Previously:
They stood in front af a single wooden door. There were no walls, which were holding it or signs of a room behind. It was just a door, standing in the middle of nowhere.
"Are you sure, we are right here?"
"Have you already forgotten what you said to me minutes ago? Trust me, John. This is the MEC"
And with those words he pulled the door open.
John didn't know what to expect when he first went through the door. But whatever he was expecting, he wasn't prepared for a mass of people babbling agitatedly in a big hall.
"What..."
Sherlock showed no reaction to hisbondmate'sobvious surprise.
They made their way through the hallway, illuminated by countless torches. There were Almighties everywhere, most of them in couples.
"Sherlock are they..?"
The taller man nodded.
"Yes. They are all here for practicing their magic. I have to admit, the hall is more crowded than usual but that can be easy explained by the upcoming competition. I guess a lot of Almighties want to be fully prepared for it."
"Who wouldn't?"
They continued walking towards a counter.
When a woman saw them approaching, she nearly fell off her stool.
"Mr. Holmes! What a pleasant surprise!"
"I can imagine. My bondmate and I wish to have a session."
She took one glance at John and smiled broadly. Her fingers were already browsing through a big pile of papers before they came to a halt.
"You are lucky, Mr. Holmes. There is time left for you. However, I am afraid you have to wait for an hour for the room to be usable again." She looked nervously at the tall man as if it were her fault for causing Sherlock any inconvenience.
"It doesn't matter. Just register us."
John saw the woman relax, furiously writing their names on a piece of paper.
"Do you wish to have a personal coach?"
"That won't be necessary."
"Of course not. Thank you for your choosing to exercise at the MEC and please come again soon."
Sherlock didn't even answer as he turned around, leaving a very embarrassed John Watson behind.
"Uh...yeah...thank you."
But the woman at the counter was already flipping through the stacks of papers again, paying John no attention.
"Sherlock that wasn't very nice."
"What wasn't nice, John?"
"You could at least answer when someone talks to you."
"Do you mean the woman at the counter? She is getting paid for doing her job. It's her duty to be nice to the customers. I see no point in being nice to someone who isn't even honestly showing her true personality."
John didn't know what to answer to his bondmate's concept of interacting with people, so he decided not to. They patiently waited for the hour to pass when Sherlock abruptly rose from the chair and moved his index finger, which was a hint for John to follow him.
They passed through countless doors before Sherlock grinned with satisfaction and turned around to finally speak with his bondmate.
"There we are. One thing, John. When we enter the room, we won't be alone. The second we close this door you have to be aware that the training session starts."
"What do you mean 'not alone'?"
"I mean, you should be prepared for the attack, and being under attack calls for quicker reactions and attention. Don't just stand there doing nothing but find a way to protect yourself."
John nervously smiled at the Almighty.
"Sherlock, I thought this was going to be practice. Normal practice for beginners. Nobody told me about being under attack!"
"Please, don't start to worry. You obviously don't have magic and as a result we can't combine our power. The only way for us to fight is to let me do all the work and you just stay safe. Ready? Go..."
"What...no!"
It was too late.
One second he stood beside Sherlock in front of the iron door, the next he felt a spell missing him just by inches.
He was greeted with the sight of stones and rocks and countless gaps. The smoke and the loud noise added to the impression of a battlefield.
"Don't just stand there, John! Move!"
He saw Sherlock defending himself with his magic. His motions and gestures looked like nothing he had ever seen before. It looked flawless. Easy. No wonder he was always so full of himself when it came to his power.
"I'm trying to but I can't see a thing!"
The noise got louder and it nearly ruptured his ear-drum when a spell landed next to his feet, causing the ground to explode.
"Don't worry? You never said that those spells could actually kill me, Sherlock!"
He ran as fast as he could to his bondmate,who was now grinning with excitement and joy. Beads of perspiration were already visible on his forehead.
"Well, that's...supposed...to be...the practice...how else do you think...we are going...to train? Take...a book...and read it? Tousling...with our fingers...and waiting for something...to happen? Sorry to disappoint...you, John."
It was clear that Sherlock was now using his focus for the coming attacks. If John was honest with himself he really had hoped that all they would be doing was studying some spells. Landing in a room full of danger was not on his list.
Left. Right. Above.
Sherlock knew exactly why he didn't like to practice in the MEC. Too much unnecessary stress for the human body to cope with. They must have increased the level, knowing that it was one of the Holmes' here.
From the corner of his left eye he observed John, who was standing on the same spot as before. He looked lost and helpless. If his bondmate thought that this situation was uncomfortable for them he would definitely be uncomfortable when they had to face the real fight between the contestants.
"I said cover yourself, John!"
It was too late. A spell came from the right towards his bondmate.Sherlock tried to summon a shelter but he knew it wouldn't help.
His heart skipped a beat when the spell made impact with John, who was not moving from shock.
Silence.
Nothing. There was nothing. No explosion. No pain. John Watson was still living and breathing.
"Impossible." Sherlock couldn't believe it. Somehow the spell just vanished when it came in contact with his bondmate.
"Am I hurt? I don't want to look." John, who had closed his eyes, still didn't move an inch. When Sherlock didn't speak he began to panic.
"Sherlock? Is it that bad?"
There was still no answer so John decided to finally open his eyes. They were in front of the iron door again.
"Time is up."
"So I got lucky? The spell didn't hit me?"
Instead of an answer the Almighty just walked away, leaving John behind confused.
John tried to be as precise as possible when he prepared dinner. That's what he loved most about cooking. There is little chance that something would go wrong andifsomething did go wrong it was because of carelessness. Even a clumsy fellow like him could make a successful dinner if he just followed the steps. His mother always loved to see him prepare the food because in her opinion he seemed most content and relaxed when he was working in the kitchen. That was because when he did he was able to forget everything.
Forget his hair. Forget the MEC and the session in hell. Here he could just be John Watson.
He really missed his family.
"You are missing your family." John spun around and looked straight into grey eyes.
"No way you could have known that...How the hell did you know that?"
Sherlock took some of the cucumber and twisted it between his fingers in boredom.
"You were sighing every 2 minutes. Facial expression twisted as if you were in pain. Either you're suffering from some serious injury from our intense training or your bad mood was caused by some emotional distress. I went really easy on you today...so I guessed it was the latter."
He chucked the muddy vegetable away and looked at John expectantly.
"You were observing me?"
"Oh please, don't be dull. I wasn't observing you. I waited to see if dinner was ready."
John gave him a cocky eyebrow.
"First of all, we know you don't eat dinner. Moreover, I didn't know you would degrade yourself into lying just to deny the fact that you were clearly observing me."
He waited for Sherlock's reply but all he was hearing was a cough from the other man.
"Hey, don't get sick. The competition starts in a few days. You should be looking after yourself."
John listened to his bondmate clearing his throat.
"I don't get sick." He emphasized the word sick as if only other people would get a cold.
"Well, sounds pretty sick to me."
"Shouldn't you be watching the potatoes, John? I think ten seconds more and even Mycroft's cat wouldn't touch them."
"O bloody...shit." Sherlock watched in amusement while John tried to save the remaining potatoes, which have turned into a dark-brown shade.
"This can't be right, Sherlock...the spell just vanished?"
"Are you and John somehow suffering from the same deafness? As I've mentioned earlier, brother, there was nothing I could have done. He blocked the magic by himself."
"And you are sure that it wasn't some kind of talisman?"
Sherlock stared at his brother coldly.
"Alright. I just wanted to make sure of it."
"Believe me. If I was sure about what I saw I wouldn't have come to you, Mycroft."
"You realize that the matter is very serious, don't you? If John really subconsciously blocked a spell, we aren't dealing with a common man anymore. He could be a real discovery for our kind. Imagine all the possibilities for having such a defense."
Sherlock scoffed.
"John is not your concern, Mycroft. He is bonded with me.Whatever you plan to do with him, just make sure you inform me first."
"Sherlock, I didn't know you cared."
"I don't care about him. I just don't like you to endanger my magic by threatening my bond with him. I don't care about your dirty methods and plans. I don't care about John Watson and his wondrous power to block magic. All I want is my peace and quiet. After the competition, where no doubt I'll win, you can do with him whatever you want. To summarize it, I don't care."
They didn't see the figure standing behind the door, listening to the younger Holmes' outburst.
John had left the brothers to their conversation when they arrived at the mansion. Today he practiced with Sherlock for almost four hours and he didn't get the chance to go to the restroom. When he came back he heard his bondmate shouting. John hesitantly stopped at the door. Should he really enter in the middle of an argument?
"I don't care about John Watson ...All I want is my peace and quiet. After the competition, where no doubt I'll win, you can do with him whatever you want. To summarize it, I don't care..."
He slowly retreated from the door. The words hit him like a rock, a big giant massive rock.
What had he hoped for? For Sherlock and him to become best friends or maybe even more? The glorious couple, who would win the competition and conquer the flame? Always living happily ever after in 221 b Baker Street?
"God, John. You have made a fool of yourself."
He scrubbed his face with his hands. Of course Sherlock didn't care. He never actually said that he enjoyed his company. Maybe the endless hours of talking weren't even pleasant for him but a torture? How could he have been so blind to see that Molly was right. A common mind just didn't fit with a brilliant one. It never would.
"John, is that you behind the door? Why don't you come in? I need you to take my brother back to Baker Street. He is awfully moody today."
He quickly tried to regain his normal attitude again and swallowed heavily before entering the room.
Please don't let him see. Please don't let him see...
But Sherlock was too busy with giving his brother a sour smile then to pay his bondmate any attention.
"Don't give me any reason to be, brother."
"Now look at how hoarse you sound. You should be looking after yourself. A sick man won't win anything."
"As if you are really concerned about my health, Mycroft. Come one, John. Let's go."
As the pair was leaving they didn't see Mycroft staring after them.
"But we all know that you do care, little brother."
They rarely spoke the rest of the day. At first Sherlock didn't even notice but during dinner his bondmate would usually try to be the first one to open up a conversation.
"What's wrong?"
John stopped in the middle of eating.
"Nothing."
"Doesn't exactly seem like nothing to me." He saw the other man dropping the fork and raising his head to look him in the eyes.
"Why do you care?"
There was it again. Care.
"What's with you people lately? First Mycroft and now you. It didn't escape me that you are behaving strangely tonight. I just wanted to know why."
He heard John sighing.
"It's called a bad mood, Sherlock. Use your deductive skills." How could he explain to the Almighty that he felt deeply hurt over something, which he likely wasn't supposed to hear?
"Boring. Just drink a potion or whatever helps and get your smile back. I need to go over to Lestrade and I want you to come with me."
"It's so easy for you, isn't it?" John felt anger rising in him.
"Just drink a potion and everything will be alright? Should I be all happy just for you to feel good? So you don't have to be bothered with my mood? Guess what, I don't work that way. Emotions don't work that way, Sherlock. You would know if you actually possess some."
He knew that the things he was saying wasn't fair to the younger man but that didn't stop him from continuing to insult him. He needed to get the anger out. He wanted Sherlock to suffer as much as he has suffered the past hours.
Sherlock watched him for a moment before he began to speak.
"Is this about your family..?"
"No damn it, this isn't about my family. You know what? Just forget it. Forget everything I've said. I'm sorry. I shouldn't have said those things to you. Remember? Bad Mood."
Without a word John went upstairs.
Sherlock knew he couldn't comprehend emotions as well as other people. That was one of the main reasons, why other children would avoid him or say bad things about him when he was little. He hadn't expected John to turn against him, too.
For the first time in his life he felt like he was being stabbed by words. Every spot on his skin hurt.
He felt miserable and the headache just wouldn't stop. If Mycroft would have known when to stop the provoking him, he surely wouldn't have developed one.
He was burning and his vision became blurred. The next second he found himself next to his skull. Weird. He remembered that he had put it on the floor next to the pipe.
Every part of his body was on fire. He could barely breathe. Did the other children try to suffocate him this time?
"You can't do anything easy for once in your life, can you, Sherlock?"
He recognized the voice. It's the same one to which he had spoken to all week.
But that can't be. Why would John suffocate him?
"Please...no."
Sherlock hated how miserable his voice sounded. It reminded him that his body was weak. He could have all the power in this world but his body would remain weak. He was no better than the rest of them.
Fragile. Helpless.
"God, Sherlock. Would you please hold still? I'm trying to help you."
He tried to free himself from the other person's grip. If cutting off his oxygen meant helping him he could do easily without it.
"No more...please...no more..."
Sherlock hated begging but this person just wouldn't stop. More flames, eating his body alive. It was mixed with some cooling sensations on his skin.
He moaned.
John felt really bad about his outburst in the kitchen. Part of him knew that his bondmate would never change his personality and he didn't expect nor wanted him to. He didn't even know him long enough to be qualified for that.
It was just the bond, which kept them together. Without it, Sherlock would have been-
"..long gone." John whispered to himself while he clutched the chess game tighter in his hands. A little present as his apology.
He carefully opened the door to Sherlock's room.
"Sherlock, look I..."
He wasn't prepared for a body lying motionless on the floor.
"Oh..."
John let the game drop, which caused the figures to find their way across the room but that didn't matter to him right now. Right now Sherlock mattered and he didn't look good from what he could see.
"Sherlock, hey...wake up."
His bondmate´s skin felt hot. Feverish. Sick.
"Great. Just great. I told you, you would get sick if you don't look after yourself."
There was no answer but a loud moan coming from the Almighty, who was now frantically mumbling to himself and telling him to stop touching him.
"God, Sherlock. Would you please hold still? I'm trying to help you." He vaguely remembered his mother putting a wet cloth on his forehead when he got sick as a child. It had always helped to bring his fever down.
After a lot of effort John finally put his bondmate to bed and returned with a bucket full of water and a cloth. While he was trying to make the fabric stay on its place he observed the younger man.
Sherlock was tossing and turning and changing between moans and heavy exhalations. John sighed and realized that he should probably call Mycroft. After all, a sick person was not something to be dealt with lightly.
Suddenly a hand grabbed him by the back of his neck, pulling him downwards.
Blue met grey.
Sherlock was kissing him. Kissing him. As in not being accidently forced to press their lips together.
John was too shocked to react. All he could feel was the soft skin against his chin and his neck.
And the wet cloth between their foreheads.
Next chapter: The competition.
Okay. Kill me. Lynch me. I´ve deserved it. Took me long enough to update but I had good reasons.
First one is: Queer as folk (US). Yes, I started to watch this amazing series again. Brian/Justin are like the most adorable thing ever. If you don´t know it, check it out! You will be addicted.
Second reason: I had to prepare for an entrance examination. I´m not gonna lie. Of course that wouldn´t take 12 hours a day but who would have had the strength to write fanfiction after hours of torture?:D
