A/N; Today's Superheroes! Mine's more of a superpower au, but potayto potauto. I'll do my best to catch up so I can actually finish at the last of the month like I planned, but if I don't post it's because finals are the devil. That said, any mistakes or plot holes or idiotbits are completely mine and probably because of said finals.
This fic…okay, so I started doing RP's with my dearest friend Rainy and I discovered that I have a huge thing for John getting hurt. I don't even know, man. So if you're wondering where the sudden John whump came from…yeah. That's it.
FYI, if you're not following Rainy's challenge…doooooo it. Seriously. She is an amazing writer and god, her fics are like chocolate for your brain. Just do it. Do it. *evil eye* DO IT.
Ay, these finals are frying my brain.
Ta,
Anonymoustache
"Shit!"
John stares angrily at the dead end and puts his hands on his knees, breathing heavily. He turns to look at Sherlock. "I thought you said this one went all the way through!"
Sherlock's eyes are wide. "I thought it did!"
Footsteps echo distantly, rough voices shouting ominously.
John turns to Sherlock, eyes determined.
Sherlock knows what he's going to ask. "No. John, absolutely not. I am not leaving you alone to deal with my mistake."
John glares at him. "If you don't, I'll never forgive you."
Sherlock looks at him despondently. Suddenly, the voices come perilously close and shadows fall over the pavement at the beginning of the alley. "Down here!"
John tilts his head and gives Sherlock a steely look. "Do it. Now."
Sherlock takes a deep breath and looks sorrowfully at John. The next moment, he's gone.
"Well, hello there, elusive."
John whirls around to find four big, burly men staring at him. One is standing in the forefront of the group, brandishing a heavy-looking baton and grinning.
He walks forward and goes in a circle around John. "Where's your detective friend? He's the one we really want to see."
John looks at him with an unwavering glare and says in an offhanded voice, "I don't know."
The man abruptly slams the baton into John's ribs with the force of a train. John yells hoarsely and falls backwards onto the ground, grabbing his ribcage in pain.
However, the man isn't done yet. He grabs John by his shirtfront and lifts him up, slamming him violently against the brick wall next to them. His hands slide around John's neck and press hard against his windpipe as John wheezes.
"Where is the detective?" he growls angrily.
John chokes out, "D-don't k-know…"
The man yells in rage and throws John to the ground, then straddles him and begins to punch him repeatedly in the face, breaking his nose and blackening both of his eyes. John yells hoarsely as the man squeezes his broken ribs with his thighs. The man grabs his throat and squeezes his windpipe to quiet him. John's writhing slowly stops as he struggles for air.
The man waits for him to still, then leans down and whispers, "Now. Let's try this once more." He grins and, letting go of John's neck, speaks in a low, dangerous voice. "Where is Sherlock Holmes?"
John coughs as blood spots his lips, then whispers in a cracked, hoarse voice, "He…he left. A minute before you came. Went to…to Scotland Yard." He gasps for breath, throat aching.
The man grins. "Good, good." He punches him hard in his already broken ribs, eliciting another yell.
He stands up and hands his baton to one of the men in his group and grins down at John, who is lying on the ground groaning in pain. "That wasn't so hard, was it?"
The group of men turn away and walk down the alley, rain drizzling down from the darkening sky.
After the men have long disappeared from sight, Sherlock reappears and drops down beside John, panicked. "John! Oh my god."
John groans and turns over onto his back, blood dripping from his mouth. His bruised eyes roll back in his head as darkness overtakes him.
Sherlock curses and pulls out his phone, dialing 999 as he wipes the blood gently from John's lips, mumbling, "Hang on, John, please, stay with me…"
An operator answers and Sherlock explains in a shaky voice what happened and where they are, taking John's pulse and gently rubbing his back to help him breathe normally.
The operator says someone will be there in a few minutes and Sherlock hangs up, hands shaking slightly as he pulls John's head into his lap and runs his fingers through his hair in a comforting gesture, even while knowing it's useless since John's passed out. He has to do something, though. Has to feel useful somehow.
He looks up at the dark, rainy sky, crushing guilt weighing inside him.
What's the point of having invisibility powers when you can't even save the people you love?
