orange rays warmed Lestrade's coat - the only thing coving them.
"What time is it?" Greg said rolling on top of Mycroft, who sighed with pleasure. Greg sat up and slowly leaned across to kiss Mycroft again, their bodies rubbing together as he did so.
"I'm never… going to get… any work…huhh… done," shuddered Mycroft in between a wet kiss. Greg slowly worked his hand lower and Mycroft closed his eyes and groaned.
"Well after working me, I'll return the favour. Screw work when you can screw me." Greg breathed in his lover's sent. They squeezed and pulled together as if their bodies were as one.
Suddenly the sound of footsteps coming from the corridor broke them apart. Two, maybe three people. Lestrade grabbed his coat quickly pulling it on, whilst Mycroft didn't bother with pants and quickly buttoned his shirt. There was a knock.
"Just a minute," Mycroft called, but the person entered anyway. A man in a grey tailored suit stood before the couple, his hair slicked back as glossy as the menacing smile that plagued his eyes.
"Miss me?"