The Trick Revealed

Chp 12

John ran back to the house as fast as he could, he couldn't stay there a moment longer. The look on Sherlock's face had been enough to bring him to tears. He didn't want to leave, and that was the problem, because he had to. There was no excuse for the things he had done, he knew that. If he'd thought he was justified before, then he was the world's greatest idiot, because what he had done, what he'd helped do to his country…there were no words. Worse, what he'd done to Sherlock. The man who'd given him purpose, the man who'd shown him unwavering love and loyalty. He'd been out there this whole time searching for him, thinking the worst. The least John could have done was go to double check. If he had just left that hospital to visit the flat, to be 100% certain then none of this would have happened. For now the detective seemed relieved to see him, but he knew better. Logic would set in soon, he would see what John had done, and he'd see what sort of man he really was. A weak, pathetic excuse for a human who was so desperate to be loved that he'd turned to a psychopath for it. Greg seemed to agree, although he hadn't said it in so many words. Needless to say the man was pissed to see that the man he'd assumed was being tortured all this time had in fact been working for a terrorist plot. He'd yelled, told John about how hard Sherlock had taken it, how everyone had suffered. John didn't even offer up an explanation, he knew what he'd done; Greg knew what he'd done. He'd let his own insecurities get the better of him; let him make such a stupid decision. Luckily he did believe him about everything that had happened, including the kidnappings, he promised to help. He'd gone with John to fetch Mrs. Hudson and John's knife; they wanted to have eyes on Mrs. Hudson in case anything went wrong, it was best to keep her with the rest of them once the rescue took place. He got John the supplies he needed and trusted him to do as promised; that was more than he could have asked for.

As he made his way back into the house he made a mental note to never let a day pass that he didn't thank that man. With out him that rescue may never have taken place. From the looks of the house things were still calm, that was good. The men probably assumed Jim and him were still occupied, and that Sebastian was with the captives. With any luck no one had gone to check in on them. He made his way further into the house until he came upon the bottom floor full bathroom, without wasting any time he hurried inside. Underneath the sink there was a small duffle bag with his browning L9A1 and a Billy club Greg had gotten a hold of. It wasn't much, but he'd done with less in Afghanistan on occasion, and he'd had much less reason to live then. He needed to live through this though, he owed it to Sherlock. He owed him a proper apology, the right to scream his guts out, the right to some closure. John may have fucked up his life, but he wouldn't do that to Sherlock, he'd give him what he deserved, and then he would take his punishment like a man. He concealed his weapons quickly and made his way back into the hall. It was going to be a long night.

/

Sherlock nearly crawled out of his skin once Mrs. Hudson finally opened the door. She insisted on hugging him and blubbering about the time he'd been gone, about John, about anything and everything. Really, she had the worst timing. If that wasn't bad enough Donovan was one of the eight agents that were at hand, and she made sure to throw insults at him despite his recent abduction. None of it mattered; he needed to get to John. But there he was, stuck between sob filled hugs and snarky remarks.

"Honestly, were you even taken? I heard he did it because you went all psychopath on him and broke his heart, he thinks it's a projector thingy now; I think it's just another mind game of yours. You just needed him to save you arse."

Sherlock broke free from Mrs. Hudson vice grip and brought himself to his full height so he could tower over Donovan.

"Would you kindly shut. Your. Mouth. Because if you don't I will not hesitate to shut it for you."

Mrs. Hudson gasped out an 'oh dear' while Donovan simply stared back venomously in response.

"Now, somebody tell me where John is."

"I'll take you to him dearie, no need to make a fuss."

Mrs. Hudson led him through the house and up a set of stairs. Sherlock could feel his hands becoming sweaty and his heart rate increasing. He needed to get to that room, he needed to get to John, he needed Mrs. Hudson to hurry up. Finally they reach a bedroom at the end of the hall and Mrs. Hudson looks up at him lovingly.

"He asked for us to be quiet around him…but I'm sure you know more about all of this than I ever will. Just…I don't want to see anyone get hurt, ok love?"

Sherlock nodded in acknowledgment and gave the older woman a brief hug. He watched as she shuffled down the hallway. After taking a deep breath the detective entered the room. There he was, lying perfectly still in what appeared to be Lestrade's son's bed. For a moment he could do nothing but stare, he had seen John before, but this was different. Moriarty was dead now and they were so close to being together again. Slowly he made his way over to the smaller man careful to make little noise. Sitting himself on the bed carefully, he began to lightly brush his fingers across John's chest and then brought his hand up to cup the doctor's cheek.

"John…"

He started to whisper but his voice broke half way through. He needed John to know that he was there for him, he might not be able to fight with the soldier, but he could at least give his support. He knew John couldn't break his concentration, there was no telling what could happen if John's body began signaling for the projection and it didn't make it in time to merge together again. He had helped John originally though and he knew that there was a certain amount he could take without it becoming a problem. So he did his best to continue on.

"Listen, John, I'm here ok? You're going to get out of there alive; you're going to do whatever you have to because I refuse to loose you ok? You are not going to die after everything we've gone through. You're. Not. Allowed."

He brought his other hand up to comb through John's hair. There was no way to tell if the smaller man could hear him, he just had to hope he was getting through. He continued to whisper to the doctor regardless, just praying that somehow it would make a difference.