Sherlock woke with the weight of John on top of him and arms wrapped under and around his shoulders. Sherlock's initial instinct was to push John off and get up, but he felt a bone-deep exhaustion in his limbs, and he realized that he now had very little reason to push away his familiar. So he just let John lay on top of him with his arms clutching him close.
He let his gaze travel lazily over the blonde man in his arms. John and he had collapsed after the bonding had finished, after they had kissed with enough passion to make Sherlock explode every lightbulb in the building. John was still sleeping heavily, exhausted from last night's activities and the energy that had spiked through him. Sherlock took the liberty of running one hand lightly through John's hair, smiling when John mumbled and snuggled his face deeper into Sherlock's neck. It was quite...adorable, Sherlock supposed, how John nuzzled in such a canine way even in human form.
There was something new in his mind, Sherlock realized suddenly, and new things did not just appear in his mind like this. Sherlock reached out mentally for it, brushing his consciousness against what felt like...
His familiar.
It was John, the tickling sensation of John's slumber brushing against his thoughts. It was strange and unfamiliar in a way, but it actually wasn't as unfamiliar when Sherlock remembered that it was still John. His John, always there for him now. Sherlock experimented with turning the connection up and down, and found he could control how much he felt John's presence in his mind without ever actually turning it off. Not Sherlock would ever do that even if he could. His phone buzzed in his pocket, reminding him once again that he had passed out with John on top of him without even changing clothes first. He pulled his phone out of his pocket from under John, careful not to wake him.
Come to the Yard.-MH
No. Busy.-SH
Yes, I know. But there are some people here that wish to speak with you.-MH
You became acquainted last night with them.-MH
They wish to speak to you.-MH
Don't be childish.-MH
Fine. But I'm busy at the moment. I'll be there in an hour.-SH
You haven't found my cameras yet.-MH
Say hello to John for me.-MH
Sherlock rolled his eyes and dropped his phone onto the floor under the bed, replacing his arm around John's bare torso. John stirred, yawning sleepily as his eyes fluttered open. He stayed still though, not looking at Sherlock.
Good morning, Sherlock.
Sherlock's eyebrows shot up. John's eyes met his, gleaming with mirth.
We're bonded. It's telepathy. Surely you knew about this.
Yes, of course. I just wasn't expecting it to be so...clear. Actually hearing thoughts as well as emotional transfer.
"It takes some getting used to, I'm told. Knowing what someone else is thinking all the time." John said aloud. "Though you never seemed to need telepathy for that."
"John. I just wanted to say..." Sherlock stopped and thought for a moment before starting over. "What we did last night, I'm..." Sherlock sighed, frustrated.
"It's alright, we're both tired." John slid from his place on top of Sherlock, and for a moment the sorcerer thought John was getting up. But instead, John just curled into Sherlock's side instead, laying his head on Sherlock's chest. "I still need about three more hours of sleep, I think."
"Sounds excellent." Sherlock began stroking John's neck. "But I need to go to the Yard and speak with our guests from last night."
"Now?" John asked sleepily, trying and failing to keep his eyes open. Sherlock wrapped his arms around John and tugged him closer.
"There's a little time." Sherlock replied softly. John smiled and was soon sleeping again. Sherlock stayed there for another half-hour before extracting himself from under John and heading for the shower. When he reemerged dressed and ready to leave, John was still sleeping. Sherlock thought about leaving a note before remembering that John could contact him at anytime without so much a mobile phone.
"Sherlock," Lestrade followed his consultant as he made his way to the interrogation room holding Ricky Strider. "How's John?"
"He's fine." Sherlock said, waving away the D.I. as he came in sight of his brother. "Which room?"
In there. Remember, Sherlock. I'll be watching," Lestrade warned, not liking the look in Sherlock's eyes. "He will come out of there in the same shape they went in."
Sherlock nodded, meeting his brother's eyes over Lestrade's shoulder. The silent command to stop him before he went too far was conveyed and Mycroft nodded minutely.
"Ah, Mr. Holmes. Good to see you again." Ricky sneered as the tall, thin man sat in front of him. Sherlock could see runes on the cuffs that were holding him, invisible to the eyes of regulars but blazed with Mycroft's perfect penmanship. Sherlock eyed the man before him, suppressing a smirk at the obvious discomfort in his eye from where John had apparently scratched him in favor of an emotionless glare.
"You came into my flat for a reason," Sherlock stated. Ricky grinned.
"Yeah, to bring the little doggy back to the pound." Ricky's grin stretched wider. "You know, I saw him once at my brother's place. He was eager to show off his new pet."
"Who sent you after John?" Sherlock interrupted. Ricky continued on as if he hadn't heard.
"He wasn't allowed to wear clothes most of the time. Thomas liked to see the brand, remind John of his place at all times. He fought to get away at first."
"Why does your boss want him back, specifically?" Sherlock's voice rose in volume, hands tightening into fists.
"He kept trying to run away and Thomas kept having to order him to come back." Ricky kept ignoring Sherlock, secure in the thought that with regulars watching Sherlock wouldn't try anything. "Johnny-boy had to be broken so he could be used. Would you like me to describe how he screamed when Thomas punished-"
Sherlock had heard enough and grabbed the man's neck across the table. He pulled him up and out of the chair by the collar.
"You seem to think that because you are in a building full of regulars that you are safe from my magic. I hate to tell you, but you are completely wrong. You see, I am not the only powerful person here, and there is a veil over this room. The regulars will see what I want them to see, both with their eyes and on the surveillance cameras." Sherlock's fingers sprouted pale tendrils of magic that wrapped around the man's throat, applying enough pressure to show Sherlock's intentions without actually cutting off any energy. "Now you will tell me who sent you and why. Now."
Ricky's eyes finally looked scared, something that made Sherlock smile a positively psychopathic smirk.
"I don't know his name," The tendrils tightened, cutting off some of his air. "I never even met him face to face."
"How did you receive your instructions? And don't lie to me, I will know," Sherlock warned.
"He texted us. Different phone every week," Ricky's cuffed hands tried to grapple with the magic leaking out of Sherlock's fingers to no avail as his air continued to be cut off bit by bit. "We were just messengers! The delivery service! I swear!"
Sherlock sneered in disgust. The tendrils relaxed and faded and Ricky dropped back into his chair heavily, breathing deeply.
"You delivered innocent people to be tortured and used against their will," Sherlock looked into the camera where Lestrade had been watching a routine interrogation, no magic involved. The veil lifted right as Ricky was confessing. Mycroft's tension eased as his brother regained control over his emotions. The elder Holmes decided that perhaps a transfer to high security holding facility was necessary for both this man and his companion. Their boss didn't sound like the kind to leave many loose ends lying around.
John rolled over and reached out to where Sherlock had been lying before. The bed was cold and John pondered this for a minute. Sherlock had said that he was going to the Yard, and he figured that Sherlock must have been away for awhile by now. John touched the bond in his mind, feeling the anger that Sherlock was feeling, and the protectiveness that Sherlock felt for John. John smiled at that but he was curious over the cause of such anger.
Sherlock?
Almost back at the flat.
I know that. What happened?
Nothing. Just a friendly chat with some men that had some answers I needed to hear.
I know something happened. What did they say?
Very little of use.
Sherlock finally dragged himself back into the flat, as tired as if he had been awake for several days, and he new what that felt like. His strength had not yet fully recovered when he left for the Yard, and another few hours of sleep would have greatly reduced the exhaustion caused by exerting himself with Ricky. John had of course sensed him coming and had put the kettle on when Sherlock was close to the flat. Now he was waiting for Sherlock with a steaming mug that the lanky man took gratefully. Sherlock sat in his black leather chair across from the red one that John had claimed.
"What happened?" John asked softly. Sherlock remained silent, pensive-looking, but John could feel the anger still in Sherlock's mind betraying his calm exterior. "Sherlock?"
"Nothing happened. That is precisely the problem." Sherlock ran the hand not holding a mug of hot tea through his hair in frustration. "There is no direct link between the main traffickers and the deliverymen so there is no way to backtrack from the two imbeciles that hurt you to the sorcerer that controlled you with fear magic."
"Sherlock, that isn't your fault." John sat heavily in his armchair.
"Of course it isn't my fault, I never said it was." Sherlock snapped. "I can't control what happens when a psychopath decides to be very clever when he kidnaps people to sell them into slavery."
John opened his mouth to reply, but closed it when he couldn't find the words. Sherlock was in a mood, and even though John hadn't known Sherlock for very long he didn't need to use their bond to sense his foul mood.
However, he did use his bond to sense that Sherlock wanted contact with him but he didn't want to talk. He just wanted reassurance that John was alright. John slid from his chair, four paws hitting the ground. He padded over to Sherlock and nuzzled his leg before jumping up onto his lap and settling his weight comfortably over Sherlock's skinny legs.
Sherlock momentarily froze, years of conditioning to avoid human contact trying to surface, before shoving it aside to stroke John's fur. The television turned on and Sherlock settled in with John to watch some crap TV while John sent him flashes of soothing emotions.
Show you something?
Sherlock nodded absentmindedly, fingers twisted in the fluff of John's back. He was suddenly flash with a memory, a memory that Sherlock at first didn't recognize.
It was cold and dark, and the was pain. Sherlock was watching John's memory through John's eyes. Then the door opened, and someone came in. A tall man with dark curls and a blue scarf. He could smell the energy on the man, and he was terrified. Another one of master's friends? No, he was asking him what his name was. Trust him? Could he trust this man? Master coming back, coming back for him. The man, Sherlock, calming him, offering to protect him and free him and it works. The brand is gone, and John can't help it. He changes forms because he's just been stuck for so long he needs to change and the man just hold him. He is free. And he will follow this man anywhere.
When we first met. That was what you were thinking. Sherlock rubbed John's ears gently.
You saved me. No matter what happens, you have saved me. You'll save the others.
You can't know that.
I trust you.
Sherlock laughed slightly. These telepathic conversations still felt so strange. But they were also nice. Sherlock didn't feel alone anymore. Though surely it would get annoying at times, Sherlock doubted it would ever get boring and that was one of the highest compliments Sherlock was capable of giving.
