Ch. 7

John Watson's POV

They landed with a thud on the ground, and John rolled to the side, his breath temporarily leaving him. Sucking in a few quick breaths, he looked over at Harrison, who looked completely unruffled.

"That was easier in the army days." John said after a moment. "It'll get easier in time, I suppose."

"How many buildings do you plan on jumping out of?" Harrison asked, raising an eyebrow at the shorter blond.

"As many as you want me to." John responded with a laugh.

"Hopefully not too many then." Harrison said, his lips quirking. "I rather wish to keep my precious John intact."

"Of course." John said, grinning from the rush of adrenaline and need. It felt amazing. "I'll try not to get killed."

"Oh no, there is no try. You will not allow yourself to be killed." Harrison warned, his voice low. He whirled around, striding a few paces before freezing in place, pain and annoyance clear on his face. John frowned, walking towards Harrison in concern. "Dammit."

"Is everything alright?" John asked softly.

"Yes." Harrison hissed, shaking his head as if to clear his thoughts. "You Sherlock is stronger than I thought, apparently. Poor dear is heartbroken at the death of Lestrade. Tedious sentiment not worth my time." Harrison straightened once again, striding away from the Met.

The idea that Sherlock was still inside Harrison sent an odd, conflicting thrill through John. One side of him wanted his old detective back, the other half siding with Harrison, enjoying the thrill of the kill.

"Hurry up, sweetie." Harrison said, turning around with a wicked grin. "We've got the British government to kill."

"I thought that you said that was your job, and your job alone." John said, running a hand through his short blond locks. He wondered what would be left of Sherlock if Mycroft was killed…if anything was left at all.

"It is." Harrison said with a shrug. "But before I go off and do that, I have something to show you first. A present, if you will."

John walked alongside Harrison, quickly realising the familiar path they were taking. He had walked the route from the Met to 221B Baker Street with Sherlock more times than he could count.

"What is it?" John asked not five minutes later. He was rewarded with a smug grin.

"Oh, a little something I whipped up." Harrison responded vaguely, quickening his pace so that it was getting difficult for John to keep up. "I know you'll love it."

An uneasy feeling began to grow in John's gut, but he pushed it aside, practically jogging to keep up with the taller man. Harrison moved at a brisk pace, his coat billowing out behind him. When they finally made it to Baker Street, Harrison glanced back at the blond, a smirk on his face.

"Oh hush, Johnny boy." He said with an eye roll. "Just relax. It's not as if this gift is from Sherlock."

If John was being completely honest with himself, he would have been reminded that he was never nervous for a gift from Sherlock. He watched Harrison unlock the door with slight trepidation. This special surprise was from Harrison, and it was beginning to make him terrified.

"Take my hand, love." Harrison said, his long fingers wiggling invitingly. John watched the hand for a brief second before clasping it with his own. The brunette hummed in contentment, guiding John up the staircase.

The flat at 221B Baker Street was a complete disaster. It was clear that the Yard didn't bother to tidy things up when they left. Torn book leaves were scattered about the room, and John could still see fragments of bloody handprints on the wall. Though he knew now that it was a ruse, John still shuddered at the sight.

"Such a temper tantrum we threw." Harrison clucked, dragging John towards the darkened corner where he knew the telly sat. "He didn't want to leave, but I forced the issue."

With a quick shove, John stumbled forward. He realised belatedly that the corner wasn't dark from lack of light, but from sheets hiding the structure behind it.

"In you go!" Harrison said cheerfully, and John turned just in time to see the taller man latch a barred door shut. He grabbed the sheets, pulling them away so John could see the predicament he was in.

John Harrison had trapped him in a makeshift prison cell.

"Don't be offended, sweetie." Harrsion sing-songed. "I just have to make sure you don't leave me like you left Sherlock. He misses you terribly, did you know?"

John just stared blankly at the menacing smile that graced Harrison's face. How could he have let himself get into this situation? He should have known better.

"Oh, look at the time." Harrison said, glancing at his mobile. "I really must go. Brothers to kill, governments to dismantle." And with a parting wave, Harrison swept through the door to the lounge of 221B, leaving a confused and scared John imprisoned in his wake.


A/N: Thank you for all the follows, favorites, and reviews. You are all the best people in the entire world. Only a few more chapters, and this fic will be wrapped up! Seriously, keep being amazing.

Chocolate sauce and peppermint moss,

Robottko