Sherlock Holmes was an idiot. He was a freakin idiot and John Watson was going to yell it into his face— as soon as he gets the chance.
Sherlock didn't tell him about the meeting with Angelface. John was intentionally mooching around the flat, he even asked if there was any progress in the case. But still, detective didn't say anything... John didn't give himself away. When half past six, Sherlock announced that he's going out, John just nodded and continued to watch "Doctor Who" on the tv like he didn't care. But two minutes and seventeen seconds after the detective left the flat, he run to his room, took his gun and followed his idiotic genius flatmate.
When he arrived at the place of "rendezvous", Sherlock and Angelface were already in the middle of conversation. Well, if you can call it conversing, when one person is standing with his hands in the air and the other one is playing with gigantic knife in his hand. John knew that Sherlock must have some sort of plan. But now it didn't seem that he's exactly in control of the situation and John could only curse him in his mind.
At least, John found a perfect hideout. He was hidden behind a wall next to barred gate that led from one section of the building to another. He could comfortably tilt at the corner to control the situation. The warehouse where the "rendezvous" was taking place was already closed for the night, but that gate was not locked, so he was free to get even closer. Still, if he opened it now, the noise would give away his position. And for now, the unawareness of his presence was his best advantage. Acoustics in this place were horrible so he had no idea what the men were talking about, but up to that moment, Sherlock seemed to manage to keep Angelface from actually using that knife.
Unfortunately, before John made it to coming up with any kind of plan, Angelface finally lost his patience. He dangerously swung the knife and took a step forward. John tensed, grasping his gun and releasing the safety catch. He positioned himself, aiming between the bars, ready to shoot if the situation got any more dangerous.
Am I really going to pull that trigger? His conscience was almost screaming along with the common sense. His heart was beating extremely fast, though hands were perfectly steady. It is not war anymore. Am I really going to kill for someone I barely know?
"Enough talking!" Angelface yelled and John's breathing became short, intermittent gasps.
Get yourself together, Watson. Are you capable of shooting someone's backfor antisocial flatmate who you barely know?
Suddenly, shot of pain went through the back of his head, his vision blackening for splits of second. It all crushed on him in a tangled string of memories— Unhesitatingly pulling the trigger with his gun aimed at that damned cabby, bumping into Mike, waking up after he was shot in Afghanistan and unbearable pain in his arm, all the running through London along Sherlock's side, violin play in the middle of the night, first meeting at Bart's, the arguments and 'getting some air' at Sarah's couch, the shared laugh, getting mistaken for Sherlock's date, Mycroft's kidnappings, the moment when he realized he doesn't need his cane, apologizing for the high-functioning sociopath's unsociable behaviours, all the sleepless nights, giggling at the crime scene, killing for Sherlock and willingness to do it again, Sherlock's dramas when he's bored, the absolute brilliance of his and at the very last, the overwhelming loneliness that was stifling him after the Afghanistan and the end of it when he met Sherlock.
When he came round, he was kneeling, his back leaning on the wall. He was shivering and couldn't calm his breathing. As soon as he was sure he would not fall on his face if he moved, he turned around. The recollection felt like getting thrown into some other dimension, but it seemed it all lasted few seconds. Sherlock was still in one piece, though Angelface was growing more upset. He was screaming now.
"I knew I've seen you before! Last time I've got my hands only on your little friend but it's nice you've actually came to me on your own. You've played enough on my nerves!"
He made another step towards Sherlock. Detective said something that didn't reach John's ears. Angelface only laughed.
"Oh, I think we'll make do without a chair this time." Angelface positioned himself to attack with ugly smile on his burnt face.
John pulled the trigger without hesitation. He had no regrets. No doubts. Not now.
Angelface faltered awkwardly and dropped the knife as choked scream left his throat. He tried to steady himself, seeking support by desperately grasping Sherlock's coat. Both men fell to the ground.
John jumped to his feet and run towards them. Firstly, he looked at the Angelface in the swelling puddle of dark liquid. His chest bloody, blank eyes frozen in misunderstanding, scarred face even more hideous than when he was alive. He was no longer a threat.
When John was sure that there's no more danger, he could finally turn to Sherlock.
He was still sitting on the ground, his eyes scanning the crime scene with confusion. John wanted to call him but somehow he couldn't find his voice. Instead, he approached the detective and stretched out his hand.
Sherlock's eyes met John's— and it was enough for him to see, to understand.
Detective took his hand and rose to his feet, their gazes still locked
"John... You're back," Sherlock exhaled, his harsh breath sounding almost like a sob.
"Yes, I'm back," he gasped and swayed back a little, still dizzy with growing pain at the back of his head. He was sure he's going to lose his balance, when suddenly he felt steady grip of Sherlock's hands on his waist, moving him closer to the detective. John leaned on him, clutching Sherlock's coat.
"Are you alright?"
"Yeah... Everything is alright now."
Their foreheads touched as they stood embraced by all the words that they didn't need to say in this unspoken reunion.
Somehow their lips found each other. High on adrenaline, wearing off fear and overwhelming relief, they felt like world had stopped. Nothing else mattered— because when a sociopath and damaged ex-army doctor find their perfectly matching contradiction and it is them against the world and they couldn't care less unless they're together and they are faultless together– what else is there to matter?
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Well.. I've got to admit I was extremely nervous about this chapter - it is the climax of the story and I wanted it to be perfect. I can't say that I'm pleased with it but I just really hope you will enjoy it and I didn't disappoint you with the progress of the story ^^" There still one last chapter to go! Reviews will be more than welcomed! Lovin' you all for staying with me :)