Do you tear yourself apart to entertain like me?

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Celestial Glowhead – OMG, thank you so much! I'm so glad you like my writing so much, I'm totally flattered! Please enjoy this next chapter!

The next day John woke up with the worst headache and a pained back. He squinted and realized that he was not in his room but on the couch. That was strange. When he started thinking about the night before, he couldn't remember a lot. He recalled being attacked but after that…nothing. He sat up with a groan and looked around.

Sherlock walked into the sitting room from the kitchen. "Oh, John, you're awake."

John itched his neck. "Yeah…why am I on the couch?"

"What do you remember about last night?"

"Uh, I remember being ambushed and…I think I was drugged." He looked up at the detective in question.

Sherlock nodded. "Yes, you were drugged. Seems to have been nothing more than a sedative though, which is strange."

"Strange?"

"Yes. Why would someone give you nothing more than a sedative?"

John shook his head. "I'd rather not think about it." He looked around in confusion. "What time is it?"

"Eight-thirty. I suggest you hurry and get ready."

John's eyes widened. "Aw hell, it's Saturday, isn't it?" Sherlock nodded. "Right." John stumbled to his feet. "I'll go change."

He hurried up the stairs and made it back down in a fresh set of clothes in record time. John picked up his phone and began to leave, Sherlock trailing behind him. John paused, looking over his shoulder. "You're coming?"

Sherlock nodded. "You were just attacked last night, of course I'm coming."

John rolled his eyes and kept walking. "I don't need a bodyguard, you know." Sherlock didn't say anything but John could tell the detective was skeptical.

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Not much later John found himself in SHIELD's science wing once again. He stood alone in the testing room while Bill and Sherlock were behind a window in the observation room. "Alright, John," said Bill over the intercom, "you know the drill."

'The drill' being one minute's worth of punches to a padded plate reading the amount of force John put into each hit. So just like every other Saturday, John began to punch the reader.

At first things continued as normal: John began to lose track of what was going on, just going through the motions while his mind went elsewhere. But once John's focus began to drift, the readings on his punches did as well. He could barely hear the "whoa" from Bill over the intercom. John grit his teeth, going at the plate harder and faster. He didn't even realize what he was doing until he noticed he'd become light-headed and there were two people standing beside him.

He felt a firm hand on his shoulder. "John!" Sherlock. "John, you can stop now!"

John ceased his attack on the board and a wave of nausea swept over him. He screwed his eyes shut, putting his head in his hand. Sherlock balanced the doctor, who looked as if he were about to collapse.

"John…" The doctor slowly opened his eyes and realized he was sitting on a bench at the end of the room, Sherlock seated next to him. Bill was staring at his tablet with wide eyes. "John, take a look at this." The scientist passed the device off the John, who looked at the chart on the screen. "That's what your average readings look like." The graph started out strong then very slowly began to diminish. Bill swiped the screen. "And this is what your hits looked like today." The difference was staggering. The graph started off as normal but did not fall, and near the end it dramatically increased. "You've hit a new record." He handed John his water bottle, who accepted it graciously. "If you keep at improvements like this you could Captain America a run for his money."

"This was hardly an improvement," Sherlock hissed. "John nearly passed out back there!"

Bill looked ashamed. "Right. Of course." He shook his head. "Obviously you shouldn't be pushing yourself beyond what you're capable of, but…" He gestured to the readings, "look at what you're capable of!"

Sherlock stood, glaring at the scientist. "We're leaving. John?"

John nodded absent-mindedly. "Right…I'm okay, just give me a minute." Eventually he managed to get to his feet. "Right behind you."

Sherlock gave Bill one last threatening look and led John out of the room.

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Sherlock paced around 221B restlessly. "What was that?"

John raised an eyebrow. "Super strength."

Sherlock glared at his flatmate. "Oh, well thank you for the clarification," he drawled. "How come you've never had those readings before?"

John shrugged. "I dunno. I guess I just tried harder today."

"No, that wasn't it. That can't be it. Something's changed." He threw himself into his armchair and stared at John.

The doctor quickly became uncomfortable. "Yeah, no, don't stare at me like that."

Sherlock tilted his head. "Where were you attacked?"

"Just down the street, near that deli shop we stop at sometimes."

Sherlock jumped to his feet and grabbed his coat. "Be back in a few."

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It was pretty obvious when Sherlock found the correct alley. The cracks in the brick wall were indeed impressive. Sherlock began scouring the area for clues. All he got was what he already knew: Two men, one John, one the attacker. John threw the man back instinctively. Somehow John had reason to believe his attacker was nonthreatening. Attacker gets closer, drugs John. John throws the attacker into the wall, causing him to break his spine. John flees.

So where was the evidence of the drug? Lestrade would have told Sherlock if something suspicious was found but John hadn't brought it home and if the attacker had it on him it would have been confiscated by either the paramedics or the police. It all added up to there being some evidence left on the scene.

Someone had cleaned up the scene. Not police, not medics.

A third party – that of the attacker. But who was the attacker? Probability of the attacker being a part of a group or organization: 100%. Probability of said organization knowing about John's abilities: Not guaranteed, but almost certain. Then John's powers were motive for the attack. An anti-mutant hate group? But why target John exclusively? No, less general. The organization was familiar with John and Sherlock – they'd crossed paths before. So an organization who attacked John because of his abilities who have dealt with the doctor and the detective before.

Sherlock paused. SIP? The organization's leader was dead and they were being dismantled by SHIELD, though Sherlock supposed he and John could be the ones to blame for that. He needed more information that the crime scene could not provide. Back to questioning John then.

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Upon approaching the door to 221B, Sherlock knew something was terribly wrong. As the detective headed up the stairs to the flat, his suspicions were confirmed – someone had broken in. Make that multiple someones. Sherlock burst into the flat and was greeted with a thrashed sitting room. Coffee table overturned, chairs tipped, books and files scattered around the room, and a figure leaning up against the wall, panting heavily.

Sherlock rushed over to his flatmate's side. "John?" He quickly checked for injuries, pleased to find none. He tapped his friend's cheek, trying to wake him up. "John, can you hear me?" John blinked and Sherlock nodded. "That's it. Come on."

John shifted and grimaced, trying to sit up straighter. "Wha…? Wha' 'app'ned?" he mumbled.

"I was hoping you could tell me." Once satisfied that John hadn't sustained any unseen injuries, Sherlock helped him up and towards his armchair. "Someone's targeting you."

"What? Why?"

"I have a few ideas." Sherlock helped John down into his chair and the doctor grimaced. Sherlock stared at his friend. "What do you remember?"

John ran a hand over his face. "I…Not much. I was just typing up a new blog post – you know, just some basic updates – when next thing I know I'm fighting off..two? Three guys?"

"Three," Sherlock determined, eyes scanning the room.

John shook his head. "Three guys. Jesus. What happened? I-I don't remember anything after that."

"They drugged you."

"Drugged me? Again? That's twice in two days, seems a little excessive, doesn't it?"

Sherlock gave the room a once over, adding the details his mind gleamed to what he'd observed at the crime scene earlier. "It would seem there is an organization with a grudge against us." Sherlock sat in his own chair opposite John.

The doctor's eyes were wide. "You don't think this is SIP?"

Sherlock looked away. "It's a possibility."

"But we stopped them. SIP's gone, I-I don't see how they'd still…" John trailed off, unsure where he was going.

Sherlock shook his head. "There are still members of the organization out there; they very well could have met up."

Slowly, John attempted to get to his feet. Sherlock was immediately by his side. John grabbed Sherlock's arm and tried to push himself up. Sherlock actually let out a yell, causing John to release his grip immediately. Instinctively, Sherlock held his arm in his other hand. His flatmate reached out in concern. "Are you okay?"

Sherlock tentatively flexed his hand and shook his head. "Fine."

"I-I didn't mean to—"

"I know, it's fine.

The tension was evident as the two men stood in silence. Sherlock's mind was racing with possibilities. John slowly made his way into the kitchen, Sherlock's eyes following his every move. "If it really is SIP – which we don't know for sure yet, might I add – then how do we stop them?" He began fixing himself some tea.

"You're awfully casual about having been attacked twice in less than twenty-four hours," Sherlock commented.

John shook his head. "Well, not a lot can faze me anymore." He picked up a mug and it shattered under his grip. The doctor leapt back, clearly surprised. He swore and tried to pick up the pieces.

"You haven't done that in a while," said Sherlock.

John tossed the broken mug into the bin and tried to pull himself together. "I know. I know, I—" He stopped and leaned against the counter. Sherlock watched his flatmate closely. John shook his head. "I'm just…I'm just a little on edge, okay? To be honest this isn't totally strange all things considered, but it doesn't make it any less…any less…" John was at a loss. He walked out of the kitchen with his head down, pushing his way past Sherlock and towards the door.

The detective stepped in front of John as he put on his coat. "John, you can't leave."

"Why not?

"Are you really asking me why not?" Sherlock said, offended almost.

John looked up at his friend. "I can handle myself."

"Oh and you proved that brilliantly in the last day." John tried to side-step Sherlock but he moved, continuing to block the exit. John shot his flatmate a look. "John, if this really is SIP then we have reason to be cautious."

"We don't even know if it is them!" John shouted, throwing his arms up in desperation. He pinched the bridge of his nose and tried to calm down. "Sherlock, if it really is SIP then all the more reason for me to get out of here. It wasn't just me who screwed them over, I doubt they like you either." Sherlock was about to interject but John held up a hand, silencing his friend. "I'm trained, Sherlock. You aren't."

"Actually—"

"Just shut up and let me finish." Sherlock's mouth snapped closed. "If they can take on me they can easily get rid of you. I need to get out of here, Sherlock, just while we come up with a plan or get SHIELD on the case, or something." John waited for Sherlock to step aside.

Instead, Sherlock shook his head. "No. You can't leave, I won't let you."

"Sherlock, don't test me," John said, clearly in his Captain Watson tone.

"We don't know what they've given you."

"You said it was likely a sedative."

"That was before I put the rest of the facts together and it was never a solid theory to stand on." If John didn't know any better he'd say Sherlock was getting desperate. "We don't know what it's doing, John. You haven't had trouble controlling your strength in weeks and yet you manage to hurt me and break some of our dinnerware – it isn't safe for you to go."

"Sherlock—" John tried to step around his flatmate, but he kept getting blocked. "Sherlock, you—" Blocked again. "Sherlock!"

On the final move John pushed his friend out of the way. Sherlock hit the wall with much more force than either had anticipated. Sherlock stumbled to the ground with a wheeze. John stood still, looking down at his friend. Sherlock screwed his eyes closed for a moment, trying to reorient himself. "I…" John began. Somehow words didn't seem to suffice. "I'm sorry…I…I'll…" John didn't try to come up with something to say. Instead, he took off.

Ow. Guys, this was actually painful to write. I can't believe I just let them do that to each other. Anyway…while I go think about what I've done why not leave a kind review?