Chapter 2. Where John gets a little… carried away?

Disclaimer: I do not own Sherlock. (Although I wish I did…)

This fanfiction is the result of a bored fan girl and AN amazing quote/fanfiction idea from YYHfan-KB.

Unfortunately, I do not own Sherlock. BBC does… For now… *maniac like cackling*

John was a little annoyed. A week. A week since Sherlock had been kidnapped, a week of fretting- no, worrying- phoning, talking, querying and punching had come to nothing. He still had no idea where Sherlock was.

Punching, you ask?

Yes well, John had attempted to ask several could be kidnappers if they had heard of or seen Sherlock. He had been very polite as well. But it couldn't be helped, John's patience had been increasingly running out, and being told by one of the could be kidnappers to 'F*** off and stop wasting our time about your missing boyfriend' had just… asked for it.

John punched him. To relieve stress, he told himself later. But the could be kidnapper's gang hadn't been too pleased about their boss being knocked out, and one guy had attempted to knock him out with a baseball bat.

Attempted, was the keyword.

John looked up at the guy who had attempted to kill him. Really now, how stupid could people get?

Trying to bash a soldier's brains in? Fool. Trying to bash a soldier who knew Kung Fu, was a black belt in karate and kendo and was a runner up in a worldwide boxing championship brains in?

You Anderson, you.

John turned suddenly, his fist making direct contact with the guy's head. He then spun on one leg, neatly karate kicking two more thugs into the garbage cans. He then neatly body-slammed the last thug into the concrete pavement.

John looked over the bodies of the gang members approvingly, and walked away with a self-satisfied smirk on his face.

However, all the violence had come to nought. Sherlock had not been found, and as much as John had been appreciating to rare peace and quiet and 221B Baker's Street, he had to admit he missed Sherlock's company. He wasn't pining or anything, no. Of course not! That would be… like a lost puppy…

Anyways… as a result of the stress and annoyance… John wasn't in the best of moods when a assassin dressed all in black tried to jump him in the park. So… John may have 'lost it'. Just slightly.

Any way… Half an hour later, the assassin was in hospital under emergency care and John was in a police cell.

"Now Mr Watson, I'm fully aware that you have been under a little stress lately…"

"A little?"

A lot of explanations later, John was finally free to go, and the first thing he did was to visit the assassin in hospital. Bad idea. Very bad idea.

John walked into the hospital room and looked at the bedridden assassin. John gave him a smile. A predatory, shit-eating smirk. John sat down beside the assassin, delicately ignoring how the assassin was scrabbling at the walls as far away from John as possible, desperately trying to run away.

'How are you, good sir?' John purred, trying not to let his annoyance take over, and once again pummel the assassin into a bloody mess. 'I trust you are well?'

The assassin's head quickly bobbed up and down.

'That's good to hear. Oh, I brought you some flowers as a … apology…' John graciously smiled at the assassin, pretending to not see how the assassin was trembling violently.

'But I have question for you… I trust you do not mind…?' John's smile did not waver, but his eyes had an added steely glint to them, as if warning the assassin, 'if you do not comply, I may be forced to make you… in various 'painful' ways'.

The assassin shook his head violently, looking at John with eyes full of fear.

John smiled. 'Then, pray tell… Who sent you? And, did this have anything to do with the sudden disappearances of Sherlock Holmes, Gregory Lestrade, 'Sylvia' Anderson and Sally Donovan?'

The assassin froze.

Bull's Eye, thought John grimly.

'Then, as the answer is an apparent yes… I repeat, who sent you, and where are the kidnapped now?'

The assassin shook his head violently.

'Oh, I see. Not willing to say?"

The assassin nodded.

'Too bad… I guess we're just going to have to do this the hard way, right?'

John got to his feet, advancing slowly towards the assassin.

In the end, John had gotten the information out of the assassin, a good thing. However, his hand really hurt. He'd gotten out of practice…

John hailed a cab on the main street, and gave the directions to the cab driver. He was heading towards the warehouses in South London, intending to pay Sherlock's kidnappers an impromptu visit. He was feeling quite relieved to have Sherlock back soon. He'd never thought he'd say this, but 221B Baker's street had gotten quite boring without Sherlock. Lost in his thoughts, John didn't notice as the taxi driver stop in front of some warehouses, with truck lifts and lorries in front of them.

"Sir? We're here." John thanked the cabbie, as he clambered out. "Wait here, will you? I'm just off to visit some friends." John gave the cabbie a sinister smile. "Of c-course sir." The cabbie replied, stuttering.

John smiled.

As he walked towards the ware house doors, out of the corner of his eye he could see something moving. He turned his head just in time to see a truck lift being driven towards him at top speed.

John cursed, and flung himself aside just in time. The truck lift drove past, and John ran after it. As the truck lift slowed to turn, John pulled himself up by the left wing mirror and swiftly wrapped his free hand around the driver's neck. Of course, he did this after karate kicking the window, effectively shattering it. After all, it made no sense to further injure his right hand. "Now…" John purred, "This isn't a very nice way to greet a guest now, is it?" The petrified driver could only shake his head in response.

Sherlock's POV

"What's taking John so long?" Sherlock moaned, whacking his head against the stone wall of the warehouse.

"Shut up, freak. I bet the doctor is at home, drinking tea, warm and safe. Not chained to a psychopath in a cold freezing warehouse with loony kidnappers. Who'd come and rescue you?" Anderson spat at him.

"Deductions and facts show that John has an attachment to me as a colleague. Plus, he's an army doctor. Soldiers like things to be the same, disruption in John's life would make him uncomfortable. I being away for so long without explanation would have been noticed by anyone. Then again, something could be staring you in the face, wearing neon yellow clothing, waving a placard the size of Mount Everest and you still wouldn't realise. Please do not compare John to the likes of you. Oh, and for your information, I'm a sociopath, not a psychopath. Get your facts right." Sherlock smirked at the silently seething Anderson.

"Ladies, ladies… You're both pretty. Please, let's discuss this like adults." Lestrade said, attempting to smooth things over.

"Lestrade, if you find Anderson pretty, you're madder than Moriarty. If you think Anderson and I are ladies… I suggest you see some people wearing white lab coats. We're clearly men. Then again… Anderson…"

"Sherlock!"

"What?"

"Well, that wasn't very nice, was it?"

"Nice is boring."

"You were being insulting to both Anderson and me."

"I think you'll find it's 'I'."

"…" Lestrade glared at Sherlock.

"…" Sherlock simply smirked.

"Anderson is a guy, Sherlock…"

"No."

"What do you mean, no?!"

"Deductions show that Anderson is a woman. Her first name is Sylvia."

"Where did you get Sylvia from?"

"Her driving license. Her name is S Anderson, and her gender states female." Sherlock declared.

"Sherlock that was just some lads from the Met messing around with a Sharpie."

"I'll prove it. Anderson, come here." Sherlock grabbed a fistful of Anderson's clothing and dragged him towards him. Sherlock put his hand on Anderson's chest.

"Flat chested… This proves nothing. I'll check underneath…"

Anderson fainted.

"Sherlock! What did you do?"

"Got Anderson to shut up."

"You brought this up just to make Anderson faint?" Lestrade gave Sherlock an incredulous look.

"Yes, I thought it might get him to shut up."

"Well, it worked…" Lestrade sounded just a tad admiring…

"Yes… But I shan't be using this technique again."

"Why ever not?"

"It took too long. Much quicker just to hit him around the head."

Review please! Next chapter will be final one…