A/N: Well here's chapter three. I don't really have a set time of when I will update this story, but if you want a set one (because you're just that kind of person) then let me know! Also this story is just going to get darker and darker, so be prepared.
Disclaimer: You all know I don't own Sherlock.
John sat in the chair his back aching. He was watching Sherlock, protecting him from the devil. He watched Sherlock's thin chest rise and fall slowly, looking almost peaceful. Mycroft had put the cameras back into the flat, strictly for his little brother's protection. Sherlock was curled into a ball on his bed, blankets pulled closely to him. He looked so tiny, innocent, and carefree.
If the ex-soldier didn't know any better, he would think his friend was just fine. Too bad he knew better though. The sun creeps into the room, waking Sherlock up. He groans softly, wiping his eyes. He turns to face John and smiles softly.
"How'd you sleep?" John asks.
"Better." Sherlock replies, shrugging his thin shoulders.
"No nightmares?"
"No nightmares."
"That's good. Well I'm gonna go make breakfast now." John touches his friend's shoulder then leaves the room. Quickly he whips up some eggs and coffee, knowing Sherlock and him are going to need the protein.
The two sit down and eat, making small conversation. John tells Sherlock he has to go to the store and the younger man tenses. Oh right, he didn't want to be alone.
"Hey, you'll be fine. Mycroft had cameras all over the flat, remember? Plus I'll only be gone for an hour or so, then we spend the rest of the day together. Good deal?" Sherlock nods, fear still behind his eyes. John grabs his coat and keys, but Sherlock stops him. "What, mate?" The detective hesitates for a moment.
"Don't be too long."
"I won't."
"Promise?" Sherlock asks, his voice so small and innocent.
"I promise. Be careful, Sher." John waves and leaves the flat. He thinks about the look in Sherlock's eyes. How scared they had been. How innocent and fragile. It was as if Sherlock was afraid something would happen to him while John was gone. As if something bad was going to happen to him while he was alone. But nothing was going too. Mycroft had that entire place wired, Moriarty couldn't even glance at the flat for a second without the government official knowing.
John takes his time shopping, trying to find the right ingredients for dinner. He was planning on making lasagna, Sherlock's favorite. He runs into Sarah while shopping and the two chat and have lunch together. They weren't together anymore, but they were still good friends. She was always a pleasure to talk with, always smiling and making jokes. It was nice for the doctor to get his mind off of Sherlock for a half-hour.
After lunch John leaves the deli and takes a cab ride home. He notices Mrs. Hudson is gone when he gets back to the flat, but a little not saying: Had to meet sister down town. Be back soon, love!, shoves his worries away. The ex-soldier laughs and goes up the stairs, whistling to himself. Today was a good day for him. He opens the flat door, surprised by how quiet it was. Sherlock must have been sleeping.
"Sherlock, I'm back. Get your lazy butt up and help me with these groceries!" He yells, entertaining the flat. He drops the bags when he sees the state of the place. Papers and boxes were thrown on the floor. Even his chair was flipped over. The science equipment on the table was smashed and scattered all over the room. The ex-soldier could hear some sort of substance sizzling as it melted a giant hole in the table.
He yells for Sherlock, a small once of hope in his heart that is friend was at least semi-okay. Sherlock's bedroom room door was open, scratches across it. John looks closer and sees its scratches from finger nails of a person who was being dragged. He also notices slightly fresh blood on it. He swallows and enters the bedroom.
The sight he sees confirms him that Sherlock was not okay.
The dresser was flipped over and Sherlock's clothes were all across the floor, making it nearly impossible to see the carpet below. The pictures on the walls were smashed, including the one with him and Sherlock. It was the day they had gone to the detectives parent's wedding anniversary.
John had wine and cake all over his suit, while Sherlock had all of that on his suit also and his face and dark curls were covered in the white icing. The two were smiling like two mischievous children who had stolen and cookie, then successfully had gotten away with it. John remembered that food fight, though it has taken Sherlock a week to wash all of the cake out of his hair.
John pulls himself from the good memory and looks at the sheets. They once white sheets now had blood stains on them, making John sick because of how much there was and the fact that he knew exactly who's it was. He notices Sherlock's smashed cellphone, guessing that the younger man had probably had tried to call someone for help, but his phone had been destroyed by his captors to prevent him from doing so.
A note lays next to the phone with large and playful letters written on it. He picks it up and reads it, his blood beginning to boil with anger. The six letter note was enough to make John hit the wall, knowing he had failed the duties of protecting from getting Sherlock hurt more. God, this was all of his fault.
I missed my pet soo much! -JM
Oh no Sherlock was taken! Aren't I a jerk? ;) Oh well, this was fun to write, well not "fun" but at least it occupied some of my time. Updates will come more often if more people review. *hint hint* Gah, just review my story, okay? Thanks!