So I've decided to update Monday and Friday from now on, and since today is Friday, it's time for an update :D I don't really have much to say besides that so I'll just shut up and let you guys enjoy. Also, real quick, thank you for all the faves and follows over the past few days. You don't know how much I love that you love this story ^^ Okay, now I'll shut up. Enjoy the story. Love ya!
~SXS
For warnings and disclaimer, please see first chapter AN. Thank you!
Sherlock wanted to stay, but Mycroft was pulling him into another room. He struggled against him the whole way, but eventually, Mycroft had the door closed and Sherlock in the room across the hall. He locked them in and stood against the door while Sherlock paced rapidly, hands in his hair.
"He'll be alright, Sherlock. I've gotten you the best surgeon in the country."
"No, this is all my fault! I never should have helped him. Oh my God, what have I done!"
"Calm down and tell me everything," Mycroft said.
Sherlock explained everything that had happened since he saw John leave Baker Street in the rain to the moment they came into the Diogenes Club. Mycroft listened, his face grave. When Sherlock had finished, he said, "I told you that caring would be a problem."
"Well it's too late for that!" Sherlock snapped. "What are we going to do now?"
"I can arrange you transport out of the country, but it will have to wait until John's leg has fully recovered. In the meantime, you can stay in the safe house underground here."
"When did you build a safe house?" Sherlock asked.
"After you left. I thought that they might suspect that I knew you were faking and that they would come for me. I had two built, actually. There is another under my own house."
Just then, there was a knock at the door and Mycroft unlocked it to find the surgeon standing there.
"He's stable," the surgeon said, strolling into the room and peeling off blood-stained medical gloves. He balled them up in his hand. "I retrieved the bullet from the wound, sterilised it, and stitched it shut before bandaging it. I've given him an IV drip of a saline solution to replace lost fluids. He needs rest, though. Plenty of rest. And eventually, some light rehabilitation for his leg. He may have a slight limp for some time."
Sherlock felt guilt well in his stomach at the thought of John limping again, not just from a psychological problem. Mycroft shook the surgeon's hand, thanking him, and Sherlock exited the room and went back to where John was still lying on the sofa. His breathing was regular again and Sherlock knelt down, leaning his head on his chest and listening to his steady heartbeat. A weight seemed to lift from his shoulders at the sound, but it landed on him again at the sight of the IV and the bandage. "John..." He took one of his limp hands in both of his. "I am so sorry, John. But I am going to make this right. I promise." He kissed him on the forehead.
I.:.O.:.U
It was some time before John finally woke, blinking into awareness. He groaned and tried to sit up, but the pain that shot up his leg stopped him. "Sherlock?" he rasped, turning his head in search of the man. His lips tingled with the memory of a kiss, but it was entirely possible that he'd dreamed it...
Sherlock was sitting across from Mycroft when he heard his name. His heart jumped when he saw John had his eyes open. "John!" He practically leaped over to the doctor's side and took one of his hands, stroking his hair with the other. "How are you feeling?"
"Fine, Sherlock, I'm fine," John assured him. "My leg is just a little sore. But I've had a gunshot wound before, remember? I can handle it." He turned his gaze to Mycroft. "Thank you," he said. "For your help."
Mycroft nodded. "Certainly," he said. "And now, if you'll excuse me, I have to make a few calls." He smiled, almost cheekily, and exited the room, closing the door behind him. Sherlock only glanced back momentarily as he left before giving his full attention back to John.
"Do you need anything?" he asked. He kept looking over John's face, just glad to see his eyes open again and looking back at him.
John stared at him for a while, silent, forgetting that Sherlock had just asked him a question, and he should probably respond. "Did you kiss me?" he blurted. "Before I passed out...? Or, was that a dream?"
Sherlock blinked as he remembered his actions right before John had lost consciousness. "Oh...Well, I...I'm sorry, you must understand I was a bit frazzled. I know that you...don't feel that way. But I was desperate for you to stay awake." He cast his eyes down to try and hide the flush filling his face.
"It's okay, Sherlock," John assured him. "I'm not angry. You just...took me by surprise, is all. You've been doing that a lot, lately."
"I apologise again," he said, looking back into John's eyes. "All I've done since I came back is cause you undue stress."
"Well...yes, that's actually true," John said. "You've caused me quite a lot of stress, actually, but I don't particularly care. It's part of your charm, and I'm still glad you're back."
Sherlock chuckled. "I don't know much about charming people, but something tells me that endangering the life of a l-...of someone you care strongly for isn't considered charming by the normal social standards."
John paused. "Of a loved one," he said. "You were going to say, 'of a loved one'. You're serious about this, aren't you?" He reached out to experimentally cup Sherlock's cheek.
Sherlock tilted his head unconsciously into John's hand. "I...I am. I don't think there is any other way for me to describe the way I feel for you, John." He closed his eyes and breathed deeply. "It's so strong, so deep. I feel as though I cannot be myself without you. That's why if anything were to happen to you, I wouldn't be able to go on. You have become so much a part of me..."
John stared at him, completely breathless. He leaned forward and caught Sherlock's lips with his own. Something about the kiss felt right. Their mouths melded together perfectly, John's rough, cool lips against Sherlock's, smooth and warm.
Sherlock was shocked when John kissed him, but he relaxed quickly, loving the feeling of John's mouth against his. He pressed in closer, wanting John to understand all that he felt and could not express with words.
John pulled away several long moments later, gasping. "Oh..." he breathed, pleasantly surprised. "Well, Sherlock...I didn't expect you to be so...good at that."
"You also didn't expect me to have a good bedside manner," he laughed lightly. He looked into John's eyes silently for a moment, then swallowed. "I love you, John."
The words sprang to John's lips unbidden, but he knew they were completely true, and completely right. "I love you, too, Sherlock."
Sherlock smiled as a new feeling bubbled up inside of him: happiness. And truly, he had never felt happier in his life. He leaned in again and pressed another kiss to John's lips. "I guess this means you are gay after all?" he teased as he pulled away.
"No," John said thoughtfully. "No, I don't think I am. I think I'm still very straight, actually." He smiled, amused. "It's just you, Sherlock. Only you."
"Well then I suppose I should consider myself special," he said with a grin. He rested his forehead against John's. "Just promise that you won't go running off with anymore girls."
"I won't," John chuckled. "And you are special. Very special." He sighed, breath ghosting against Sherlock's face. "Sherlock, could I have some water?"
"Of course." Sherlock got up and poured out some from the pitcher they left on the table. He brought the glass back to John and put an arm under him to help him sit up a bit and drink.
John drank carefully, gently gripping Sherlock's wrist when he'd had enough and pulling his hand away. "Thank you," he murmured, looking up at Sherlock. He gave the detective a reassuring smile. "So, what did the surgeon say? About my leg?"
"He said you're going to need rest and some rehabilitation. And..." Sherlock didn't know if he wanted to tell John the last part, but he figured he would find out anyway. "He said you might limp again."
John paused at that for a moment, his face showing shock, and sadness, and a brief flash of desperation. Then he sighed, and his expression settled into one of resign. "I should have expected that, I guess. You kept my cane, didn't you?"
Sherlock nodded. "I'm sorry, John. I know how frustrating it must be."
The doctor shook his head. "No, it's not that bad," he said. "A limp is nothing. I saw so many men in Afghanistan with worse wounds, who lost their legs completely. I can't complain about a limp."
Sherlock nodded again, though he knew that it probably still bothered John, even just slightly. "I am going to help you in any way that I can," he said, and he took one of John's hands again, lacing their fingers together.
John blinked down at their joined hands and blushed. That was something he was going to have to get used to. "It's fine, Sherlock," he said. "I'm sure you'll contradict me, but none of this is your fault in any way. Don't blame yourself, and don't try to make it up to me. You're allowed to forgive yourself now."
"But I won't," Sherlock said. "Technically it is all because of me that this has happened, so although you would like me not to, I am going to take the blame and I am going to make it up to you somehow."
John huffed, irritated. "Sherlock Holmes," he said, firmly. "If you want to make it up to me, you will do so by not blaming yourself. Do you understand me?"
John's tone was sharp and Sherlock knew that he wasn't going to be able to argue. And if that was what John really wanted, he would do it for him, although it would be hard. "Alright, John. No more blaming myself."
John smiled, seeming genuinely pleased with the detective's answer. "Good," he hummed. "That's all I wanted to hear." He leaned forward and gave Sherlock a soft kiss. "So where are we living now? I realise we can't go back to Baker Street..."
"Unfortunately," Sherlock said, quirking his mouth. "Mycroft said that we can stay in the safe house he built under the club. Then he can arrange for us to leave the country secretly." He sighed. "I know this is going to be hard to adjust to...Mycroft can send someone to Baker Street tonight to get anything you might need."
"Leave the country?" John said, eyes widening. "Sherlock, I...I know it's dangerous, but I don't want to leave the country. My entire life is here in London. You honestly can't expect me to just relocate."
"It would be a temporary situation, until I can finish what I started. Until those last three of Moriarty's men are taken down." Sherlock ran a hand through his hair. "It isn't an ideal situation, but it is necessary. For now. I promise someday we can return to Baker Street and everything will return to normal. Consider this a...holiday."
"A holiday?" John said, heatedly. "Let me guess. On this holiday, I'll be alone while you run around trying to take care of these three men. I'll be constantly worrying whether you're all right; I'll have no contact with Molly, or Mrs. Hudson, or Lestrade, or any of my friends here in London. Is that right? Is that what this holiday will be like?"
"Would you rather stay here and die?" Sherlock snapped. "I can't let this go unfinished. Moran and the others need to be eliminated, and now you're not going to be able to keep up so you obviously can't come with me to help. And if you made contact with anyone it could compromise the whole situation. We can't take any risks."
"This is bloody ridiculous!" John barked. "You have no right to say we can't take any risks, when you're the one who took the risk that got us into this mess in the first place!" He wondered why his anger was getting away from him. He didn't blame Sherlock; he really didn't. But the thought of leaving his home and his friends behind was too much for him. "Maybe I'm all you have, Sherlock, but there are other people in my life besides you, people who are very important to me, and I can't just cut myself off from them!"
For some reason the comment about John being all he had stung. It was true, there was no one else in the world who mattered as much to him. But the way he had said it was almost like he resented it. "Well, fine then. We'll just go back to Baker Street and wait for them to come and kill us! Or better yet, I'll just go face them right now and let them kill me and you'll be free to be with your friends without any more persecution."
"Damn it, Sherlock, you know that's not what I want!" John shouted. He groaned, pressing a hand against his forehead. "In the past three days I've collapsed from illness, discovered my best friend is alive, been kidnapped, drowned, and shot, and realised I'm in love with the most irritating bloke on the planet! The last thing I want to think about is having to flee the country!"
"Well, I'm not seeing many other viable options!" Sherlock shouted back. "Moran is still out there waiting and if he finds us, it's over! What do you want me to tell you?" He looked John in the eye, heaving with frustration. "Things are not going to be normal for a while. I'm sorry I dragged you into this but now that you're here it's too late to turn back and I'm not letting you die because I was reckless. I don't see any other way."
John looked away, teeth clenched tightly in frustration. "Go away," he muttered. "Just...leave me alone for a little while. I need to think." He shut his eyes, taking a deep breath and focusing on calming himself down. No one could ever make him quite as angry as Sherlock managed to. It was a gift of the detective's, he supposed.
Sherlock felt a tightness in his throat but he nodded, leaving the room. Mycroft was standing outside the door and by his face he could tell he had heard everything.
"This is what I warned you about, dear brother," Mycroft said.
"Oh, piss off!" Sherlock snapped.
"It's true, though. And now you are emotionally compromised. I should have known that letting this Dr. Watson get close to you was a bad idea from the start. There was something different from the beginning and it's only led to danger."
"I don't care. John is the best thing that's ever happened to me." And he was entirely surprised to find that those words were true. If he had to choose between a caseless life with John and always having a case but being alone, he knew exactly what he would choose.
Mycroft grimaced at the words. "You've changed so much, Sherlock."
"For the better," he said firmly. He realised then what he had to do. Turning on his heel, he exited the Diogenes Club. He was going to find Moran and he was going to finish this once and for all.
Uh oh. John won't like this. If you want to find out what happens next, please fave or follow the story. Or if you'd like to tell me how you liked this, leave a review, as I love to see what everyone thinks :D
