*Waves* Hi!
So I had been reading a lot of fics lately how Sherlock secretly marries John and thought what if it was the other way around? I also wanted a kidnapped fic so I combined the two.
And I just realized that this is my 100th story posted on this site! I want to give a huge thanks to everyone who is a follower of my work and I have enjoyed writing these so much and can't wait to be posting some more.
Sorry for any mistakes and I hope that you all enjoy.
Summary: "Sign this," John's voice infiltrated Sherlock's mind and momentarily distracting him from the experiment he was currently conducting under his microscope. He quickly calculated the pros and cons of asking John what he was singing and whether it would involve a lengthy discussion that would most likely end in an argument on what was appropriate or not.
Sign This
"Sign this," John's voice infiltrated Sherlock's mind and momentarily distracting him from the experiment he was currently conducting under his microscope. He quickly calculated the pros and cons of asking John what he was singing and whether it would involve a lengthy discussion that would most likely end in an argument on what was appropriate or not. He was at a critical moment with his experiment, which would determine if his current suspect was in fact the murderer.
Without lifting his eyes he held out his palm. "Pen." When the small weight was put in his palm he curled his fingers around the pen, positioned his fingers correctly and hovered. He heard the paper slide across the table and he lowered his hand, singing his name and flicked the pen away.
"Thanks," John said as he picked up the paper and moved in search of the pen.
Sherlock merely grunted and the transaction completely left his brain as he focused entirely back on the slide of carpet he was currently examining.
Four Months Later
As John broke into consciousness, his cotton-filled mind sluggishly recognized gunfire. His first thought was Oh God, I'm still at war. Automatically his body responded to threat. He pried open his eyes, blinking away the cotton the clouded them. At first he couldn't process was he was seeing. He didn't recognize anything and his senses were telling him that he wasn't in Afghanistan. He squeezed his eyes shut and tried to have a sensible thought but it was hard to grasp just one.
Another burst of gunfire stopped any thoughts all together and his body moved on autopilot once again. He tried to sit up but found it nearly impossible. As he moved sharp pain flared through his shoulder. His old bullet wound protested vehemently, even causing John to see white. He felt as if someone had shot him again in the exact same place. He gritted his teeth as his body slowly allowed him to catalogue all the other pain that was currently coursing through it. His leg was cramping painfully, the muscle in a tight knot that would no doubt make his limp no longer psychosomatic. His wrists were burning and slick as the rope that bound him all together cut painfully into his skin.
He was sure it was the trauma of the situation that made him think I should be an expert in being kidnapped by now.
As more muffled gunfire happened outside the room, John attempted to get himself loose. It appeared, however, that the kidnappers knew what they were doing for every inch that John tried to maneuver the ropes pain flared through him, making his desert parched throat rasp out a gasp. As his mind fought against the cloud that was slowly lifting he knew he had been drugged. So much in fact that he couldn't remember how he had even managed to get kidnapped in the first place.
"John!"
I know that voice, John thought. His drug-addled brain suggested that it was an old army buddy but John fought his brain on that. His army mates had never had such a deep, soothing, comforting, sexy voice as this one did.
"John!"
Are you sure? John's brain asked.
Of course I'm bloody sure, John argued with himself. It's…it's cheekbones.
Cheekbones? His brain scoffed. Next you'll be talking about turning your coat collar up.
Only Sherlock does that. Sherlock! John triumphantly crowed. I told you it wasn't an army buddy.
A door banged open and John flinched, his body screaming in protest as he reacted instinctively to get away from the unknown assailant.
"John!"
Sherlock's voice was a lot clearer now and soon hands were gently touching him, coaxing him to relax.
Blinking his eyes open, John's gaze focused on the erratic dark curls that were brushing his cheek.
"Sherlock," He croaked out barley above a whisper.
"John," Sherlock's voice sounded loaded with relief and the thought made John's brain smile. "The paramedics are coming. Just hold on a little longer."
"Sure," John whispered, eyes sliding shut again.
"Eyes open, John. Keep them on me," Sherlock voice was commanding as usual and John wanted to snort but couldn't quite draw the breath to do it.
He did as he was asked though and his eyes fluttered open again. "Bossy cheekbones."
Nice one, his brain high fived him and he promptly passed out again.
Lestrade could hardly keep up with Sherlock's long strides as they all but jogged through the hospital. It had been five days since John had been kidnapped. Lestrade had never seen Sherlock so emotional before. The consulting detectives face was drawn and pale, dark circles under his eyes that made him look villainous. He had lashed out viciously at everyone and Lestrade couldn't stop him from turning up at the docks.
He wasn't sure where Sherlock had gotten the gun from but he would never forget the malicious expression Sherlock had worn as he tried to gun down every man involved in the kidnapping of John Watson.
The relief on Sherlock's face when they had found John was like nothing that Lestrade had ever seen. Although the consulting detective would deny it later on, Lestrade had seen tears on his face and the raw panic when John had passed out again.
Only seven more hours and John would have been shipped off with the rest of the human bodies the kidnappers where trafficking and most likely never would have been found again. Lestrade didn't want to even imagine what Sherlock would have been like had that have happened.
"John Watson's room, now," Sherlock barked, glaring at the young nurse behind her station.
"Sherlock," Lestrade sighed tiredly.
"Sherlock, you're husband is right through here, follow me," the nurse said with a smile.
Lestrade fatigued brain thought the nurse had said husband. He looked at Sherlock who had frozen, swaying on the spot and Lestrade wondered if maybe they had both heard the word husband.
As the door opened though Sherlock was in with a whirl of his coat.
Lestrade followed, smiling at the nurse as she held the door open to the private room that Mycroft had made sure had been available. Looking at John on the bed, he winced. Looking at the ex-army man Lestrade was sure he was in for a few painful months of recovery.
"He's just finished having his stomach pumped from the cocktail of drugs he was given," the nurse said. "His wrists had to be stitched as the rope he was bound with cut in too deeply. He'll recover but it will be a long time and he will need physiotherapy."
Sherlock, who had pulled up a chair as close as he could to the bed, said nothing but simply stared at John.
Lestrade turned and leaned in closer to the nurse. "I must be barmy from the lack of sleep but did you say Sherlock was John's husband?"
The nurse smiled at him sympathetically. "No, you heard me correctly. I have it right here that Sherlock Holmes and John Watson are in a civil partnership."
Lestrade gaped at Sherlock who was still staring at the Doctor. "Bloody hell, Sherlock. Why didn't you tell me you two got married?" It certainly explained while Sherlock had nearly flown off the rails in his frantic search to find John. "Hell, why didn't you invite me? I thought we were, well maybe not friends, but at least close enough to be invited."
"I didn't know," Sherlock said quietly.
Lestrade blinked. "What do you mean you didn't know?"
"I didn't know John and I were married," Sherlock said, his voice barely above a mumble.
"Christ," Lestrade muttered and rubbed a hand over his face. He left the nurse, who was watching the whole exchange with wide eyes and a gaping mouth, and pulled up the other chair in the room and sat down heavily. "Right, start from the beginning."
Sherlock looked up with a scowl. "There is no beginning. This is the first time I'm hearing of our marriage."
Lestrade blink. "You hadn't noticed anything different with your relationship?"
"Nothing has changed," Sherlock snapped. He looked away from Lestrade and back to John, his expression softening but there was still the lingering confusion and anger.
"Christ," Lestrade muttered again and slumped further down on his chair.
When John woke next the drugs had left him system, apart from the sweet temptress morphine, and his mind was feeling a lot clearer. As he blinked open his eyes they adjusted more quickly and he was pleased to find that he was no longer bound but lying in a semi-comfortable bed in a hospital.
"Finally," Sherlock voice stopped his observations.
"Sherlock," John got out, his voice croaking with the lack of use and the fact his mouth was so dry he was afraid his mouth was starting to flake. He smacked his lips in an attempt to find any moisture.
Sherlock, of course, saw this and appeared right in front of John's face holding a cup with a straw. Sherlock gently threaded the straw through his cracked lips and John managed a few small sips before Sherlock was pulling it away.
"Thanks," John said, his voice sounding much stronger now. "Are you okay?"
"Am I-" Sherlock pale face contorted into a frown. "I should be asking you that." Sherlock huffed. "Don't be an idiot the moment you've woken up."
John smiled briefly before his cracked lips protested too much and he had to stop. "I would have thought you would have deduced how I am while I was out. How long was I out for?"
"You've been missing for five days and been in hospital for another two," Sherlock answered him promptly and factually. "You are covered in extensive bruising and your wrists had to be stitched. Overall you will recover physically but mentally is unknown at this point."
John nodded and felt the action through his bad shoulder and immediately stopped. "I knew you would find me."
"How?" Sherlock asked. "How did you know? Why did you believe I would find you?"
John frowned at the sudden change conversation and wondered if he had a little too much morphine flowing through his system. "What do you mean how? You're brilliant. A genius. Of course I knew you could find me."
Sherlock shook his head and looked away. "I didn't even know we were married," he scoffed. "How could you have faith in me that I would find you?"
"Sherlock," John said gently. He winced as the IV tugged at his arm as he moved it to cover the consulting detectives hand that was resting on the edge of the bed. "You weren't supposed to know."
Sherlock blinked. "I don't understand."
"I did it without you're knowledge," John said and then flinched. "Okay, that sounds bad. What I mean is that you have rights if you were my husband. Access to me in a hospital for when…well, for when this happens."
"This won't be happening again," Sherlock growled, eyes snapping back to John's. "Never again."
John squeezed his hand as much as he could but it was hardly more than a brief flutter against Sherlock's skin.
"It has other benefits as well," John said and he cleared his throat. "You said, when we first met, that you were married to your work. I just thought, well, since we work together, that I was apart of that and I've completely buggered haven't I?"
"John," Sherlock breathed, his eyes lighting up. "You are brilliant!" and he swooped down and covered John's lips with his own.
The heart monitor spike and John felt his cheeks colouring but he didn't care. He in no way was expecting this to happen so it was rather a nice surprise. Too soon for his liking Sherlock was pulling away, a broad smile on his face.
"How did you do it without me knowing?" Sherlock asked.
"Ah," John said, feeling proud and smug. "Remember you were doing an experiment and I asked you to sign something."
"No."
John rolled his eyes, ignoring the pain it caused. He suddenly felt exhausted. "I'll tell you about it later."
"Sleep," Sherlock said as John's eyes closed. He leant down and brushed a small kiss across his bloggers lips.
"Bossy Cheekbones," John slurred.
Nice one, his brain supplied and high fived him.
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