CHAPTER 9. CHIVALRY

Seeing John being handled so indelicately made something in Sherlock snap. He blamed himself for not connecting this deduction, the blond had after all panicked when Sherlock had cornered him. Was this the reason why? A bad breakup indeed.

He wouldn't allow these miscreants to continue manhandling his-well what was he to Sherlock exactly? They were barely introduced, he hadn't even given John his name. Still something in him claimed John as his own, and nothing else mattered. How dare these low leveled undergrads spoiled by daddy and mummy's money, how dare they treat John like this. Who the hell did they think they were? Sherlock had dropped out of UNI to get away from idiots like this.

"Oh, no worries love, I'll go slow."

"Don't do this Tyler." John's voice came out weak, already a bruise was forming perfectly under his left eye.

" Why don't you say please Johnny. It'll sound perfect with your lips on my dick."

Tyler was reaching for his belt but someone shoved him roughly back and he came up hard against the alley's skip.

"What the fuck!" He growled he didn't have a chance to continue before a heavy fist hit him in the abdomen doubling over a knee crashed into his side. "Fuck! Mate!" Tyler tried to climb to his feet, wondering where the hell his friends went off to. Blinking away the daze from the kicks he'd just received he could hear Geoff and Mike shouting, looking over Mike was on the ground while two blokes kicked him and Geoff was trading punches with some kid in a gray hoodie.

"Who the hell are you?" Ty demanded meeting an icy gray stare. He dodge the swing and tried to aim for his attackers ribs. He stumbled forward when his swing found nothing but empty air. A well aimed strike met his face bringing tears to his eyes, blood exploding out of his nose. "Fuck! You broke my nose." Ty was on his knees a hand to his face. He made pathetic whimpering noises.

Sherlock crouched down, seizing a handful of the prick's over gelled hair in his shaking right hand. He tilted the whining idiots head back, watery eyes connecting with narrowed icy gray. "If you don't stay away from John I'll break more than that!" Sherlock growled.

"Who the fuck are you? His boyfriend?" Ty tried to move his head out from the hard grasp. Sherlock never answered he only flung the fool from him in disgust.

"Hey kid you alright?" Wesley kneeled down next to the blond who had graciously given them a pack of cigarettes. "Hey Siggs your mate here ain't movin. Think they worked him over pretty good."

The other three stopped in mid punch or kick and ambled over to were Wesley was crouched.

Sherlock pushed past the three, ignoring the moans from the now retreating rivals.

"I'll be fine. Thanks." John groaned, attempting to open his eyes. He moved slowly wincing as his knees came up under his chest and his head against the cold pavement.

Sherlock cupped the blond's chin in his hand tilting John's bruised face up for inspection. Blue eyes blinked in confusion, a bruise forming high on a pale cheek, a split lip. It was as if some vandal had come and spray painted vulgarity on such beautiful piece of art. This enraged him even more and if the coward hadn't already fled he would have sent another string of kicks to their faces and ribs.

John must have seen the anger in his gray eyes because when Sherlock tried to help him stand John flinched. Sherlock ignored this and gently wrapped an arm around the toned waist.

"Anything broken Doctor?" he asked gently as the blond hissed in pain swaying momentarily.

"Not a Doctor yet-but-oh. Hello again." another genuine smile formed on the bruised lips, recognition seemed to put the shorter man at ease. "Bit embarrassing this." Sherlock didn't reply instead he kept John steady.

Offering his handkerchief causing the younger man to laugh and accept it. "Who said chivalry is dead?" He held it to his bleeding lip with shaking hands.

" Hardly. I don't want you bleeding on me." A dry reply.

" And a romantic." John dabbed at his lip slowly, he was about to offer it back.

" Keep it I have more."

John is swaying again "Sorry guess I haven't inherited the family's tolerance for alcohol. Or stealing." Sherlock caught the blond, before he fell to his knees.

" Your sister pinched your wallet and left you? I bet this was her idea you come? Probably said you don't hang out enough?" It was an easy enough deduction.

"How did you? That's absolutely brilliant." There it was again, praise where others would usually offer rejection.

"Hey Siggs, you still coming over? You can bring your uh-new friend. Might suit him to get a little blow in him. Perk him right up." Wesley was lighting another cigarette. Sherlock felt John stiffen he shot a glare at Wesley who made a face that easily read "My bad." His hands up defensively.

"Uh, I'll be fine. You obviously had plans. I just need to be pointed in the right direction-" John leaned heavily into the taller body, feeling guilty for enjoying the warmth and safety it offered. He had no business feeling like this towards a complete stranger. How pathetic was he? Probably best to find a familiar street maybe he could call Stamford, it was a bit late though. Mike would be in bed, or maybe at Sophie's. John would feel horrible for interrupting what little time he got to spend with Sophie away from the hospital.

Damn his head was starting to pound and things seemed a bit fuzzy, he should just try calling Harry one more time.

He could feel those beautiful gray eyes were cutting into him again. Pushing past his own defenses, as if examining his soul, for a moment John wondered what the intriguing man could see.

"I'm no doctor, but I'm concerned you may have a concussion."

"No. Don't think so. Just too much to drink. At least I think so." John tried to sound convincing. How did they get out into the street already? Oh no, was he blacking out? "Where are your friends?" John winced looking around bewildered.

"They are only acquaintances-"

"Don't say that, they did help you out. By the way thanks for that." John hoped he sounded sincere but his voice was hoarse and he felt so tired. "Could have been bad."

"It has been before?" Sherlock had deduced as much, most likely the reason John and that idiot Ty were not together.

"Nothing I couldn't handle." John tried to shrug it off, wincing again when the arm around him tightened, causing him to stumble forward. The same strong hold that caused him pain, kept him steady.

"Looked like you were handling yourself fine." Sherlock's voice came out harsher than he meant, and he hated himself for causing John more pain, his hold tightened on reflexs when he heard John's retort. How could he explain the sudden urge to keep John safe, they hardly knew one another. John caught his breath hissing in pain.

"Sssh, easy. Just breath. Are you sure nothing's broken?" he worriedly started to run his free hand over John's toned chest and lightly down the left side and right. Sherlock had checked to see that John's pants were still done up, there didn't look to be any other kind of damage.

"I'm sure, just bruised pretty good. I really should try and call my sister again." John cringed

"Do you honestly think she'll answer?"

"It's worth a try." John took in a sharp breath it was getting harder and harder to keep his eyes open.

"May I use your phone?" John nodded.

" Back pocket, if it's still there." The dark haired young man lazily cupped John's right side and moved over to the left pocket, lingering longer than he should.

Sherlock swore at himself for acting like a teenager coping a feel, instead he focused on pulling John's mobile out, leaning the shorter blond against the brick of another old building. He then took a deep breath and sent a text to the one person he hated most. The only thing over riding his hatred for Mycroft was the disgust he felt towards John's harpy of a sister. He would be sure she didn't get to spend a pound of the young Doctor's hard earned money. Shortly after he sent a text to Mycroft a cab seemed to appear out of nowhere, Sherlock scowled at John's phone.

He climbed into the cab with a half conscious John Watson leaning into him. The reply text from Mycroft pinged just as the door had slammed shut.

A doctor? Mummy would be proud. Shall I tell father.-MH

Fuck off. He's an acquaintance.-SH

I 'll have it collected shall I bring it to you myself? Would be nice to meet this doctor of yours-MH

You always did want what I had.-SH

And you always did break your toys before I could take them from you.-MH

The younger Holmes refused to be baited, and although he just met this John Watson he didn't approve of him being referred to as a toy. Mycroft could go fuck himself.

So a new distraction? What will Jim say?-MH