Back in Shanghai
(sequel to Scars)
It was not the first one. Many nights in a long line of nights were short, shorter than they should. Interrupted by horrifying nightmares. Soul crashing screams, with blood floated worlds, all eating pain and the small voice of a girl asking her mother to wake up.
Sherlock lost his ability to sleep peaceful. He had thought that it would help to talk to John, to tell someone. It helped in a way. John didn't ask any more about the topics of the dreams, he keep him company, didn't push for an answer and waits for Sherlock to talk or they waited together for the morning when the sun of the new morning chases the shadow away.
He was tired. Sherlock tried not to sleep, what wasn't possible and if he sleeps he prefer to do it with John close to him. Another thing that had changed since John knows. He doesn't have to hide it anymore. John had had his own share of nightmares after the war. Sherlock had been there with him, smoothing the sleepless nights John couldn't go back to sleep. Now it was Sherlock who couldn't go back and John keeps him company with a tea made perfectly for him.
"You could try sleeping pills." John offers one morning; he would get it for Sherlock to help, if it helps. Taking drugs is not the best way but he couldn't watch it anymore. Sherlock refused he said it would lock himself away in his head, something he tries to prevent.
"John, Lestrade called he has a case for us." John checks Sherlock with his doctor look but gets up and takes his coat.
Since the incident with the exposed scars had passed a few weeks. Every time they are called to a crime scene the pity and sometimes suspicious looks follow Sherlock who ignores them. John would like to shout at them but he doesn't because Sherlock wouldn't let him.
During the car ride, Sherlock nods off, more than ones. In one of the more awake moments John lays his hand on Sherlock´s shoulder. Surprised by the not so sudden touch he looked at John. "You need to sleep and even if it only for a few hours." Sherlock look and during looking his eyes fell shut maybe to open them again for an answer he had heard him. But they stayed close, John let his hand rest on Sherlock´s shoulder knowing the second the hand is gone he would wake up. He could give his friend a few minutes.
As the cab stops at the address that Lestrade gave them. John takes his hand off Sherlock´s shoulder and gets his wallet to pay the driver. Awake imminently, Sherlock had time to collect himself. They get out of the car together and walk over to the already waiting Lestrade in the doorway.
The crime scene was an old building used from a construction company years ago. Sherlock walks past Lestrade without even saying `hi` and over to the body in the hall, John stops next to Lestrade and watches Sherlock who is looking around the room for clues with tired eyes.
"Is he okay?" Lestrade ask John with a quiet and worried voice. John could lie or be polite but he decided to say the truth or a part of it.
"Not really. He isn't sleeping well and I can´t help him. I don't know how." John sounds desperate and he was desperate. Lestrade was probably helping with the case. "Your case could help. Tiring him out more so that he could break down through exhaustion and sleep." But this point is far behind since a long time, thinks John sadly.
"What´ve you got?" Sherlock shout while checking the victim's hand.
"Unknown female, fifth victim in the fifth week. No ID, no CCTV camera around no witnesses. Nothing. Please tell me you found something. It´s the first one we found that early. The others were at least a week old. This one is two to three hours dead. No prints and it looks like the whole crime scene was floated with bleach. So I guess no DNA. Everything like the others." Lestrade spoke fast to get all important information out to help or not help Sherlock, he was never sure if his consultant used them or just want a bit background noises. Most can be read from Sherlock anyway.
"Who found the victim? The other crime scenes were chosen because the probability that the body would be found was small." Sherlock was at the victims coat pockets.
"A student was looking for some kind of insects or something like that. Told me that abdomen buildings were perfect for that species. Got sick at the front door. Called us and waited for the first team to arrive. A good kid." Sherlock lifted one of his eye brown at the last comment but didn't say anything else.
Sherlock continues his investigation under John watchful and Lestrade´s slightly worried eyes they walk through the hall into a large room, the building must be used as an office before it was used as storage. There are still a few boxes and tables in the corners and on the wall.
Without getting notice, without a making a sound or draw any attention at himself, a shadow came up behind Sherlock who was busy looking around the empty room. The not so empty room had let out the person who had let behind the body and the four before it. Now he had Sherlock in his hands. An arm around Sherlock´s slim body the hand of the other arm, arming with a knife at Sherlock´s neck.
The world stopped. Sherlock froze in shock, as John and Lestrade´s actions to save him are stopped by a threatening move of the knife. Most of the other police officer notices the change in their situation first as Lestrade shouted at a pair that wants to enter to stop.
The suspect didn't say a word just kept the pressure on the knife at Sherlock´s neck. If John wouldn't be so fixed at the knife he would have seen the change in Sherlock´s eyes earlier. But as the detective didn't start to argue with the man that threatens him John lifts his eyes and sees Sherlock. His eyes weren't here. They could have been thousand miles away. John could tell that Sherlock wasn't with them anymore. Nowhere near London or the present day.
"No one moves!" Shouts the man to the already frozen police force, he pushed the knife a bit deeper and a small drop of blood appears on top of the knife.
"Okay, pal. Don't do anything rush. We all want the same." Lestrade lifted his hands to show he is unarmed and steps one step closer to Sherlock and the suspect to get the attention. It could still be that Sherlock does one of his reckless thinks. Lestrade hadn't notice the change in Sherlock´s eyes, he was to focus on the suspect and his negotiations with the man.
"Don't think you want the same as me. I want to leave this place. And your friend here will come with me as insurance." An evil smile hushes over the man´s face. Still no word from Sherlock.
"MOVE." He shouts and during everyone else in the room flinched back Sherlock had moved. Ignoring the knife a fast series of movement following Sherlock takes the knife, brings the man to the ground, who couldn't understand what happens until he felt the pain of being stabbed. Stabbed with his own knife in the shoulder. The man goes silent, Sherlock over the motionless body having a scary look in his eyes.
The room was still frozen but due to a different reason. Sherlock Holmes, the man who can talk himself out of nearly every situation had stabbed a man in front of the whole police department. The first one who could move again and found his voice was John.
"Sherlock?" He called his friend. Sherlock´s head moved in the general direction of John´s voice but it was visible for all of them that he wasn't with them. In a rush Sherlock jumps from the stabbed man, pointing at John with the knife. Blood drops down on the floor and wild eyes were looking for their target. No one moved or did any noise. The silence that had taken over the crime scene was only interrupted by the ragged breathing from the man on the ground.
Sherlock turned and runs in the back part of the building. No one followed.
Run. Hide. Run and hide. They will come. They will hurt you. They will kill you for killing their boss. Hide. Run. Get away as fast and far as you can.
Sherlock´s thoughts where clouded. He was tired he hadn't sleep in days to prevent passing the small change to strike against Chou Ming Wong. Head of the Triade and one of the closed of Moriarty´s network.
The barely illuminated streets of Shanghai flew under his feet as he runs around corners and jumps down stairs. Followed by climbing up buildings to change direction. Sherlock hides in a small alley, behind a trash container next to a closed backdoor of a club. The area was abdomen by this time of night. Every person who wasn't involved in the tirade's doings does everything to prevent passing the path of one of their members.
Sherlock looks down on his hands, red. Red from the blood of his last victim, the one that had caught him as he was nearly safe.
In the dark alley on the dirty ground sits Sherlock, hugging himself with blood covered arms. Hoping they wouldn't find him but he has no better hiding place. His cover was blown the second he pulled the trigger.
Sherlock looks up to the night sky, brown-orange clouded hide the stars but he imagen the sky he had once seen with John by his side.
John, he misses John.
John knows exactly what have happened, he wonders that it didn't happen sooner. A flashback and to whatever place it had brought Sherlock, he was surrounded by enemies, he was scared and a possible danger for everyone around.
"Greg. Take you men out. Please, I have to calm down Sherlock." Already walking into the direction his friend had run off.
"John, what happened there? Explain it." Greg demands but still signals his team to leave.
"He… Sherlock has probably a flashback or something like that. Must be triggered by the knife. The man should survive. Take him away. I will deal with Sherlock." Greg nods while John walks slowly in Sherlock´s direction.
Someone is coming. There are steps at the entre of the alley. They will find him. They will find a way to hurt him. To hurt the people he tries to protect.
Sherlock doesn't move a single cell even breathing could give away his hiding place.
He should have waited longer but he was so tired. He wants to go home and he wants to sleep and forget everything. Everything he saw. Everything he did. Everything that will follow. Because whoever comes around the corner and will find him and has to die too. He couldn't stop now. Just a few more jobs. A few more targets to eliminate. To erase from their existence.
The steps are carful, to not be heard by him. But Sherlock could hear them. Closer and closer, too close.
John finds Sherlock under an old office table behind a wall of boxes. Hugging himself with shaking limbs. Sherlock looks broken there was no other word for. He had thought the picture of a broken man was the one his friend had after his scars were discovered but this is another league.
"Sherlock? Can you hear me?" John keeps his distance to prevent injuries by Sherlock if he slashes out and to give the already distressed detective space. "You are in London with me, John. You do know me?" Sherlock didn't move as if he hadn't heard him.
John remembers his own flashbacks, a prisoner of the past and his own mind. The one who helped him most was Sherlock. After waking up from a nightmare and still in the dessert it was Sherlock´s violin play that showed him the way back. Faster and easier as any of his therapist or witnesses of his attacks in the past. Their voices hadn't help, nothing had helped him to find his way back to his reality. John needs to find something to bring Sherlock back. The only thing that came to his mind was talking to him. But he was not sure his voice would reach him.
"Listen to me Sherlock. You are safe. No one will hurt you. There is no one around that is a threat. Sherlock you are back. Back in London with me." John continues to talk to Sherlock in a quiet and soft voice but still strong and demanding. To get Sherlock back to him, from whatever hell he was locked in.
The person had stopped, why? Why isn't he coming closer to get me?
"Sherlock."
Who is that and why does he know my name. That voice is familiar somehow. But where had I heard it before. Why is the voice warm and … John. That is John´s voice but John can´t be here. John is in London and I am in Shanghai, hiding. It can´t be John but why is the person that sounds like John calling my name. Why?
It sounds like English. It's a long time since I spoke or heard something in English. I miss it. Never thought you could miss a language. But after all this time away Sherlock misses nearly everything. He would prefer to be at a crime scene with Anderson and Donavan if it would mean that he is back in London.
"Sherlock"
All the other words are lost somewhere in the translation but his name, his name spoken with John´s voice that reached him. What if it really is John? What if he is telling him something important and he had forgotten how to listen to John´s words.
Why is this so hard? Sherlock wishes to go back. To leave this place where everyone is his enemy. Where everything can lead to danger, hurt or death. He wants to forget the feeling of blood on his hands and pain in his soul.
Feeling a tear run down his face he sighs defeated. He won´t make it home. The person in front of him is ether an enemy that will hurt him or a hallucination. He can just wait and hope for a quick death.
"Sherlock"
His name again. "John?" Sherlock lifts his head to look into the eyes of the person in front of him. But all he sees in the dark alley is a human-shaped shadow.
The whispered sound of his Name was barely hearable between John´s smoothing words for Sherlock but his friend had heard him and looks at him. "Yes Sherlock it´s me, it´s John." John kneed down to be on the same height as Sherlock but he keeps his distance. Who knows what might trigger a reaction.
"Sherlock you can hear me, right?" A nod from Sherlock. "But you can´t see me." Again a nod. "Then please, trust me. You are save back in London. On a crime scene with me and Lestrade. Close your eyes and listen to my voice. If your eyes are playing a trick on you. Where ever you think you are, it´s not true." Sherlock seem to understand John because his eyes slowly close. "Now breathe with me, calm down. Feel the ground under your body. Take your hand to feel the material of the floor." John speaks quietly, Sherlock does as ask. Long, shaking fingers touch the floor. The hand with the knife was still very close to his body.
"Sherlock can you give me the knife, please?" The hand tights around the knife´s shaft. "It´s evidence and we don't want it to be contaminated, right." The words must have stuck a nerve. He turns the knife to present the shaft for John to take it.
"I´m not Anderson." Sherlock grumbles but he can't hide his shaking hands. John takes it and secures it behind him.
"Tell me Sherlock. Where are you right now?" John hopes with Sherlock talking about the past, the flashback, the hallucination wherever he is would lead him back to the present. Back to John. Lestrade walks up behind John and takes the knife, much to John´s joy. Lestrade disappears again to not interrupt the scene between the two. Knowing that he can't help. One dangerous thing less in reach. Not that the highly trained killer Sherlock wasn't a weapon himself. But what else is to expect after hunting down monstesr for such a long time. John was a no longer in shape trained killer but he wouldn't mention this now. Or ever.
"Why? It´s not real." Sherlock sounds as defeated as the last time they needed to talk about the past.
"Because it was real." John doesn't need to say more.
"Shanghai. Few weeks before I got … caught in …Serbia." The memory of the time in this cell is still very real but after understanding that John was with him the time line of his memory was back. He understands he is not in Shanghai. He is in London and between the two was Serbia. No way to forget this experience. "I had to ki… eliminated a Triade boss, heavily protected. I was tired and wanted to go home. I was so close. I used the first real opportunity. Of course they were behind me. I had to kill a few of the men to get away and my hands.. my hands John look at them they are covered in blood." To demonstrate Sherlock lifts his hands and yes there was blood on them. Blood from the man Sherlock nearly killed to protect himself. "Their blood. I leave behind a trail of dead bodies." John takes Sherlock´s hand, the blood is also on his hands now. But it doesn't matter.
"Sherlock open your eyes and come back to me. Shanghai is part of a past you had chosen to protect the people you love. No one will judge you for that." John gets closer, so close that their foreheads can touch. "Look at our hands. We both have it. We both chose the life our loved ones over the life of another. I will choose to save you every time over any criminal. Believe me and I´m very glad you are able to protect yourself. Who knows what could have happen if you hadn't take the weapon from the suspect." While John speaks Sherlock open his eyes and looks down on their joint hands. Feeling the warmth of John and the disappearing wetness of drying blood on their hands.
They breathe together, Sherlock´s panicked heartbeat slows while bathing in John´s presence. The hands that are holding his are no longer the hands of a stranger or worse an enemy, there are John´s. Sherlock is back. Back in London with John. The memories of Shanghai, of the people who hunt him, who he hurt fall into the background. The building gets his colors again. Also John is no longer the dark figure who could hurt him. Sherlock sighs. Not a nice feeling to have a flashback.
"Sherlock?" He hums to signal John he had heard him. "Do you think you can stand up, so we can get out of here. You will become very tired very soon and I would prefer if you crush at home." Sherlock hesitates.
"What is with the … suspect I have attacked?" John pushes his head up to meet their eyes.
"The man that attacked YOU is in hospital and if you hadn't been so nice to him I would be the one that had killed him. He hurt you. You have a long slash on your neck. He could have killed you. It was self-defense. And no one is stopping me to bring you home. Understand." Sherlock understands nods and gets lead out of the building under the protective eyes of Captain John Watson. As safe as it gets.