The Social Network
Chapter 11- The love and loss
'Mycroft, I have a problem.' I mutter into my phone, quietly, as so not to wake John.
'Not a good time Sherlock.' He moans, apparently agitated into the phone. Urgh, he's sleeping with that assistant of his. That's a mental image I don't need. Must find a way to delete that.
'Alex is asleep, as is John. There couldn't be a better time.' I point out.
'What is it Sherlock?' Mycroft asks, having seemingly acknowledged that the quickest way to get me of this phone is to listen to what I have to say. 'And how on earth did you manage to enable my phone?'
'Irrelevant.' I respond. 'I require your advice on a matter of the deepest delicacy.'
'What's happened with John?' He asks. I can see the look on his face now, no dought preparing for another kidnapping.
'Nothings the matter Mycroft. Goodness how you jump to conclusions.'
'With your history you can hardly blame me. Anyhow, what can I do to assist you little brother?' He questions in a tone that I have always found patronising. However, on this occasion I am prepared to overlook it. I'll disconnect his phone lines later.
'I think… I'm in love with John.' I whisper, wary of the fact that John could wake up at any second.
'Sherlock that's wonderful.' Praises Mycroft, seeming genuinely happy. Though I suppose he would, he's effectively been my keeper for years. 'What could be wrong with that?'
'Im worried about him. The second Moriarty incident taught me just how easy it would be to loose John. Our relationship is now common knowledge to the criminal underworld. You know as well as I do, that John will now be used against me, and put in constant danger. I couldn't live with myself if anything were to happen to him.' I blurt out, regretting nearly every word the second they leave my mouth. Confessing my fears to Mycroft cannot be a good move.
'Sherlock listen here. No relationship is ever easy. And one with John and yourself together will be harder than most. But ask yourself this. Could you bare to let him go? Because if you do there's no going back Sherlock. If you tell him your true reasoning I guarantee he won't leave your side, and if you used another method, he will move out of Baker Street and you will be once again alone.' Mycroft firmly states. 'Sherlock promise me you aren't going to throw away what you have with John over childish insecurities.'
'I… don't think I could bear to lose him.' I mummer.
'In that case I haven't a clue why this conversation is taking place. I take it I am free to put down the phone?' He asks, voice baring the slightest hint of humour.
'Sure, get back to your assistant.'
'And you to John. Though I don't think that either of us needs that mental image of the other.' Mycroft adds.
'Agreed.' I respond.
'Goodnight Sherlock.'
'Goodnight Mycroft.' I mumble. 'And thank you.' Is added, so quietly that with anyone other than my brother I would assume it had been missed.
Despite the fact that Mycroft didn't actually say anything that I couldn't have worked out myself, I am surprised to find that our conversation actually helped sooth any doughts I may have had. I love John and that's all that should matter. It is still painfully obvious to me that John will no dought be used as a pawn in our cases, but I vow to myself that I will never let any harm come to him, and I know he would do the same for me. He's already shot the cab driver, what more proof do I need?
Safe in the knowledge that for the foreseeable future at least, John Watson is mine, I drop the phone onto the cradle, and relax my body onto the bed, curving my body against John's, moulding our bodies to the extent that we could be mistaken for one person. Tomorrow can wait, because tonight, John is asleep in my arms. And nothing, repeat nothing, could ever be more tranquil. And for once, I mean that positively.
-SHERLOCK-
'Sherlock I am going to say this once more and only once.' John calmly states. 'I am not wearing my jumper to the client's engagement party!'
'But why not John? You look simply divine in it. I cannot see a reason for you not to wear it.' I reply.
'That may be so Sherlock, but the invitation says black tie!' He adds exasperatedly.
'I have nothing against you wearing a tie.' I say, smirk being to show at the corners of my mouth.
'A tie and a jumper?' He says disbelievingly. Honestly, you'd think I was asking the man to go naked by the amount of fuss he is making.
'No Sherlock, just no. I'm going to get dressed; I think you'll agree that it suits me far better than an ill-fitting jumper.'
I huff in response, as he leaves my bedroom and walks calmly towards his bedroom, shutting the door behind him.
By god was it worth the wait. 5 minutes later John emerges. I may have seen him in a suit, but that didn't even compare to what I am seeing now. I'm mildly concerned that he'll out do the groom to be.
I deduce that the suit must have been a gift from a friend or family member. John would never spend so much on what he considers a luxury.
The jacket is black, and has an almost silky look from a distance. It accentuates his shoulders, and is fitted around his waist, giving him an altogether delectable look. I shan't launch into a description of the rest of the outfit, for I fear that would result in John and I half dressed, hair tousled, panting in one of the bedrooms. The case must take priority, as much as it pains me to say so.
Still, I can't seem the harm in a little light flirting. 'You look simply divine John.' I mummer into his ear, after invading his personal space, and taking a moment to acknowledge the intoxicating aroma that John emits. Let me see: After shave, minty toothpaste and strawberries?
'As do you Sherlock. But then again you always do.' He responds huskily.
I lean in and press my lips to Johns, covering his mouth with my own, and applying just a little pressure. Apparently unprepared for my spur of the moment action, it takes him a couple of seconds to respond, but when he does, he seems to make it his mission to deepen the kiss. He gently runs his tounge across my lips, causing me to moan and hurriedly open my mouth, to which he slips his tounge inside, to which I recipicate the action. His mouth is warmer then I remember, and tastes of a mix of coffee and toothpaste, a mix that I decide at that very second, the thing I have ever experienced.
John's hands have wormed their way inside my partly unbuttoned shirt, causing a familiar ball of desire to build up in my stomach and groin when his warm nimble fingers touch bare skin, one hand grazing my nipple, the other hand placed protectively over my heart.
Forgetting the prior arrangement, I press John against the nearest door, resulting on both of us falling head long into John's bedroom, thanks to the open inwards door. Luckily for us, the room is small, and our falls are cushioned by the fall. Arms wrapped around each other, we climb back onto the bed, and launch back into another kiss. My hands become more adventurous, choosing the places John touched me previously and reciprocating the actions. My thumb grazes his nipples each in turn, as my other hand attempts to remove John's suit jacket and silky shirt. This proves harder than necessary, as john refuses to break the kiss, and I do not wish to loose contact with this beautiful man.
Eventually, we manage to remove the offending articles of clothing, shirts, jackets and ties thrown around the room, ending in a pile by the foot of the bed.
We both know that if our trousers are removed, we will not make even the smallest appearance at the engagement party, so below the waist line becomes a mutually agreed 'no go area' despite the painful arousal I am feeling, and judging by the tent formed in Watson's trousers, he doesn't feel any different. This doesn't however, mean that we can't explore each other's bodies above the waist in every possible way, with the occasional feather light touch to one or the other of our arousals, causing the receiver's eye's to cloud in lust, and more often than not, result to begging, with no effect.
'Sherlock, John. You have been in that bedroom 15 minutes. Surely you cannot possibly think you have enough time for anything to happen between you and be on time?' Mycroft calls out calmly. From the tone of his voice, I would estimate that he is currently sitting in the open kitchen area, no dought with that woman of his by his side.
'Your brother's here?' John hisses indignantly.
'It would appear so.' I grumble. 'Mycroft piss off!' I yell at him, with the slim hope that he will take me at my word and leave John and I to our own devices.
'Hardly likely Sherlock. If I were to leave now you shan't leave that bedroom tonight. You know how high profile this case is, and what with the uproar Moriarty shall cause when he decides to show his face, you will need all the positive publicity you can acquire.' He points out.
'Don't you have better things to do then to follow me around?' I moan. He's always like this. Never left me alone as a child or adolescent, now it would seem he has plans on stalking me my entire adult life.
'Several things. As I'm sure do you. But this takes priority. Come along, get dressed. We will be waiting.' He threatens.
'How does he know were undressed?' John whispers, slightly scared look on his face.
'Best not to ask.' I say in response.
'Why are you going to Sway and Morrison's engagement party anyway?' I mock. 'Shouldn't you be relaxing in your office running the British government single headedly?'
'My superiors have given me the night of. Alex and I have old friends attending the engagement affair. We decided to come along.'
That man has an answer for everything. He realy is most annoying; he's one of the few people who know me that don't take my word as some kind of gospel. The world would be so much simpler if my opinions were regarded as fact. Now the man will no dought annoy me all night, embarrassing John and contradicting everything I say. If only the Sway's had agreed to have him booted of the guest list.
-SHERLOCK-
For the first fifteen or so minuets, the party goes very smoothly indeed. The Sway's seem happy enough, with the exception of the look of apprehension in Mrs Sway's eyes. Apparently both her daughter's happiness and the Sway family name mean a lot to her.
Alicia Sway looks beautiful, or so I'm told. Personally I don't see it. Her hair is curled just a little too tightly to be considered natural, her eyes coated in a substance that does nothing to enhance them, her frame just a little too thin to be seem as healthy, and her dress a cut that adds around 5 years onto her appearance. John appears to notice my sceptical glances towards her, and informs me that under no circumstances should I voice my observations. This is her night, and I'm not to spoil it.
A very Spanish sounding song pours out into the room, with such a beat, that most couples in the room are persuaded to get up and make a fool of themselves on the dance floor.
As much as I detest dancing, when I look to my right and see John, eyes fixated on the couples moving, a drink clutched in his hand, I would be persuaded to dance if it weren't for the case.
The issue is that the blackmailer himself, has yet to make an appearance, and the party has but an hour and a half until it will be a respectable time for the majority of the guests to leave.
This can't be right! Edmund has no reason not to show. This would be the perfect occasion to scare the Sways into paying up, in front of a wide audience.
Then the room goes silent. I myself noticed the absence of the music around 2 minutes ago, and it appears to have only just dawned on everyone else. All conversations cease, with the exception of a muffled whisper running through the crowd. Curios looks are aimed towards the DJ and the party hosts, but they all look as confused as everyone else.
With the confusion thanks to the absence of music, apparently only John and I notice Edmund enter the room. Smartly dressed as always, blending nicely into the crowd. We immediately move in his general direction, but are unable to get to him before he begins to talk, and is easily heard thanks to the absence of any back ground noise.
'Ladies and gentlemen. All of you here are either friends or relations of either Miss Alicia Sway or Lord Morrison. But do all of you know the secret she has been keeping in the dark? I imagine not. Now, as I presume most of you are aware, The Morrison's are strict Catholics and…' Starts Edmund, but that sentence is never finished. A bullet from an un identified source flies through the air and hits him squarely in the head.
John, Mycroft and I immediately assume the roles we are best at. John rushed over to the fallen body of the man yelling 'I'm a doctor, let me through.' And begins attending to the man, and checking the extent of his injuries. Mycroft quickly and efficiently, with the help of Alex and the security he brings everywhere, ushers people out of the building, and begins coming up with excuses to tell people about what has happened. I mean while dash through the crowds of people fighting for the doors and stand in the by now almost empty room, analysing the situation and scanning the crowd for possible suspect.
The killer is likely male (these types of killings are usually male dominated; a female's style tends to be poisoning or a shooting in an intimate argument). He would have to be trained to operate a gun with such a strong aim, so ex-army or Special Forces seems likely. But something's not right. I follow the line the bullet came in to a window. Just as I suspected. A tiny but obvious bullet hole. The killer wasn't even in this room; he would have been standing in the hotel room exactly opposite to this room.
There is only one type of gun that too my knowledge can shoot over that distance. A specific air gun. Moriarty's signature. No dought Moran, his loyal assistant did the shooting, or one of the followers.
Before I examine any closer I look towards John, who is bent over the body of Edmund. He holds the man's wrist and consults his watch. After 30 seconds he retires chest compressions. 'He's dead Sherlock.' John says, voice cracking. 'The bullet entered his skull and pierced his brain. Poor bugger didn't stand a chance.'
A lone tear runs down his cheek. True the man wasn't very nice, but he didn't deserve to die. I pull John into a hug and he buries his face into my shoulder, as I stroke his hair soothingly. With the body of Edmund lying dead in my direct line of vision, I attempt to look anywhere but there, and so my focus my attention on the door frame instead. There's something not right about it. Horror hits me when I realise what I'm seeing. A countdown. A bomb. Moriarty's way of disposing with the evidence.
0.29
0.28
0.27
0.26
'John run!' I scream, grabbing John's hand and dashing for the exit. I do the maths quickly inside my head. The hotel we're in has 3 floors. We have less than 25 seconds to get out.
'What's going on Sherlock?' John cries out as he dashes just behind me, never letting go of my hand.
'There's a bomb!' I screech as we hurtle down the stairs.
I can only hope we make it out in time. If not… We're dead for sure.
Author's note:
Thoughts?
WOW! You guy's rock! I asked for 50 and got 57! Thank you! You're reward is me posting a day earlier than planned.
This time I'm going to ask for a total of 65 reviews, for the next chapter to be posted either Thursday or Friday night. I'm not kidding when I say I am lumbered with far more than what I consider to be my fair share of homework and exam prep, so I realy need encouragement, more than ever before.
0oJustAFeelingo0: Yes, I recognised it too, it's a slightly adapted song that I found with a you tube video, for Sherlock series 2: 'Tick tock goes the clock, he killed the hound he mocked her. Tick tock goes the clock till Sherlock leaves his doctor.' Glad you liked it
I am a purple crayon: To be honest I didn't subconsciously realise I was connecting him with Sheldon from TBBT, but I was watching it when I wrote the last chapter, so references may have come through. I do think they're very alike.
Thank you to everyone who's reviewed so far, you have all been so brilliant and lovely. I realy hope you continue to enjoy it as much as I do writing it!
Oh and sorry for errors, I'm very tired and was in a rush to post this.
Thank you! – Lizzie xx
