Chapter 48

Sherlock picked a route that took him by the most obvious places where Harris would look for him, choosing dark and deserted streets when possible. He could almost feel John's presence behind him and he desperately wanted to turn and look at him. But he couldn't. Not only could Harris be watching, but John would probably take it as a sign that he did not trust him to do his job properly. Considering all the hateful things Sherlock had said that morning back at Baker Street... He tried to push the memory away, but it had latched onto his mind.

John was watching Sherlock's back and the way his coat was flapping around him, until he realized that he wasn't paying attention to their surroundings and started watching the crossings with small alleyways and the shadows of buildings. After all, this was about Sherlock's safety, even though they couldn't be sure Harris would even show. Wouldn't he know that Sherlock was being protected and therefore leave him be?

They walked on, and John's feet began hurting a little. All day he had had to rush through hospital corridors to see patients, and an extended evening walk while he was tense and on guard didn't help matters. He was just considering to call Sherlock to ask if there was nothing else they could do than walk what seemed to be useless circles, when something heavy hit his side from behind and knocked him onto the pavement.

Sherlock sighed. This was useless, he thought. Harris was obviously either too stupid or too smart to turn up tonight. He cringed at the thought of having to admit to John that he'd dragged him around for hours for nothing. But he could not keep doing this out of fear of confrontation. The right thing to do would be to apologise to John and let him go home. He turned around. John was nowhere in sight.

Somehow, John registered the man's horrible smell before he registered the pain of his first punch. He groaned and lashed out to his side with his elbow, unfortunately hitting Harris' cheek instead of breaking his nose. Still, it must have hurt and made him angry, and Harris grabbed John's hair, knocking him to the ground, hard enough to make John's teeth clatter. For a moment, John was dazed and Harris pushed him on his back for another punch. Then John remembered what the man had done to Sherlock and forcefully brought his knees up, causing Harris to huff as his breath was taken away. John almost had him down, but the other man was heavier and struggled until he was back on top of him. John quickly moved to keep Harris' hands away from him, but they were already closing around his throat.

Sherlock scanned the street. Had John just given up on the whole thing and left? No, surely he wouldn't do that. Not without letting Sherlock know. But where could he be? Had he just fallen behind? Sherlock turned and started backtracking. If Harris was watching, the whole thing was probably blown now, but that couldn't be helped. John was more important.

He turned a corner and saw movement on the ground a little down the alley. It took him only a second to realise what was going on. Before he could even think, Sherlock was running towards them. He grabbed Harris by the shoulders, tore him away from John and threw him to the side. The moment the man was out of his line of sight, all he could think about was John. He knelt beside him, one hand on his chest and the other on his cheek. "John!" he cried. "John, are you okay?"

"Yes, yes," John panted, covering the hand on his chest with his own for support and getting up on his knees, closer to Sherlock.

Harris scrambled back up on his feet, but as soon as he saw John's hand fly to his pocket to bring out his gun, he changed his mind and instead of attacking again, he turned and ran.

John pushed Sherlock's shoulder in an urgent but gentle movement. "He's getting away."

For a second Sherlock had no idea who John was talking about, then he whirled around and set off after Harris, down the alley.

John followed, adrenalin rushing through him as he ran. God, this was their old life back. Even though he knew he had missed it a lot, he had not fully realized how much until now.

The chase took them down another alley, across a street where the traffic was mercifully scarce at this time of the night, and then down a steep flight of stairs into a small park.

While they were running, John put his phone to his ear. "Lestrade? We've got him, but he's running from us. We're at-"

"I know," Lestrade interrupted. "I'm not too far away, Mycroft has seen you. Don't let him out of your sight."

As Sherlock sprinted down the path, he looked over his shoulder at John. He couldn't help but smile. God, he had missed this.

But when he looked ahead, he realised that Harris had vanished. He cursed and stopped. Then he heard a sound, off to the left and set off again.

"Stop!" John shouted as soon as the man was back in sight. He took out his gun again and clicked off the safety. "I'm warning you!"

Harris decreased his speed, and John fired a shot up in the air. "Harris!" The man slowed down, and John kept the gun steadily on him. "Turn around slowly, and stay where you are or I'll shoot."

Sherlock glanced at John. His heart leapt at the sight. It was so rarely that the soldier in John stood out so clearly, but it was truly a magnificent sight. He tore his eyes away and hurried over to Harris, taking hold of the man. Then he heard someone approach at a run and turned to look.

"Yes, thank you, we'll take it from here." Lestrade came running towards them, followed by Donovan and a man John didn't know.

Harris gritted his teeth and struggled, but with Sherlock's help the handcuffs eventually did their job and the man could be guided to the police car.

"Are you alright, John? You'd better have that looked at," Greg said, motioning at the bruises on the doctor's face.

John had hardly paid any attention to the wounds. Now Lestrade had mentioned them, he noticed that his right cheek was stinging, but he felt more alive than ever. "Yeah, I'm fine, it's nothing I can't handle."

Sherlock watched them go and then turned to John. He was about to ask if he was sure he was alright, but then he looked into John's eyes. They had that all too familiar gleam. The look they had exchanged countless times, laughing, their hearts racing, after a chase or fight. Without realising it, Sherlock took a step towards John.

John looked up at him. "This... this was good. And he won't get out of jail any time soon now," he said breathlessly. God, Sherlock was close. He should probably take a step backwards, but he couldn't quite bring himself to it.

Sherlock nodded. He reached up his hand and touched the bruise on John's cheek gently. The question was so clear in his mind, so simple. 'Are you okay?' He opened his mouth to speak, but no sound came out.

Unconsciously, John stretched his back so his lips came closer to Sherlock's. "Sherlock..."

Sherlock didn't quite know what happened. Suddenly his lips were pressed against John's and he was pushing him back, until he was pinned against an old wide oak tree.

John hungrily kissed him back, his fingers tangling in the dark curls to pull him closer, closer. A voice in the back of his head vaguely said 'what?', but it didn't get past the short-circuit in his brain that had occurred as soon as Sherlock's lips touched his. He opened his mouth, groaning as one of Sherlock's legs pressed between his own.

Instinct had taken Sherlock over completely. With one hand behind John's head, he held him into the kiss. The other fumbled desperately with the button on John's trousers.

John pushed up against Sherlock's hand, gasping for breath before he locked their mouths together again.

As soon as he had the button undone, Sherlock worked his hand down. As he wrapped his fingers around John's cock, he let out a whimpering sound. Frantically he began stroking.

John moaned into Sherlock's mouth and lowered his hands to open the coat and Sherlock's trousers as well, urgently needing to feel him. His hips bucked uncontrollably as Sherlock worked him, and he had to pull back from the kiss for breath, before settling on sucking on the other man's neck while he slipped his hand inside his pants.

Sherlock gasped. Feeling John was amazing, but he needed more. He needed everything. He pulled John's trousers and pants down below his hips. Then he brought his hand up to his mouth and sucked on two of his fingers before reaching down to work him open, fighting his urge to just rush ahead.

"Hm, Sh-Sherlock..." John's forehead fell against Sherlock's collar bone, giving him more of Sherlock's scent mingled with cigarette smell. "Fuck..." He slowed down his pace on Sherlock's cock, giving him a chance to last long enough. The whole world had faded away and he had completely forgotten that they were out in the open, despite the cold - all he wanted was Sherlock, closer, more.

Sherlock soon had two fingers in and scissored them, torn between the primal need to have John now and the instinct to protect him and never ever hurt him.

But then John let out a little moan and it was like Sherlock just snapped. He pulled John's trousers down a little more and then took hold of his thighs, lifting him up, trapping his body between his own chest and the tree.

John whimpered and threw his arms around Sherlock's neck, sighing as the other man's cock finally breached him. It hurt a little, but he needed him so badly that there was no way of putting him off. Once he had accommodated, he rolled his hips to signal that he was ready, moaning as his own cock rubbed against the fabric of Sherlock's shirt.

Sherlock groaned and buried his face in John's shoulder as he began moving. His whole world had narrowed down to John. The scent, the sound and the feeling of him.

"Oh, god." John's hand tightened around the coat collar as he moved with Sherlock. "Fuck, I missed you."

"I missed you too," Sherlock muttered into John's jacket. "I missed you so much, I thought I'd go insane."

John started moving faster and shifted his weight onto one arm so he could stroke his cock, while moaning and kissing Sherlock's face.

Sherlock sought out John's lips and caught them in a deep hungry kiss. He gasped against his lips. "Close."

"Me too," John whispered. "Harder, Sherlock, please."

Sherlock dug his fingers into John's thighs and thrust up into him as hard as he could. "John..." he moaned.

John cried out and came all over his hand and Sherlock's shirt, clinging to the other man and burying his face in his neck.

"Fuck..." With a groan and a final vicious thrust, Sherlock came, almost crushing John against the tree with the need to be as close as possible.

John moaned as he felt Sherlock spill inside him, and just held him, panting as pleasure still rushed through him.

Sherlock held John for what felt like an eternity. Then reality began slowly seeping back in. What had he done? John was no longer his. He had no right to just take him like this. As gently as he could, he eased out and lowered John. The moment his feet touched the ground, Sherlock let go and stepped back, unable to meet his eyes.

John cleared his throat and quickly pulled up his trousers. Oh god, this was more than a bit not good. They shouldn't have done this, at least not without talking about things first, and yet there was no way to tell who had started it; he couldn't blame just himself or Sherlock. He steadied himself against the oak to catch his breath. Now what? He was just wondering if he should say something to Sherlock, when footsteps approached.