Sherlock's POV
Strong arms wrapped around my torso and hoisted me up. I reached a standing position through the help of whose ever arms were supporting me; but I slumped back down and rested on their body. This person I knew was a hostile one, but I couldn't help it. My stomach was trembling.
Occasions such as this had happened before. So many times prior to this one. Yet I still took it. I still came to these unconventional gatherings, thus paying the price for my general insolence. I'd get the text from Zach, then I'd follow the instructions of where to go and what time, because I was always stupid enough to do it.
The reasons for these particular meetings had been shoved away into a place where I took great care never to venture. Zach had always been a moron, but he was a different breed of stupidity in comparison to the normal lot bouncing around the school. He was too stupid to insult, but he knew how to break others. How to snap them. He could wrap anyone around his finger because he knew how to play them. He didn't understand basic maths, but he understood when you insulted his mother. That I'd found that one out for myself.
It had started originally because I was tricked into coming, only that wasn't the case anymore. I'd had the unfortunate pleasure of knowing Zach since Primary School, and while my gut yelled at me from the pain of being punched by Zach; it was still true that we had once been friends. Somewhere in between however I messed up.
Zach began to attempt to taunt me verbally, but when he found out that that particular method didn't work, he began to find out information. Stuff I wanted no one to know. I didn't care about what people called me or presumed about me, but this was information that I had no burning desire for anyone to ever know, for the sake of what it would mean for those involved. How much hassle it would cause not only for me, but for Mycroft as well. No matter how much we hated it, school was our solitude. If one person knew, it would no longer become the safe haven it had always been.
Yet he knew. He'd found out somehow, and then the texts started. The threatening messages that promised to destroy me if I didn't come. Mycroft of course had no idea what was going on. He was usually good in the deduction department, but through my own particular skills in that area had taught me a great deal about concealing stuff. The art of disguise is how to hide in plain sight. Alas however, while Mycroft was oblivious, it was still ongoing. Which brought me to my current predicament.
My eyes followed Sebastian as he muttered something to Zach that I couldn't hear. I'd never really noticed him before, he was always just one of the figures in the back ground, cheering and shouting as Zach... Played his part. Today he'd spoken though, and now, as he stood facing me while I leant queasily upon my supporter, I was able to assess him. Finally.
"You..." It was difficult to talk. My brain was working but the words wouldn't come out. I was completely winded. "You... It was you... Last night." I wheezed. Sebastian grinned. He had his arms folded and he looked down as he chuckled. He'd nearly killed someone, nearly stabbed them in the face, and he was choosing to laugh? I felt sick.
"Well done. Did you work that one out all by yourself?" He taunted, and I allowed my lips to form a smile. "Sherlock. You're going to play this game. You're going to dance along like you're a puppet on strings. Do you understand?"
"Or what?" I said in as much a threatening voice as I could muster while my lungs scrambled to control my breathing. It felt like my diaphragm was having a party and hadn't told the rest of my body. The bass was dropping but everything else was playing a sweet harmonic melody.
Sebastian laughed as he walked around in a circle, shaking his head as he strode, until he came to face me again. "Sherlock, it'll be easy to destroy you. You're hardly alive anyway." I was puzzled. Perplexed even. I was still breathing, wasn't I? Sarcasm, Sherlock. Now was not the time for sarcasm. Probably. Needless to say though, Sebastian was going to try and play the same card that Zach had. In that moment I promised I'd never give Zach what he wanted again. I'd take whatever the punishment was.
"No, Sebastian, you're the puppet on strings here. What's your game? Who are you taking orders from?" I managed to push myself away from whomever I was leant upon and was able to stand for myself. I was still hunched over slightly, but I could feel my breathing pattern go back to normal. Sebastian went still. "You're following someone's orders. I saw that person, yesterday, watching it all happen from the sidelines. Who was that?" I took a step forward. "And what does it have to do with John Watson?"
Sebastian had come closer to me now. His face was mere millimetres above mine as he leered over my weakened stance. If I was straightened up I would have been taller than him. Much taller. This time however I decided to let him be taller than me, because God knows I would never let it happen again.
"It doesn't concern you. I'm telling you not to get involved. Don't get in the way. There are bigger people than you, Sherlock. Bigger people than me, even. John Watson is none of your business. He's ours. If you're as clever as everyone says you are, then you'll know that this isn't an idle threat. John Watson is ours, Sherlock. You'd do best to remember that."
"Why? What's so important about him?" I put as much emphasis as I could on the 'him'. Maybe, just maybe they'd think that I wasn't in the slightest bit interested in John's history. Maybe they would let me carry on try to work out what was going on. If they did indeed believe that I despised John, they'd drop this. Wouldn't they? But that would give them evidence as to why I had 'tried to stab John'. That wouldn't work. If everyone thought I hated John, would it really be that much of a shock to people if they heard a rumour that I'd try to kill him? John would support it. Why shouldn't he? My brain started to go cloudy.
Someone towards the back of the pack broke the silence that had fallen like a blanket across the night. I wondered where John had gone. Whether wherever he'd gone had put himself in even more danger. I didn't hear what had been said by the breaker of silence; but a moment later the gang scattered, running off back towards the building. As soon as they were gone I collapsed, and the blackness in my brain joined the darkness of the night.
John's POV
Fuck. With an extra helping of shit. Because I was completely and utterly screwed. They'd found me. After how many years of successfully evading them, now that I was alone they'd caught up with me. Maybe that's what Sherlock had meant, when he said I'd be out within a week. He wasn't talking about the room, he was talking about me. I'd be out within a week.
I couldn't believe I'd been so stupid, not to see it after last night. It was so obviously him who'd thrown the knife. I was stupid though. I always had been. That was one of my main faults. My stupidity. It was he always said anyway. Shit. He. Him. I didn't want to think about it.
Eventually, my feet brought me to my dorm room. Sherlock wouldn't come back. I was still slightly disgusted at how Sebastian and Zach had reacted. How they had pounced on Sherlock. Although I was slightly relieved that they had. While a bunch of spotty teenage boys were a good defence against another teenage boy with practically no spots; they wouldn't be much good against the people I had following me. It was still comforting though, knowing that they were looking out for me.
As I entered the room I collapsed onto my bed and yawned loudly. I was already so tired that it didn't take long to actually coax my body into sleeping, even with everything going on. Sherlock didn't come back.
The next day passed without much problems. I didn't see Sherlock once, he wasn't there when I woke up, and I saw no sign of him throughout the rest of the day. Sebastian and Zach were there though, they let me join them at breakfast and I spent break and lunch on the field with them. They didn't mention last night, and I was thankful for it.
After dinner however, I returned to the room to find it occupied. Sherlock was standing in the middle of the room, facing one of the walls which he'd plastered with pictures and sheets of paper. Wool of varying colours were stretched across the wall linking everything together. His fingers twitched slightly as I opened the door, but he didn't turn around. I shifted awkwardly around the room, debating whether I should turn around again. I was in the same room as a potential murderer.
"John." Sherlock said curtly, nodding his head slightly. I felt my ears go pink, but he still didn't look at me.
"Sherlock." I returned the courtesy. He said nothing else.
I sat on my bed and studied what Sherlock was looking at. Various compounds were sketched out. In the centre however sat a photo of two girls. Curiosity got the better of me.
"Who are they?" I asked, gesturing towards the picture. Sherlock didn't turn around, but he still replied.
"Julianne Mitch and Beth Walters." He said, and I nodded, forgetting that he didn't have eyes in the back of his head. I still had no idea who they were, but Sherlock apparently read my mind. " "They're the girls who were killed quite recently."
"Oh. So did you kill them?" Whoops. Considering I had no desire to be murdered, I was doing a bloody good job of taunting the potential killer.
Sherlock turned around, his hands clasped behind his back, and smirked at me. A knot pulled into my stomach as a saw the dark purple bruises dotted around his face, and a scab begin to form above his eyebrow.
"Jesus..." I whispered, standing up and peering closer at the injuries. Sherlock quickly turned to face the wall again. "Sherlock, that cut needs attention." I told him firmly. He waved his hand in the air, telling me to go away. "Where's the First Aid kit?" I questioned, looking around the room. Sherlock didn't say anything but continued to stare at the wall.
I found the kit in the bathroom cabinet, took out an anti-sceptic wipe and approached him.
"Sherlock, you need to clean it." I said firmly. He was so much taller than me, but I still got him to look at me. I put the wipe in his hand.
"Why are you trying to help me?" He asked, raising his eyebrow. Incidentally, this was the eyebrow that he'd cut and as it rose up his forehead it split open and started to bleed.
"I dunno. That needs stitches though." I said, pointing at the wound.
"I didn't try to kill you." Sherlock said suddenly. He pointed towards a picture on the wall that I hadn't noticed, it was of Sebastian. "That's Sebastian Moran. He comes from a family with a long bloodline in the Army, however, after his father went to Afghanistan his mother couldn't cope. She missed him too much. She didn't care for Sebastian. So he ran away and as to follow so many cliches, joined a circus."
"Right." I said, swinging backwards on my heels. "I don't understand." Sherlock rolled his eyes.
"While he was there he became an expert in knife throwing, rifle shooting... Everything. He's skilled in many forms of combat." Something suddenly clicked.
"Wait, knife throwing? Are you saying he threw the knife? Bloody hell Sherlock, I know it was you. Otherwise-"
"You saw us fighting, look at the height different between Sebastian and myself. You saw him trip me up. If he were protecting you he wouldn't have tripped up your attacker so that while you're obviously further behind, said attacker has the chance to continue attacking you when you caught up. No, I saw Sebastian throw the knife and I decided to have my say in the matter." I looked skeptically at him. "You want more proof? Move to that side of the room."
I quickly pressed my self against the door to the bathroom while Sherlock pulled a can of spray paint for God knows where and drew a smiley face. He then pulled out a knife. My pulse quickened, but he strode straight past me and stood the opposite side of the room to the smiley face. He then stuck out his arm and squinted, holding the knife in the air. He stuck out his tongue and after what seemed like an age threw the knife across the room. It missed the smiley face by a mile.
"See? I can't throw knives. A gun would be no problem, but knives, no."
"How do I know you're not just pretending?" My brows furrowed. Everything that Sherlock was saying was making sense, but I didn't want to believe him. Could Sebastian really have been behind it all?
"Just believe me, John." He was half pleading with me. "I don't know why Sebastian tried to kill you but I want to know why. Nothing ever happens here, but so far we've had two murders and one near one. I want to know what's going on, and it has something to do with you."
I frowned. My eyes traced the string on the wall from picture to picture. Something was going on. I couldn't pretend not to be interested.
"Okay." I said. Sherlock grinned at me. "But if you try to kill me in your sleep I won't believe you any more. Now please get that cut sorted out."
So... How was that? Am I doing okay?
