Okay, sorry guys. Let's just say it's been a long summer and leave it at that. I'm working 9-5 over the holidays so this may have been written and uploaded at work while my boss was out of the room ~
Anyways, I thought I'd bring you some action, it may take a little while to get some fluff in here….you know how Sherlock and John are: both stubborn as mules when it comes to each other! I've got back into the flow of this (after a nasty bout of writer's block), so I should be able to get on with this during my quiet days!
Oh and I DO own Sherlock, mwu ha ha ha ha…*ahem* ok, no I don't. It doesn't belong to me at all *sobs*
Enough rambling from me now! Youz know the drill: Read, Enjoy, Review! (Heavy emphasis on that last part guys! I love reading them!)
"Get. Out." John said, dangerously quiet. After all he'd been through in the war, he could tell when someone was serious and this stranger with an axe certainly was serious. He also looked slightly mad – his eye had a slight twitch, as if he was always waiting for something exciting to happen and then being thoroughly peeved when it doesn't. It made his mind momentarily linger on Sherlock's face but he was quickly swept away by John's anger at him.
"Oh, but Johnnie-boy, you're not going anywhere, so why should I?" The man's voice had a sing-song quality that sounded like he was constantly whinging (or at least to John it did), "On the contrary, we're going to wait on your charming Prince to come and rescue his damsel in distress…"
John scoffed quietly. He had his doubts about that – Sherlock had probably found another dead body to compost or was off in the forest poking something interesting with a stick. He certainly wasn't going to come and rescue a man he barely knew, who he'd just fought with, and wasn't aware was in danger. Mortal danger, by the look of the axe that was now gleaming in the sunlight.
"What, you don't think the 'heartless Prince' will turn up? Oh I know all about his little problem," the man said at John's surprised expression, "he'll show up because there's something interesting in it for him. A little…redemption….you could call it. See, if he show one moment of unselfish behaviour before his 30th birthday then he gets his heart back and he can live as he pleases."
"How do you know all of this?" John demanded, "And what do you get out of it?"
The man sighed, as if dealing with a petulant child.
"Why John, I have my sources. Let's just say the last woman who tried to break his curse was a little less than pleased when she failed. She was such a fickle creature…."
"Yes but what do you get out of it? Why do you care if he gets his emotions back?"
"I don't."
"Excuse me?"
"I said, I don't. Sherlock and I are, shall we say, rivals. When he comes here to rescue you, he'll think that this is his chance to gain back his emotions and be free of the sorceress forever, despite his protests that he doesn't need his emotions. I would prefer he remained emotionless, they do so get in the way, you know. So I'm going to kill you. Right in front of him. Then hopefully it should persuade him that he doesn't need these silly emotions – they do so often break your heart. I'm going to break his."
He said everything so calmly, so nonchalantly, that it sounded more like he was reading from a recipe book, not planning to kill John to, supposedly, hurt the Prince. It sent a shiver of fear down John's spine, and he knew he might not get through this. He decided to stall for time until he could come up with a plan to get out of there.
"How exactly are you going to let Sherlock know that you've got me when a) you're here and b) we've just had a fight where I basically told him to bugger off? He's just gonna go back to doing what he was before I came along. Probably composting dead bodies or something…"
And with that, John whirled around and yanked the front door wide open. He'd been edging towards it slowly while he talked to the mad axe man and now seemed to be his chance.
He was almost home free, running down the garden path, when he felt a sharp pain in his leg. A small dagger was expertly implanted into his calf muscle and he could feel a warm trickle of blood running down his leg. The man had thrown it where it would do the least damage but cause the most annoyance. He would have a proper limp now.
A shadow fell over him. It was the axe man, and he looked ready to kill now.
"You weren't supposed to do that! You were supposed to wait for that stupid Prince to come along so I could kill you in front of him, torture him a little. Now you've ruined it!" He whined, "Now I'm gonna have to make you into a pair of shoes of something, you could still be useful…."
John took his chance during this distraction. He gritted his teeth and yanked out the dagger, not bothering to stem the blood. He didn't have his sword on him, so this would have to do – even if it was against an axe wielded by a madman. He was quick, slashing upwards to try and catch him by surprise, but the axe was quicker, coming down to block him with a shower of sparks. The axe repeatedly came down towards his head while John was crawling backward, trying to block as best he could. Each blow jarred his arm painfully and he could tell he was losing a lot of blood from the wound in his leg. If he lost too much more blood he might pass out, he needed to get out of this fight before then or he might end up waking up as a pair of shoes or something.
Suddenly, John heard a familiar calm voice over the din of the fight.
"Moriarty, you know this is far too easy, don't you? I thought you gave me exciting murders to deal with. This is a little bit beneath you isn't it?" He didn't seem fazed that John was lying on the ground bleeding with the mad Moriarty, as he now was called, trying to kill him with an axe.
"Little help here Sherlock? This guy wants to turn you into shoes."
"I am helping you John, although I thought you told me to bugger off (in no uncertain terms)."
John looked up to see Sherlock pointing a vicious-looking sword at Moriarty's throat, before promptly blacking out.
Don't forget the review guys!