A/N: Part 13. -csf
John shut his eyes tight. Sherlock was in deep trouble.
Sherrinford turned to face the stunned man.
'I'm sure you can do this, John', he said, calmly, before the deep storms that carried over the lonely soldier's expression so blatantly.
'I may have given you the wrong impression', John replied stiffly, with a degree of ugly self-deprecation and a tight smile. 'I'm not exactly a genius like Sherlock. Or any other Holmes I know, for that matter. I will need your help, Sherrinford. It's your baby brother's life at stake, for all we know.'
'Wh-what?' the scientist genius stuttered.
'We came here to save your life. That's what Sherlock has asked me to help him do.' His smile turned sour. 'But the git probably already had it all planned. Maybe it wasn't plan A. Call it a plan B or C, lord knows the git loves to multitask. He knew that if the danger befalling on you escalated he could always take your place. Give himself up for you.'
'That's insane!' the genius protested.
'No.' John said that one word cold and sharp, authoritarian even. He wouldn't let Sherrinford Holmes talk down Sherlock's beautiful and generous act of sacrifice.
Sherlock had quite a track record for self-sacrifice, after St Bart's rooftop. Memories of the post-Reichenbach days plagued John at once, up until that gelid culmination one drizzly morning outside St Bart's. The world had stopped for John after what he believed he had witnessed; or at least it felt that way. It'd take over a year before John could admit to feeling alive again. And after two years, when the magic trick got revealed...
That fall had broken two men, that cold day. The one standing below, that Sherlock had vowed to protect in his generous and brave decision, could almost have died of the cure rather than the disease. And Sherlock himself had lived and witnessed more than the socially awkward, smugly brilliant, detached from reality and overprotected genius was ready for. Sherlock had barely made it through as well. And if he had survived - obviously he had, although at times the uncertainty still presented itself to him - it was because he latched on firmly to this certainty that he was keeping John safe. A worthy cause. And that he could return, appreciative and thankful, to his old life.
'Don't you dare', John lowered his voice dangerously. So much so that it came across as almost a growl. 'Sherlock is in danger, risking his life for yours. Do you have any idea of what he might be going through? So you can stand here and talk to me freely? It's your duty to help me rescue him, and it's not only because he's your baby brother. It's because deep down you care so much about him and you've never told him so in quite so many words. It's because you admire him, and the happiness that emanates from him when he talks about his cases, Baker Street and the life he fought so hard to return to. He could have stayed in Tibet with you - and the lord may have had mercy on the poor monks when Sherlock rushed like mad chasing his incredible mind - but he didn't. He bravely fought his way back through fear, pain and severe discomfort. He made it. And now he found his older brother to be in danger, and what did he do? He gambled all of that away again, for you. He's put all his faith in you, Sherrinford, and in me. I can lead the way just fine, you know, but I'll need your brains on this one.'
Sherrinford blinked over and over again, behind the thick lenses of his glasses. He looked pale and uncomfortable, but also mesmerised by the one foot smaller, blond man in front of him, standing at parade's rest in the most unassuming manner, while his deep blue eyes shone dark promises of war.
'I... I think I could help with the brains part', he admitted, using John's simple language.
John nodded curtly, in approval, to the man in the silly costume. The headband was lost, and John had already mentally appropriated the nunchucks, and all else - a black karate-type shirt and Lycra bottoms - were suited enough for the task ahead.
'Keep sharp', John ordered. 'I'm not infallible as the brawns either', he admitted honestly before turning round sharply to cross the corridor.
Sherrinford's eyebrow raise was a hint that he had picked up on that much already.
The older Holmes had to haste to keep up with the fiercely motivated soldier.