Sherlock was surprised how much he'd started to actually enjoy these nights out with John, Lestrade and the by now semi regular participants from the Yards homicide division. Over the course of the last 6 months it'd evolved to be a bit of a tradition for them all to go out and celebrate whenever a though case got closed. Since Sherlock and John almost always got involved with the more demanding cases, they always ended up joining. In the beginning Sherlock had just went along with it because he knew John enjoyed going out, socializing and getting a few pints with the team and the detective knew the doctor always loved it when he'd join. Sherlock really just wanted to make John happy. But the more he went along the more he'd started to lean to enjoy the experience and he secretly loved how John would always get more outwardly affectionate after a few beers. He'd been used to people denying being associated with him for most of his life so who could blame him for liking that John actually wanted to flaunt him to the world as if to say 'That's right, he's with me. Sherlock Holmes is mine and I'm his. Though luck to you all for not having him in your arms.'.
Tonight, they'd all settled into a new pup that'd recently opened in central London. It was slightly crowded but not unbearably so. Their group had gathered around a few round, high tables with highchairs to sit on. The lighting inside was soft, but bright enough that you didn't have to squint your eyes to see each other. The speakers only played old Irish folksongs, Sherlock enjoyed the violin and fiddle music in them and couldn't help but hush a bit on John and the others whenever a nice solo would play so that he could praise the musical qualities loudly. John would giggle each time and look at him with soft eyes and squeeze his hand lovingly where their intertwined hands lay on the table. The others would listen to his intermittent rants with a smirk on their faces, claiming that if Sherlock was still able to apply musical analysis on Irish folksong's violin solos he hadn't had enough to drink yet or they'd deliver some goodnatured teasing at John and Sherlock for acting like a teenage couple in love. John's answer to this would always be to lean in and scatter Sherlock's face with tiny kisses in humours provocation and Sherlock would pretend to be annoyed by it, usually ending in a round of laughter and a loud 'cheers!' to follow before they'd all return to the subject discussed beforehand.
Yes, this was shaping up to be a very nice evening indeed. Sherlock himself had already enjoyed a couple of drinks of his own and were starting to reach that pleasant buzz this accompanied. This probably also allowed himself to be more outgoing and less inhibited than he normally would be around others but John, but he really didn't mind that anymore as it would have in the past.
"And as I unpacked my gear back in basecamp I see this absolutely horrendously large caramel spider crawl out of my pack and I shriek so loudly in surprise that ever since that day all my comrades called me The Soprano." A loud eruption of laughter took over the tables as John told another of his many stories from his tours in Afghanistan.
Lestrade wiped a laugh induced tear from his eye. "Aw come on John, surely it wasn't so large it justified such a reaction."
"I swear to you Greg it was the seize of freaking Shelob from lord of the rings! You'd have shrieked to mate!" John justified intensely, which only resulted in another weave of laughter to overtake the crowd.
Sherlock was lost on whatever reference John was making and decided to go down to the bar and get John and him a refill, while the doctor kept on entertaining the masses. John was so enthralled in his own, slightly intoxicated epilogue that he didn't notice his detective slip off and Sherlock didn't want to disturb him. He already knew John would prefer another large Indian pale ale to drink so there was no need to ask.
Sherlock made his way down the wooden stairs, holding a hand onto the railing for good measure. Their seating area was located on a large balcony-like upper floor and underneath was a large, long bar with plenty of room to sit or lounge at for those who preferred or came in smaller groups. The music was a bit louder down here and the bar was a bit crowded and busy. Sherlock scanned the room and finally found a spot to take a waiting stance at the bar. He leaned casually across the counter until he gained eyecontact with one of the bartenders. He signalled for service by raising his right hand slightly and the bartender nodded in a silent gesture to let him know he'd been seen and he'd come to take his order when he was available. Sherlock nodded back in acceptance and lowered his hand back down.
He could feel the heat get to him down in this more crowed area of the pup. He'd left his blazer draped across the back of his chair upstairs, leaving him only in his crisp, white dress shirt, but still finding the air down here a bit to stifling for it to be comfortable. The top button of his shirt was already undone when he came in, but he undid another and then unbuttoned his shirt cuffs so he could roll up his sleeves up above both his elbows, leaving his pale forearms bare. It was then he noticed a tall, broad man with light brown hair, dressed in a plain black t-shirt and darkblue jeans who was seated on a barstool a little to his left watching him intensely, just as he'd finished with his last sleeve. The man offered him a crooked smile as Sherlock met his gaze and moved his chair a bit closer to the detective before he opened his mouth.
"Hi there, I.."
But Sherlock interrupted the man before he even got a chance to finish his introduction.
"No." He said curtly and turned his eyes away again and rested his elbows back on the bar with a bored expression as he settled to wait for service.
The man blinked confused as few times before he tried again.
"Excuse me?" He huffed out half with laughter and the other half in disbelief for being interrupted before he'd hardly started talking.
"Not interested." Sherlock said simply with a disinterested tone, not meeting the man's eyes but instead pulling up his phone from his trouser pocket to check his e-mail while he was waiting anyway, to kill time.
The man rolled his large shoulders, his bodylanguage indicating a sharp defensive at being called out like that, but his voice was calm and his crooked smile still in place as he talked again.
"What makes you think I was coming on to you? I just wanted to ask you the time." The man said smugly as he took a large sip from his Guinness, his eyes never leaving Sherlock though.
Sherlock turned his head back towards the goon, but only to fit him with a classic 'would you please stop being such an idiot' look his way.
"There's an old wall clock hanging right behind me, smack in the middle of your visual field. So unless you're severely nearsighted or right out blind you can't not know what time it is already. I do however know your eyes work perfectly well because your pupils have dilated approximately 30% since you started talking to me, more so than can be justified by the dimmed lighting, indicating you find me physically attractive. Your attempt to use psychology and provoke me into unconsciously fight to win back your approval by claiming you had no intention of flirting with me when you first approached me is dully noted, but as I just told you.. Not interested.." Sherlock shot off in a cold, deductive manner and then turned back to the screen on his phone.
The man sat back dumbfounded for a few moments, clearly processing the resounding rejection he'd just been thrown in his face. If Sherlock wasn't so annoyed by his presents, he'd have found it amusing. The man however didn't stay knocked down for long because he suddenly leaned in closer to the detective and leered with a husky voice.
"Wow, sexy and clever! Must be my lucky night."
"Urghhh!" Exclaimed in frustration as he threw his head back dramatically and rolled his eyes in disbelief, dropping his phone on the bar as before turning back to the man with a glare in place.
"Seriously, what part of 'not interested' is it you don't understand?!" He asked annoyed. Relationally he knew he shouldn't humour the man anymore and just ignore him, but the few drinks he'd already had probably made him a bit more provocative than he normally would be.
The man's smirk widened. "I'm sorry love, but it's hard not to go for it you when you stand there and flaunt your stuff so temptingly." He said, giving the detective the escalator look up and down hungrily.
Sherlock supressed the impulse to wrap his arms around himself, as if to physically shield himself from the man's greedy eyes. He was just about to tell the tosser off for calling him 'love', only John was allowed to call him that. The bartender however chose this moment to show up asking for Sherlock's order. Eager to get away from the sleezy man he turned to give his order of drinks.
"One large, dark IPA and a double finger Green Spot whiskey on the rocks please."
The bartender turned and started to fill the order, leaving Sherlock to deal with a gorilla resembling man once again.
"I bet the whiskey is for you. You strike me as that kind of posh, pretty fellow who'd enjoy such an expensive, fancy drink, am I right?" The man asked, still smiling that eerie smile of his.
"I prefer quality over quantity." Sherlock answered coolly having given up on shutting the man up but still eyed him with a cold glare out of the corner of his eye. He probably wouldn't understand Sherlock's backhand insult, dumb as he was. It was clear he'd spent the better part of 5 minutes flexing his unnaturally large biceps in Sherlock's direction at every given opportunity, stretching the fabric of his formfitting black t-shirt tightly over his arms in some sort of misguided hope that it'd suddenly make the detective swoon in admiration and lust. Like it would work, Sherlock had his very own fit, muscular and much more attractively proportioned soldier, doctor boyfriend waiting for him upstairs. This fitness goon, who probably did nothing else but lift heavy weights while admiring himself in the mirror could never compare to his John, not on that front or any other for that matter.
The bartender finally placed both drinks in front of Sherlock and the detective fished up his wallet to pay. Just as the transaction had been made the idiot man reached forward his hand to reach for the mixed nuts bowl on the counter, but of bloody course he knocked over John's beer in the process, spilling it all over and soaking Sherlocks phone that still lay on the bartop.
"Bloody hell! You idiot!" Sherlock bellowed and quickly grasped his phone to save it from the pool of beer it was laying in. He quickly turned around to the other side on his right and fished a handful of napkins from a nearby table to dry off the worst of the ale before his phone would take permanent damage. It was almost brand new too! His old phone had been sacrificed on a case a few weeks earlier when it'd dropped out of his pocket to the pavement, as he and John had leaped over a fence in pursuit of a suspect. It was the newest model and he'd had finally gotten it set up perfectly to his liking. Sherlock dried it off as best as he could and turned on the screen, looking it over to see if it had suffered any damage at all and if it was still fully functional. It seemed like it had survived without any consequences, except having gotten a bit sticky.
"Oh shit I'm so sorry! Is it okay? It was an accident I swear!" The man uttered apologetically and reached over in offer to inspect the phone for damage himself.
Sherlock pulled it away from his reach angrily. "Fine, it's fine!" He answered exasperated and shoved his phone back into his pocket to protect it from further trauma in this moron's presents.
"Ah bugger! I spilled your beer too. Let me buy you a new one as an apology." The man then offered as he took a couple of the napkins Sherlock had gotten and started to dap away at the golden liquid from the bar.
"That's really not necessary." Sherlock grunted.
"No really, I'm serious. I'm sorry about before okay, I'll back off I promise. You're not interested, I get it. But I feel really bad, just let me make this up to you and then I swear I'll leave you alone." The man said in a solemn tone, his flirty smirk gone and a serious look in his eyes.
Sherlock was still fuming silently under the surface, but took comfort in the fact that the man at least finally seemed to have gotten the message into his thick head and the whole reason he'd ventured down here was to bring John and him a drink each. He didn't want John to think he hadn't taken him into consideration and just gotten a drink for himself. Sherlock took a deep breath and willed his still irate sate to simmer down before he accepted.
"Alright fine, but make it quick I haven't got all night." He said reluctantly.
The man smiled a more natural smile and quickly caught the bartender's eye again to return when he could to order a new beer.
"Thanks and sorry I was such an idiot. It's just, you're really beautiful and I just couldn't help myself." The man said sheepishly and rubbed the back of his neck in embarrassment.
Sherlock was leaning back against the bar, his arms crossed on top on the counter, his whiskey waiting untouched in front of him. He still eyed the man with controlled contempt, but tried his best to act civil now that he at least seemed genuine apologetic for his actions.
"Just forget it. Just get me my beer so we can both get on with our night." The detective said, managing only to give away slight scorn in his voice.
"Sure thing, mate." The man said and then lifted his own still half full beer in salute. "And cheers." He followed up.
Sherlock sighed loudly but raised his glass non the less just to be polite. They clinked their glasses softly once and Sherlock took a large sip from his drink, feeling the need of blissful alcohol to soothe his patience after having to deal with this moron for the past 10 minutes. The amber liquid warmed him all the way down this throat and he let out a sigh, this time of delight, loving the smooth taste and slight burn the drink had to offer making him feel more at ease immediately.
"So, you never told me your name." The man said in some social dictated attempt to make small talk while they waited.
"I didn't." Sherlock simply replied and took another drag from his drink.
"I'm Christian." The man introduced and held out his hand in greeting.
Sherlock eyed the hand, having no intention in taking it, then returned his eyes to Christian.
"I don't care." Was all he said. There was a limit to his civilities. He had absolutely no interest in getting to know this man at all.
"Fair enough." Christian said with a shrug and pulled back his hand.
They stayed silent for a few minutes as they both nursed their drinks further. Sherlock however could feel himself growing a bit drowsy as the minutes passed. He shook his head a bit as to try and shake himself out of it, but to no avail. Odd, he'd slept through all night yesterday and his body had never claimed much sleep to function. He could usually go much longer than this before getting tired and it wasn't like he'd been drinking that much to justify the feeling.
"You alright mate? You look a little worn." Christian asked as he looked him over once again.
Sherlock cleared his throat and forced himself so stand straighter. "Yeah I'm fine." He said as convincingly as he could.
Christian looked across the bar fleetingly before turning back to the detective. "Looks like the bartender is out restocking so it might still take some minutes for your beer to arrive, here." He said and stood from his own seat to push it over to Sherlock. "Take a seat for a bit." He offered with a smile.
Sherlock would have protested but he would really like to sit for a minute as he had also started to feel a bit lightheaded. So, he took the offered seat without comment. Oh god, he just hoped he wasn't coming down with something, he hated being sick it always slowed down his transport so inconveniently much.
A few more minutes passed and Sherlock's lightheadedness only seemed to grow worse and worse. He took himself to the head with one hand and tried to take some deep breaths through his nose and out of his mouth.
"Yeah what can I get ya'" A new bartender suddenly asked and Sherlock's whipped his head back up to answer, but his mind was suddenly blank. What was it he was supposed to get John again? Why could he suddenly not remember such a simple thing?
"Ah yes I'd like a.. A.." He stumbled, shifting through his mind to try and remember. But something was wrong, very wrong. His mind was all sluggish and slow. Even with a few drinks in his system his mind should still be able to run with almost full capacity. What the hell was happening to him?!
Christian picked up on his difficulties. "Ah sorry about my mate here, he's had one too many I'm afraid. I'd like a dark IPA please." He answered in Sherlock's stead and placed one of his hands on the detective's shoulder, looking like nothing more than a good mate offering his support to his drunken friend. The bartender nodded and immediately filled a glass and placed it on the bar as Christian threw him a note and told tender to just keep the change.
Sherlock could feel a cold dread slowly spreading from the pit of his stomach. His inner alarm bells blinking and ringing loudly throughout his system, warning him to just get away from this man now! He was only now starting to recognize some of the symptoms for what they really were, it had just been so long since he'd last experienced them that by now it was too late for him to react in time. Christian must've drugged his drink when he'd turned away for a few moments to get napkins to dry off his wet phone. He'd knocked over John's beer on purpose, this had been his plan all along!
Sherlock tried to stand up, tried to get away but his body didn't feel like his own and he stumbled the second he got to his feet.
"Woah buddy!" Christian exclaimed and caught the detective easily in his huge arms. "I think you'd had enough for one night, we better get you home don't you think?"
Sherlock tried to protest and wiggle free, but Christian's hold was way too strong for him to break and his voice wasn't carrying as his entire being succumbed further and further to the effects of the drugs.
"No.. Noooo.. Jh.. Jawn.." Sherlock called out futilely for John to please come help him, please save him from this vile man before could fulfil his no doubt horrendous intentions.
"I know you don't wanna go home mate but enough is enough. See, you've even lost your bloody jacket somewhere. Let's see if we can't find a cap for you." Christian announced to the room and managed to pull his own jacket on while still keeping a firm grip on Sherlock, making it impossible to escape even if he could. He then wrapped one of Sherlock's arms around his broad shoulders and half carried the detective towards the exit. Sherlock could do nothing more than moan soft complaints, but even in his drugged induced haze he knew it was no use. From every onlookers' point of view, it looked like Christian was the noble, responsible friend helping his way too drunk mate home from the pup. No one would be coming to help him now…
Charlie was hurrying home. He knew he'd stayed out too long past his curfew and he felt bad, but he and some mates had gotten into an intense soccer game and he couldn't leave until they'd settled the score! He'd honestly not realized how late it'd gotten when they'd finally finished the game and he didn't have a phone to call home and tell them he was late. His parents would surely scold him when he got home, but as long as his reason to be late was because he'd had fun with friends at a soccer game and not because he'd been out making trouble, he knew they'd forgive him quickly enough. He did however decide to take a few shortcuts along the way through some dark alleyways to save time. Dexter had taught him all the safe routes in the city and showed him which parts to stay clear from, so he didn't feel unsafe making his way through the dark pathways.
But as he was making his way through one of the darkest alleys on his route, he heard scuffle and commotion coming further down and quickly jumped behind a dumpster to hide. He could hear two male voices echoing against the walls, one was slightly more distinct and the other sounded slightly muffled and weak. Maybe two homeless who'd gotten into a fight over a squat spot? He knew he should probably just hurry to make his way out into the lighted main street and get moving onwards home, but.. He was kind of curious. Maybe it was someone he'd know from the homeless network, if so he'd feel bad if he didn't step in to help.
Very slowly and silently he peaked out from behind his hiding place and snuck his way along one of the walls. It was dark but his eyes had adjusted pretty well to the gloom. As the sounds grew louder he saw a freakishly tall man, who was half carrying half dragging another man, who was much more slender and dressed only in dress pants and a white shirt, almost as far down the ally as they could get.
The giant man was huffing slightly with the effort. "Damn, for such a skinny bloke you sure are heavy."
The other man's head was rolling back in forth like he was very drunk while he was manhandled forward. Sluggish protests continually escaping him, though he could not form any form of coherent sentence. "Noo.. Mmm.. Wha.. Let go.. Jo.."
They didn't look like homeless people the way they were dressed and while they weren't fighting Charlie still got a chill down his spine. His instincts telling him something was very wrong.
Suddenly a window a few stories up had its' lights turn on, casting a very soft shine into the darkness, allowing Charlie to see the two men a bit more clearly. He had to supress a cry of surprise when he immediately recognized the slender figure as Sherlock. He'd no idea who the other tall bloke was, but he sure as hell knew it wasn't Sherlock's boyfriend John Watson. So, when the tall goon buried his nose deeply into Sherlock's pale neck and inhaled deeply and said;,
"Oh yeah baby, you smell so delicious and I bet that plump ass of yours is just as delicious as the rest of you. I can hardly wait."
Sherlock's protest end efforts to wiggle free from the man doubled for a few seconds at those words, but he was quickly subdued by a rough shake from the tall man.
"Easy there! Wouldn't want to mess up that pretty face of yours love. I promise if you behave, I'll make it good for you as well." The man growled.
Charlie immediately knew this was very, very, very bad! It looked like Sherlock couldn't even walk on his own. He'd never seen the detective this messed up. In his young life he'd seen several different stages and ways of drunkenness in lots of people, but this seemed different than that. No matter what the cause of the detective's odd condition was he knew he had to help somehow! There was no way he could overpower that brunt of a giant carrying him, he wasn't delusional, so he had no other choice than to quickly sneak back out into the street and find help before it'd be too late!
Charlie retreated as silently and quickly as he could out of the alley. The minute he was out on the street he sprinted off to try any find someone who could come and help!
"Hey, where did Sherlock go? I haven't seen him in a while." John asked out loud and turned around, visually scanning the room for his tall boyfriend.
Lestrade finished a large drag from his beer before answering. "Maybe he went to the loo?" He suggested.
John's lips thinned as he continued to look around the room. "Nah, I don't think so. I think he's been away longer than that." He said, feeling a little guilty that he hadn't actually registered how long Sherlock had been gone in his rather tipsy state, only that it'd been a fair amount of time by now.
"He's probably sneaked outside for a smoke, hoping you wouldn't notice John. I think I'll join him. I'll bring him back up with me alright." Sally chimed and stood up to pull on her coat and fished out her pack of cigarettes.
John groaned. "Ah, you're probably right Sally. Alright cheers and remember to give him a slap on the wrist from me, he knows I hate how he taste after he's been smoking." The doctor said, still not happy about Sherlock's seemingly inability to quit the smokes completely, but he supposed it was preferable the git now only smoked when he'd had a couple of drinks and not on an everyday basis anymore.
Sally also only ever smoked when drinking and the last couple of times she'd joined the rest of the division for drinks after hours, Sherlock and she would often keep each other company outside while enjoying their shared guilty pleasure. She'd actually begun to enjoy their little smoke affiliated talks. Ever since Sherlock had saved her from her claustrophobic panic attack a few months ago and she later found out to what extremes he'd gone to make sure the guilty party would never pull such a stunt on her again (John had told her), the sergeant and detective's bond had been growing stronger day by day. Now that they weren't busy being at each other's throat all the time Sherlock had finally acknowledged that he did consider her above average intelligence and that he did find her work both competent and proficient. She on the other hand had admitted to how jealous she'd always felt of Sherlock's ability to read a crimescene like an open book and how he could notice the smallest of details and make connections where other couldn't, out of seemingly nothing. So now, when they both adjoined for a smoke Sherlock would deduce people or scenery outside and then tutor her in his deductive method. She'd leaned more from Sherlock Holmes in crimescene analysis than she'd leaned after years in the academy and she had become a much better cop for it.
Sally stepped out to the onto the small area outside indicated for smokers. Her brow winkled in confusion when she didn't see Sherlock out here as expected. There were only one couple a few of feet away, passing a fag back and forth between them. She lit up her own cigarette and blew out the smoke while she looked around. Could he have gone home already? She doubted it, the detective wouldn't just leave without telling John first. She continued her speculations, pulsing on her cigarette when suddenly her attention was caught by a young boy, turning the street corner in a sprint hollering loudly in his wake.
"Help! Someone help! He's gonna hurt him, someone's gotta help me please!"
Most of the night's pedestrians ignored the young boy or told him to scram as he passed them, either too drunk to care or suspecting what he was doing was a sly try at a trick thieving. Sally couldn't explain why she reacted as she did, but she quickly reached out and caught the boy's arm before he could run past her. Her mind was telling her he was probably just a streetwise kid out making trouble and to just ignore him, but her gut told her she needed to at least hear what the lad had to say before letting him run off again. The boy stumbled slightly backwards when he was suddenly forced to make an abrupt stop, but quickly regained his bearings looking up with scared, yet determined eyes at the sergeant.
"Please help! I need to call the police! Do you have a phone I can borrow? It's an emergency!" The boy panted, out of breath from running so hard.
"I am the police kid, now tell me what the hell is going on? A boy like you shouldn't be running around making trouble this late at night." Sally said firmly, still keeping a hold on the boy just to make sure he wouldn't just run off again.
"I am NOT out making trouble! I just saw my friend getting dragged by a huge man into an alley a few blocks away and I'm afraid he's gonna hurt him! We need to go help him NOW!" The boy practically begged.
Sally fitted the boy with a steady gaze. She could tell by now he wasn't acting and if some creep was out there kidnapping or God forbid molesting children, she was going to do something about it!
"Okay, calm down alright. I'm going to help you. How old is your friend? What does he look like? Do you know why he'd go with the man you think is going to hurt him, do they know each other?" She asked, needing more details in order to help.
The boy looked frustrated. "I don't know how bloody old he is! 30ish I guess?! He's tall and skinny and have dark brown curly hair! I don't think he knows the other man because he was fighting to get away from him, but couldn't. He could hardly talk and he couldn't walk by himself, it was kindda like he was super drunk or like.. Really stoned out.." The boy paused in his rant, his complexion taking on a greyish note as he continued. "And the man was saying some really fucked up stuff about him having a nice ass and.. That he'd make it good for him too if he behaved.."
Sally's stomach had twisted into a tighter and tighter knot as the boy talked, a horrible dread settling in the pit of her gut. She tried to keep her voice as steady as she asked her next question.
"What is your friend's name?"
"His name is Sherlock Holmes! And if we don't hurry that giant man is gonna get away now PLEASE! Call some of your police friends and follow me, before he hurts him!" The boy begged once again, already moving to drag Sally along with him to the scene.
Sally supressed her rising panic, now was not the time. She grasped both of the boy's shoulders firmly. "Wait right here! Don't you move okay?! I'm going inside to get some help I'll be right back!" She reprimanded sharply. The boy nodded his understanding and she wasted no time hurrying back inside to get backup.
Sherlock tried to keep it together but everything was swimming before him.. His vision kept going in and out of focus and he was so horrible dizzy.. The earth was shaking, or was it just himself? It was impossible to tell.. He felt a hot, disgustingly wet trail going all the way up the side of his neck. He tried to pull away from it, but the wetness followed. When it finally left his neck however, it thrusted forcefully into his slack mouth and proceeded into a onesided wrestling match with his tongue. He almost vomited from the feeling... He blearily registered a bruising force, that was holding him up against a cold, rough surface behind him.. When the wiggling wetness left his mouth, his head fell to the side and he actually did vomit a small bit. Suddenly a frightfully brute force connected with his left cheek, whipping his head to the other side. Now the whole left side of his face was burning and his ears were ringing, his dizziness even worse than before if that was possible..
"Don't be disgusting." A far away voice floated through the air somewhere in front of him.
A harsh chill overtook him as he distantly heard something being ripped apart, making it harder to breath for a few seconds.. The repulsing wetness now latched onto his cold chest, sucking and licking.. He once again tried futilely to push back against the firm weight that was holding him in place, but he didn't think his efforts were even noticed, let alone working..
Suddenly there was movement further down his body and new kind of chill shot up through his spine as felt something huge and cold reach downwards, past his now undone belt and pants to fondle him roughly through his boxers.. Though his mind felt like it was shortcircuiting and his body felt foreign and disconnected Sherlock just knew he had to get away from this onslaught or die trying.. He gathered all his strength and willpower and willed it all to fight off the abusive touches..
"Oof.. Off.. Get away from me.." He forced out as loudly as he could, but just barely managing a whisper pushing and swatting away at the figure before him.
"My, my.. You're a feisty one aren't you darling? That's okay though, I like it a bit rough anyway." The dark voice snickered from his blurred, faceless assailant.
And with that Sherlock found himself being turned around and slammed right back into the cold, jagged stonework so fast it made the whole world tilt of its axis and his forehead bounce painfully off the it's surface, even as he tried to catch himself with his arms sprawled against the cold exterior.
A large hand pressed hard between his shoulderblades, pinning him firmly in place as another hand started to drag his pants further down his backside.. He could feel himself hyperventilating. Even in his half delusional, helpless state Sherlock's mind and body still knew what was coming next and there was nothing he could do to stop it..
Just as he lowered his head in acceptance, his eyes pinched shut tightly in a desperate attempt to disconnect from his body, an outright roar echoed loudly in the narrow space.
"OI! LET GO OF HIM!"
The sound of sprinting footsteps was heard and the punishing pressure against the detective's back eased for a brief moment as the faceless attacker was caught by surprise. Then suddenly the pressure disappeared altogether and the sound of two bodies colliding with high speed and force resounded in the darkness followed by a pained grunt, presumably coming from the attacker as he was brutally tackled to the ground.
With the pressure gone however, nothing was keeping Sherlock upright anymore and the detective slumped ungracefully to the ground with a thud.
John was seeing red. Sally had returned back upstairs from her smoking break in a frenzy, ranting about a young kid outside who'd told her Sherlock was in trouble. She'd hardly made any sense as she babbled urgently that they all had to go immediately. Lestrade had to calm her down and ask her to start over before they fully understood the situation. John was on his feet, knocking his chair over in the process and out the door before Sally even finished. He didn't even grasp his coat before storming out. When he reached the outside he immediately recognized Charlie, who was still standing out front. The boy had a panicked air about him but looked relieved to see John for once.
"Show me where he is!" Was all John said, his heart already hammering in his chest. White hot anger blooming throughout him at the thought of someone out there hurting his Sherlock.
Charlie simply nodded and sprinted off in the direction he'd come from, John right on his heels. Only one thing playing in the doctor's mind. 'Sherlock..'
"It's right up there, in the alley on the left!" Charlie called after a few minutes of running, pointing to place ahead, still running.
John wasted no time in sprinting past the young boy. He almost fell as he skidded slightly making the sharp turn into the dark alleyway. It didn't take long as he ran down the narrow pathway that he could start to make out two figures at the end, huddled close against the wall. He slid to an abrupt halt, his breaths coming out in harsh puffs from running so hard. He squinted his eyes and ears as to try and make out what was going on in the darkness, willing his eyes to adjust to the gloom.
His blood froze in his veins as he not only recognized his boyfriend, looking dazed, limp and confused, but also distraught and trying to offer what little fight he was capable of in his current state as a huge man stuck his hand down the front of the detective pants. The man mumbled something John couldn't make out before he saw him turn Sherlock roughly around, slamming him face first back against the wall before beginning to pull down his pants further with an excited sneer.
At this sight John's blood went from freezing to boiling in a second and he let out a thunderous roar of anger;
"OI! LET GO OF HIM!" Before he sprinted the rest of the way down the alley. He jumped with all his might, thankful for his many years playing rugby, as he tackled the giant bastard to the ground. John quickly gained the upper hand in their scuffle, having the advantage as the man had been surprised by his attack. He managed to plant one knee firmly on the man's sternum as he landed punch after punch on his face as hard and fast as he could.
"Don't. You. Fucking. Touch. Him. You. BASTARD!" John roared after each punch. The man tried to pry him off desperately, grunting in pain as each punch landed, but John had him trapped helplessly under him.
The man's face was covered in blood and John's knuckles were starting to bruise and bleed of their own, but he didn't register it. He was burning up with anger! At this moment he wasn't doctor Watson anymore, right now he was captain John Watson, trained killer and soldier, he was the lover of Sherlock Holmes and he wanted this man to suffer, hell.. He wanted him dead!
But before he could go on Lestrade caught John's arm in mid strike to stop him. Even though the DI was no small man himself he had to hold on with both his hands to stop John's momentum.
John turned with the intention of telling Lestrade off for stopping him, but as he saw the look on the DI's face, he didn't doubt the other's intentions. "I'm on him John. Go to Sherlock he needs you." The DI said his own eyes an inferno of rage never leaving the man under John, that was now moaning lowly in pain.
At the mention of Sherlock John immediately jumped off the man and scrambled to get to his lover who was laying a few feet away. Lestrade immediately took over John's place and planted his own firm knee on the attacker's chest making him moan out further in discomfort, but not earning any mercy from the DI. Sally had arrived too and had made her way directly to Sherlock and was currently supporting the detective's head while she tried to get in contact by calling his name out, asking if he could hear her. She immediately gave up her spot for John when the doctor came running. John cradled Sherlock's head gently and called out himself.
"Sherlock? Sherlock love, it's me John. Can you hear me?"
Sherlock was clearly trying to fight off a thick drug haze. The detective was conscious, but only partial responsive. His eyes were going in and out of focus, his blinks were slow and sluggish as was his whole demeanour overall. While Sally's voice hadn't brought on much of a reaction John's voice however seemed to break through in some way.
"Jh.. Jawn..?" The detective managed to rasp out, his eyes trying to hold steady on John's face above him.
"Yeah Sherlock! It's me I'm right here love! It's okay, it's okay. You're safe now." John answered. He looked over the form of his lover and took in his ripped shirt, bite marks and hickeys down the side of his pale neck and chest and his black pants that were still hanging down past his hips. John had to supress the once again rising fury and urge to go back to the man and finish what he started as he realised what would have happened if he'd been only a few minutes later.
He should've been there. He should've prevented this all together, why hadn't he noticed Sherlock missing from his side immediately? Could he ever forgive himself for letting this happen? All these thoughts raced through the doctor's mind as he quickly stripped off his own jacket and draped it across Sherlock's thin frame to shield him from the cold and once again hiding his alabaster skin from the view of the filth laying behind them. "Oh God, Sherlock what did he do to you?" John whispered sadly as he pulled his detective closer to him.
Despite his condition Sherlock had enough wit about him to understand John's worried whisper and suddenly grasped the doctor tight to him. While he struggled slightly to form the words the desperation and slight panic underneath was plain to hear. "I..I'm sorry John.. I di.. Didn't want.. Didn't mean to.. I'm not high.. He made me.. Drugged me.. I'm so s-sorry.. I love you... Please, believe me.." Sherlock all but begged as he looked up at John with big pleading eyes, pupils blown wide from the drug he'd been slipped.
John had to swallow the lump in his throat at hearing Sherlock's desperate please. In his drugged out state fearing John would misunderstand the situation and think Sherlock had gotten high on his own and then snuck off with this man willingly.
"No, no Sherlock love, I know! I'm the one who's sorry! Shhh, don't apologize." John tried to comfort as best as he could.
Besides them Lestrade growled dangerously and very roughly grasped the collar of the attacker's jacket to heave him up a bit only to slam him back into the ground. "You bastard! What the hell did you slip him?" He yelled angrily into his face.
The man cried out as he was roughhoused, but did not offer anything up.
Lestrade repeated the action, harder this time. "ANSWER ME! What did you slip him?!" The DI roared this time.
"Greg!" Sally called out in slight horror. "You're a police officer, you can't handle a suspect like this!"
Lestrade just growled; "Right now I'm not a fucking cop, right now I'm a fucking angry bloke who wants to make this filthy scum tell me what the hell he's drugged my friend with! So.."
Lestrade repeated the action a third time, making the lowlife let out a pathetic sob as he cried. "GHB! It was GHB, alright!"
"How much?!" Lestrade barked.
"2 ml! Only 2 I swear!" The man cried out, afraid of more hits coming his way.
"Fucking hell!" John swore loudly and reached to take his lover's pulse. It was there, but slightly irregular and Sherlock's eyes were starting to lose focus again, his blinks becoming longer and longer, clearly starting to slowly lose consciousness.
"Sherlock, stay with me! Stay awake love!" John called and rubbed lightly on the younger man's sternum in an effort to keep him conscious. It was no use and only seconds later the detective lost himself do the darkness.
"Would somebody please call a bloody ambulance already?!" John called out loudly, now holding on to the limp form of Sherlock Holmes in his arms.
"I already did Mr. Watson." Charlie spoke up from behind them all. The boy had kept his distance to not get in the way. "I nicked Miss. Donovan's phone earlier to make the call when I thought she was just going to hold me up to call for help. Sorry." He said and offered Sally her phone back. "But it's on its' way, I promise." Just as Charlie finished his sentence, sirens could be heard in the distance. "Good lad Charlie." John praised before turning back to Sherlock, keeping track of his vitals until the paramedics would arrive.
Sally used her reacquired phone to call another ambulance and a on duty police patrol to the scene to take care of the attacker, still laying on the ground with her boss solidly planted un top of him, until backup would arrive. As John waited he found himself stroking a his hand gently down one pale, sharp cheekbone. "I'm so sorry Sherlock, I promise I'll never let anything happen to you again love." He promised in a whisper.
Sherlock awoke with a splitting heading, dry tongue and a cloudlike haze in his head. When he finally succeeded in getting his eyes all the way open it was to the pleasant sight of John Watson sitting on the edge of his, he now realised it to be, hospital bed. John was looking at him with a mixture of worry, sadness and relief.
"Hey love." John whispered gently and took a soft hold on Sherlock's lax hand that wasn't occupied with an IV fluid bag.
"Hey.." Sherlock rasped back only to succumb to a small coughing fit as his throat protested the action.
John immediately produced a cup of water with a straw and placed it to Sherlock's mouth to drink from. Sherlock took a few grateful sips before he relaxed back into the soft mattress. The upper portion of his bed was slightly elevated, so he could return his half-lidded gaze to his doctor, still watching him intently, like John didn't even dare take his eyes off him for a minute.
"How are you feeling?" John asked as he took a hold of Sherlock's hand again as soon as he could.
Sherlock sighed heavily, closed his eyes and gave himself a few seconds to mentally go over his body's current state before answering. "My head hurts.. I feel dizzy, it feels like the room is spinning.. A bit sore.. I'm really nauseated and.. my troath hurts and feels raw." He answered, still with his eyes closed. He opened them again quickly as the dizziness felt less severe when he had a focal point, he chose John to be that focal point. "What happened?" He then asked softly, his voice still low and a bit puzzled.
"You don't remember?" John asked, but the way his voice carried it didn't sound like a question, it sounded more like a statement. Like the he wasn't at all surprised that Sherlock had no recollection of what had landed him in a hospital bed with a bad headache and all his other current symptoms. John's lips tightened into a thin line and his eyes grew large with a stronger mix of sadness and guilt?
Sherlock grew a bit worried of his own at his lover's sudden sorrow and silence. "What? Have we been on a case? Did I do something not good?" Sherlock asked hurriedly, afraid he might once again have done something to upset John.
But John quickly shook his head fiercely at Sherlock's suggestions and moved his other hand to cup Sherlock's face gently. "No! No Sherlock. You didn't do anything wrong love." John said, his voice low but insistent.
Sherlock was getting more confused by the minute and his usual ability to process data had been severely reduced by his current state, so he was unable to deduce the situation. "Then what? What are you so upset then?" Sherlock asked worriedly.
John took a deep breath, obviously mentally stealing himself for something he found uncomfortable, but necessary to get off his chest. "You were drugged Sherlock."
Sherlock could feel his heart drop to his stomach. Had he been using? Then why wasn't John mad at him? How could he say he didn't do anything wrong? He couldn't imagine any scenario or case that would justify he'd start doing cocaine again, but apparently he'd found one, even if he was unable to remember it. But it would explain his current position and symptoms. He'd probably been close to overdose and that's why he couldn't remember anything and why his throat hurt. He'd had his stomach pumped! It'd been so long since he'd been in this situation, but now he recognised it for what it was.
"Drugged?! But no I'm.. I'm clean! I swear John I've been clean!" Sherlock exclaimed loudly and sat further up in the bed. Bad idea, because he immediately fell into another, harsher coughing fit that wrecked his whole frame and provoked his headache even more.
John immediately moved to support the detective's upper body and rubbed his back soothingly as the coughing got to run its course. All the while John tried to calm Sherlock down by muttering comfort directly into his ear. "I know Sherlock, I know! Take it easy love. It wasn't your fault, you didn't do it yourself."
"But.. Then who did?" Sherlock asked when finally calmed down and was laid back against his pillow after a few minutes, his voice like sandpaper.
Now John eyes turned to anger, but clearly not anger directed at Sherlock, cause his gaze turned distant as he answered. "We were out with Lestrade and the rest of the yarders for drinks. When you went downstairs to get drinks some bastard slipped a high dose of GHB into your scotch and managed to manhandle you out of the bar to an alley a few blocks away. Luckily Charlie saw the two of you and knew something was very off and he managed to run away to alert Sally to the situation back at the bar. But he.. He almost.. If I'd gotten there just a minute later.." At the end John's angry look crumbled back into grief and guilt and unable to finish his sentence.
Suddenly Sherlock's mind was flooded with uncoherent images and sensations from the night's events. It was like a floodgate had opened in his head. Now he remembered being in the bar with John, Greg, Sally and other yarders and he remembered going downstairs to get John and him another round. He remembered 'the man', although his face was a fuzzy blur in his memory. He remembered the moment he realised himself he'd been slipped something in his drink. But after that everything seemed like a blurry mess. Like remembering a dream right after waking up, not being able to recall the details. He could vaguely remember being half carried off somewhere, not having any idea how much time and distance had been covered when a vile sensation of a wet tongue being plunged into his mouth, his shirt being ripped open, the wetness trailing down his chest, his pants being pulled down.. The feeling of helplessness and dread of what he'd known would had been coming next. Sherlock pulled at the collar of his hospital gown and looked franticly down his pale chest. It was littered with bitemarks and hickeys. He was starting to hyperventilate slightly, but managed to rasp out. "I'm gonna be sick.."
John managed to get a sick tray in front of Sherlock just in time as the detective vomited what little he had left to offer of his stomach contents.
As he reemerged from his heaving the images continued. Because he also remembered the distinct voice of John, yelling in fury followed by a scuffle which he didn't see but heard most of. The last thing he remembered was being secure in John's arms and then.. Nothing..
The detective turned back to John. "He.. He didn't.. Did he?" Sherlock could not get himself to voice the full question, but he knew John would understand. He did not feel any pain in.. That area and he couldn't recall the act happening, but he couldn't trust his own memory at this point, and he needed to be sure.
"No!" John exclaimed loudly and winched slightly at his own volume in the small hospital room (luckily Mycroft had secured a private room, the other Holmes brother was quite handy to know from time to time). "No." John repeated softer this time and squeezed Sherlock's hand between his own two, letting his thumbs rub across the back of it soothingly.
Sherlock felt an immense relief wash over him and even managed a soft smile at his doctor. "You got to me in time then." He simply declared.
John's heart almost broke at Sherlock's soft, praising voice. "I wouldn't put it like that.." John sighed and dropped his gaze, not able to accept the soft look his lover was offering him.
Sherlock's eyes then turned to determination and he squeezed John's hands back to get the doctor's attention yet again. "Please tell me everything that happened last night."
John eyed Sherlock for a few seconds, debating whether he should give in to the detectives request or not. He however nodded in acceptance, Sherlock deserved to know what had happened and began from the beginning of their evening…
Sherlock was released from the hospital in the evening into the care of John and with the promise he'd take it easy for a few days. Besides feeling a bit weak and faint from the whole ordeal he felt surprisingly okay. John had told him everything.. About how Charlie had handled the situation brilliantly when he'd first spotted Sherlock in the arms of that vile man and manged to get to Sally and the others in time to come to his aid. If it hadn't been for that young boy Sherlock wouldn't even dare to imagine what would have happened. He'd make sure to visit the boy some time in the next couple of days to thank him probably.
Just as John had settled Sherlock onto the couch with a steaming hot cup of tea there was a knock on the door. Before John went to answer it the door swung slightly open and Mrs. Hudson peeked inside.
"Woo hoo.. Sorry to disturb you boys I know you just got home, but that nice detective inspector and a young sweet girl are here asking for you Sherlock, should I let them up or?" The landlady asked gently, clearly not wanting to intrude if Sherlock wasn't up for having visitors right away.
Sherlock offered her a forgiving smile. "That's quite alright Mrs. Hudson they can come up. Why don't you join us too? John just made tea." Sherlock offered. It was clear Mrs. Hudson was awfully distressed by the news of Sherlock's hospitalization and the cause of it. When they'd entered 221 she'd come out to greet them as usual, trying to maintain her usual cheerfulness and suppressing her urge to fuss over Sherlock like a mother hen, afraid it'd be unwelcome.
Mrs. Hudson beamed at the offer. "Oh, that sounds lovely dear, I'll be right back with the others."
John smiled at Sherlock as their landlady disappeared down the stairs, Sherlock tried so hard usually to keep up a a mask of indifference, but Mrs. Hudson had always had a soft spot in the detective's heart. John was happy to see that the longer he'd gotten to know Sherlock the detective had slowly but surely been able to open more up to the people around him. Finally accepting that he finally had friends that accepted him for who he was and not just pretending or manipulating him for their own benefit, just to throw him out of their lives again once they'd gotten what they wanted from him.
A minute later Mrs. Hudson came back up with Lestrade and Molly following right behind her, both offering a small smile and weave in greeting as they entered.
Lestrade took a seat in Sherlock's leather chair. Sherlock motioned for Mrs. Hudson to come sit by his side on the couch and Molly sat down beside the landlady. John quickly handed out hot cups of tea to all the new arrivals before taking his own seat in his armchair.
"Good to see you Sherlock. Feeling alright?" Lestrade asked as he eyed the younger man as he took the first sip of his tea.
Sherlock nodded. "I am now." He answered before he fitted the DI with a serious look. "And I want to thank you. John told me what you did, in that alley. You made him confess to his actions and what he'd drugged me with. It might have saved my life." He said, his voice sincere and grateful.
Lestrade smiled a tight smile. "I don't know about that. All I know is.. I really just wanted to kill that guy when I saw what he'd done to you."
"Same mate!" John offered in agreement from his own seat.
Lestrade couldn't supress a small huff and shook his head as he continued. "Yeah I.. I wasn't allowed to join the interrogation because they were afraid I might jump on him again. Smart choice actually, I probably would have. Sally have taken over the case fully, she witnessed most of the ordeal so she's going to make sure that bastard isn't getting out for a long time."
Sherlock's eyes frowned in confusion. "But.. That's way out of her division. Why would she do that?" He asked.
"She insisted on it, wouldn't take no for an answer. While I wasn't allowed inside myself, I watched her interrogate the him, man you should have seen her! She practically had the big guy sobbing out his confession at the end." Lestrade informed, noticeably recalling the event with glee. "She told me to wish you well by the way."
Sherlock swallowed a few times, processing all this information. "That's.. Good. Tell her thanks from me next time you see her." He said, trying and suspecting failing, at hiding how moved he felt by both the DI's and sergeant's actions.
Mrs. Hudson wrapped an arm around Sherlock's own and the detective unconsciously leaned into the comforting touch.
"Sherlock, I brought you something. I hope that's okay." Molly spoke up next and produced a small bottle from her purse and handed it over to Sherlock.
Sherlock accepted it and looked it over curiously. "You brought me.. Nailpolish? Ehrm.. Thanks Molly, but I'm.. I'm not sure it's something for me." Sherlock offered.
Molly Chuckled. "No, well yes it is nailpolish. It's something I've been working on for some time, outside work. It's a clear polish you can put on one of your nails, it changes into a light blue colour if it gets in contact with a wide variety of commonly used drugs for spiking drinks. If you're ever in doubt someone put something in your drink or have left it unattended, you can just discreetly stir your drink with your finger and if it's spiked the polish will react and change colour in a span of 30 seconds."
"Holy shit really? Molly that amazing!" John exclaimed in awe.
Molly fiddled with her fingers shyly. "Well, it's actually Sherlock who gave me inspiration to create it. That case you guys were on a few months ago, Sherlock asked me if I'd help test the bottom of your victims wineglass for potential poisons or drugs and when it was positive I thought to myself, if only there was a way she could have known her drink had been poisoned she might still have been alive." She looked back to Sherlock with sympathy. "I'm so sorry this happened to you Sherlock, but I hope this will prevent it from ever happening again. No one should have to feel unsafe when being out and experience what you and so many others have been through. It's still only a prototype, but all my tests have been positive so far so it should be reliable to use."
Sherlock was completely awestruck. "Molly, this is amazing!" He exclaimed. "You have to tell me your process. Do you need any help with the final developments? This needs to be produced to the whole population! It's absolutely genius!" Sherlock was amazed. Such an invention wouldn't just help him, but so many others. He felt honoured Molly had been inspired by him to create such a great product and he wanted to help get it on the public market as fast as possible. This would definitely make him feel a lot safer when going out again. He was sure he'd never spend a day not wearing the polish, this would be so helpful in so many ways!
Molly blushed a bit by the rare overflow of praise coming from the detective. "Oh, yeah. I'd like that very much." She smiled a bit.
"Oh, I wish I could get my own hands on that twat who did this to my boy!" Mrs. Hudson interrupted and gripped his arms tighter around Sherlock's in a protective way. "Detective inspector is there no way he can get him the electric chair?" She asked seriously.
"Afraid not ma'am." Lestrade answered, actually sounding disappointed himself.
"Maybe I should ask that brother of yours Sherlock, I'm sure he'd be able to pull some strings." Mrs. Hudson plotted on.
Sherlock patted his landlady's hand gently in a calming manner. "Undoubtedly Mrs. Hudson but let's not overreact. As I've heard the culprit have suffered plenty at the hands of John and DI Lestrade."
Both John and Lestrade huffed in disagreement. "Not at all.." John said. "Hardly.." Lestrade followed up, but didn't engage further. Both with murder back in their eyes at the mentioning of the man.
Mrs. Hudson however seemed to accept defeat on the matter and immediately cheered back up again. "Why don't I just pop downstairs and bring us up some cherry scones? They're almost freshly baked.
And with that the atmosphere in the room lifted once again. Mrs. Hudson brought up the lukewarm scones and John made another pot of tea to go around the room. Sherlock sat there, tea in his hands. Just a few years back he'd never dared to dream he'd ever be blessed or deserving enough to be surrounded by friends and loved ones like this. But at this moment he felt more loved and protected than he'd ever done in his entire life and he knew no matter what might happen in the future, he would be surrounded by people who'd fight to keep him safe and happy, as much as he would them.
And he couldn't help the smile blooming on his face at that realisation.
THE END