Well, here's the other 'half' of that chapter.
There is a sex scene at the end of this one so please if you're sensitive or dislike that kind of thing do not read. You can message me if you want a synopsis of the story in this chapter or a version which does not contain the sex scene.
I'd like to think it's relatively tastefully done but hey, that's for you guys to decide.
Thanks as always for reading/reviewing and there are now only a couple of chapters left to go!
Enjoy~
The Return of Sherlock Holmes 12; Emily
Emily was seething, how could Aadesh make such a simple mistake? And now they had to deal with Holmes themselves.
The aforementioned detective sat in front of them, bound to a metal fold-out chair. He was out cold, but that was the least of their concerns. She knew now that just by having him here with them there was probably some evidence that could tie her to his death if they were to get rid of him now. It would have to wait – and she knew as well as anyone that if Irene appeared at any point now he would be useless as a bargaining chip because Emily couldn't very well threaten him anymore.
"You idiot, I gave you one job and you messed up!" she screamed at Aadesh, the sound enough to make children cry in terror and run to their mothers.
"But Emma, I cannot do any better than this. Holmes caught me off guard I –
His excuses did nothing to appease her, hazel eyes boring a hole into his skull.
"Off guard!?" she was even more furious than before, and felt her voice crack under the strain of the volume she projected it with. "You're supposed to be on guard at all times! Are you a complete imbecile!?"
As if by some designed timing the air vent above them came crashing to the ground, and a figure dropped from the hole where the metal once was fixed.
"Sorry to intrude but it seemed like this may take some time and I don't have any to waste."
Emily stared wide-eyed, it was Irene, at a time like this when her plans might come to nothing – no. They would not come to nothing; she would have her way. At least that was what she was thinking up until the nine millimetre was pressed against her cheek.
"A-Aadesh, tell Miss Addler we mean her no harm, put your weapon down."
The man had already drawn his own, small handgun and was aiming it shakily at Irene. She smiled, aiming a quick shot at him and turning her attention back to Emily.
Running a hand through the brunette's short fringe she made a noise of disapproval.
"I liked it better long."
"Not enough to stay with me."
The raven haired woman smirked, gesturing towards Sherlock.
"And why him, might I ask?"
Chuckling a little, Emily shrugged.
"I knew he could find you – and I thought you'd love to watch him die."
"You know I'm dead, don't you?" Irene asked, voice dripping with venom. "Dead people can't kill other people."
To make her point she began to put pressure on the trigger of her gun.
"You couldn't kill me; we have too much in common, too much history."
"I never liked that boring old subject – and cutting off that hair is a crime punishable by death."
Just like that she fired, watching the girl slump over in pain – it was a clean shot through the leg and would leave her unable to move for some time now.
Pressing a button on the desk in front of her, Irene's voice filtered through over the speakers that littered the warehouse.
"Emily dear is unable to continue this business venture with you all – we suggest you leave, isn't that right, honey?" her sickly sweet tones were like a slap in the face, but all the gang leader could do was groan and sob quietly.
The mass exodus was a little swifter than expected – but really they were all in it for their pay-checks so why would they care if something happened to her? They didn't want to get caught by the authorities just to stick up for their boss.
Walking over to Sherlock, his old acquaintance gave him a smack across the face with the butt of her pistol. It would hurt, but it would wake him up. She smiled at his groggy expression, leaving him a red lipstick mark on his cheek as a souvenir.
"See you around, Mr Detective." She winked, and just like that she was gone. Back into the upper reaches of the warehouse and nowhere to be seen.
Sherlock surveyed the scene and pieced together what had happened as soon as his addled brain would allow.
"Why her?" he asked, short and to the point. Emily just continued to groan in the corner of the room. "Why her?" he asked again loudly.
"For the money, what else?" snapped the girl back at him. "Some people in high places know she isn't gone, and they want her dead."
The room went silent, and the door creaked open.
"Uhm, sorry, don't mind me I'm just here to pick him up." John spoke sheepishly – it seemed a little surreal to be in this situation with a body on the floor and a person who had been shot, just so that he could pick up his partner. "You know, he's like a bit of a child really – got to look after him."
"John!" The relief in Sherlock's voice was evident, and he hadn't made any attempt to mask it.
"Yeah, I think it's about time we went home."
He smiled at the brunette, sending a pitied glance at Emily. I don't think he even realises.
By the time they were home, John had so many unanswered questions – and Sherlock some of his own – but it seemed that conversation was not coming naturally to them. Finally the doctor piped up.
"Why did the Russian guy get so distracted by his mouth?"
Sherlock smirked a little to himself as he sat on the sofa, watching more talk shows.
"I gave him a silver filling," by now John should not be surprised at anything Sherlock said but he never knew the other man could perform dental surgery. Then again, that depended on your definition of 'perform'. "It causes what is referred to as galvanic shock. The saliva can cause an electric shock in the mouth if gold and silver fillings are too close to one another. He would have been in a lot of pain, and I counted on him to become distracted by it."
There was a pause again, John chewing the inside of his cheek as he thought. Once the tang of metal filled his mouth he realised he had been doing this for some time and instead opted to speak again.
"You know why Emily did it, right?"
It was an open question, and Sherlock didn't even look at him when he answered.
"Of course, she told me herself; it was for the money."
Sometimes his friend was so naive John barely believed it.
"Yeah that was part of it."
Now he had the other's attention.
"She wanted the money, but she was so driven because of revenge. I think they had something between them that maybe Irene broke off."
Sherlock stared at him like he'd grown a second head.
"You might not be able to see these things in people but I can. When you can read people's emotions, you just know this stuff –it's like a gut feeling. Out of interest, how did you find her?"
Turning around to face his partner, the detective curled himself up into a little ball so that his chin touched his knees.
"I had her cell phone."
There was a sharp intake of breath and a pain in John's chest unlike any he'd felt before, why was that?
"Jamie took it – the homeless boy. I knew someone in the network would know where she was, they gave the phone to her. Yes it no longer had the sim-card in but I could still record a little message for her on it, telling her about the situation."
The silence was crushing, neither spoke for a long time –John's thoughts swam around in circles. Sherlock kept Irene's phone. He missed her, he knew he'd mourned her in some sense when they thought she was gone, he must have been attached to her. But she wasn't dead, she was still alive; so did that mean that he was still attached to her? If he was why was he with John? What purpose would that serve when someone younger, much more attractive and much more interesting was around for him to spend his time with?
"You kept it, all this time?"
Sherlock didn't know what to say in response – he had kept the phone. But it wasn't for the reasons he feared John was thinking. No not at all, in fact it had absolutely nothing to do with that – it was for just such a situation as this. For if there was a time he would need her again, and it had served its purpose. She owed him a favour and now she no longer did.
"John, I kept it in case I needed her like I did today. There was no other reason."
He got up off the sofa and crossed the room, reaching out a hand to his partner who batted it away with anger in his eyes.
"She was alive – she is alive. Why don't you just go be with her?"
"I don't want to be with her, I want to be here with you."
"No, no you don't. She's beautiful, strong, and intelligent, she's everything you ever wanted in a person and I know she wanted you too. You could tell by the way you used to look at each other. Please don't pretend otherwise because I –
In the middle of his ramblings, Sherlock had taken his face in his hands and kissed him on the cheek.
"You said you can tell what people feel by how they look at each other, or the expressions they wear on their faces."
The surprise of the sudden display of affection had John stunned so he simply nodded as Sherlock remembered the lipstick on his cheek and rubbed it off with vigour.
"Then tell me what my expression is showing you."
He looked, and what he saw was enough to melt any words he had in his mouth down to nothing, because Sherlock – his Sherlock – was looking at him with enough affection and longing to fell a Rhinoceros in a head-on collision. So John kissed him, he kissed him with all of the intent he could muster, and the brunette kissed back, pulling him closer to him.
They parted for just a moment, and John smiled a little.
"I almost lost you." Sherlock mused, surprising the doctor for the millionth time that day. "Never do that again."
"Hey it wasn't my-
But the brunette's lips were on him again, claiming him, making him his. In a rush of heat and overflowing emotions they were backing up towards the sofa, hastily fumbling with the buttons of each other's shirts.
How John loved that purple shirt – it barely fit and left little to the imagination. He'd wanted for so long just to see what was underneath and the sight that greeted him was by far better than any of his fantasies. The pale skin, scars from many dangerous encounters here and there which just added to the mystery of the man, and matched his own from his fights during his soldier duty.
The coat and shirt were swiftly discarded, as was John's own parka and jumper, Sherlock fumbled with his scarf.
"W-wait." John mumbled, embarrassed, "I, uh, leave it please."
Raising an eyebrow, the brunette did as he obliged.
"Very well, but only if you allow this." He took one end of the half-removed item and wrapped it around John's neck, so that they both wore it. The doctor nodded his agreement, unable to form words in his excitement and awkwardness. It was a strange feeling, like losing his virginity all over again but then it hit him. He was sort of losing a kind of virginity, and Sherlock would be losing his as far as he knew. Oh God he hoped he didn't put him off again.
The detective noticed his hesitation, and placed a soft kiss on his collarbone.
"Please John." He murmured, and that was enough. To be wanted was more than John could ever ask for.
His scars were deeper than the other's, who regarded him with wide-eyed wonder. It had come down to this moment now both stripped down to their underwear, hot and heavy with anticipation with the evidence of their excitements pressing against each other, creating slight friction with each deep breath they took.
Knowing they both wanted this was helpful, unlike being with a woman there was a very prominent physical representation of their intentions between them and John felt more confident because of it. Looking his partner in the eyes he reached down to his underwear. A subconscious agreement was spoken between them, and at the same time they took the last items they were wearing clean off.
Now they were completely naked, and exposed to each other save for the scarf – yet there was no embarrassment, no difficult 'who's going to look first' moment. They both took almost no notice of their changing situation, instead opting to pause in thought at who would take on which role. Shifting his weight, Sherlock parted his legs slightly, as an indication of his decision to bottom.
If he was honest, John was very relieved this was the way around it was happening.
Realising they were sprawled on the sofa, John was glad of his secret daytime habits now. It meant he'd hidden some materials underneath the seat itself. Sherlock gave him an incredulous look meaning something along the lines of 'when I can think properly again we're going to have a discussion about this' which quickly changed to one of shock when he felt the other's finger press against his entrance.
John had taken advantage of his distraction to begin the arduous process of making sure his partner was comfortable. The way he squirmed in response was delightful and a complete turn on – like nothing he'd ever seen before.
Since neither of them knew much at all about how this was supposed to work, he thought it was best to get on with it – though the sensation of the muscles tightening in response to his fingers' intrusion was making him anticipate the same feeling on a much more interesting body part.
It was an agonising wait, long enough to infuriate John to no end, short enough that it was probably only minutes.
"John, as much as I appreciate this, please." The pained look on Sherlock's face, it seemed, had no longer been from his adjusting to the situation, but from an insatiable need to finish himself off. John didn't need to be told twice.
They shifted around a little, until John was pressing against him, the brunette bit into his shoulder a little, a silent plea for him to continue. So he did, it was difficult at first but after the initial push was much smoother. Almost immediately the doctor could not think of another thing in the world that compared to this – some of it was the sensation, and some of it was knowing that the object of his only affections in this world trusted him enough to let him do this.
Sherlock grit his teeth, resolving in the end to simply bite down harder into John's shoulder. It hurt, but at the same time the full feeling was one he was growing quickly accustomed to and even enjoying a little.
"Sorry." Mumbled the ex-soldier, and Sherlock didn't get a chance to ask him what for, as he began a slow pace. Immediately sparks burst into miniature fireworks in the detective's mind and he couldn't hold back a low groan that escaped his lips.
It was embarrassing, it was humiliating but it was raw it was real and it was a side of himself he could only show to John and no-one else. The joy was overwhelming, and the heat built with every second between them. The pace quickened and he soon found all pain forgotten, replaced by white hot ecstasy, racing through him like electricity and setting fire to every nerve ending he could feel and even some he'd never felt before.
They were both close, their movements erratic and their sounds becoming more and more desperate. He needed something, anything to hold on to and instead found himself scrabbling at John's back while the other man tried his best to continue supporting them in their awkward position on the sofa.
With a final, loud cry the brunette was done, expelling himself all over his scarf, the rest landing on the pair in various places. John followed soon after, as the thought of his partner's release only heightened his own pleasure.
For a moment they stayed that way, catching their breath and trying to understand the things they had just felt between them – the unfathomable connection that neither had experienced anything close to before in their lives, but they could not.
John kissed Sherlock on the forehead and rolled off him, the two of them haphazardly leaning on the sofa in the most comfortable way they could manage.
Sherlock began laughing a little, and John soon followed suit.
"What's got you laughing?" he asked, the brunette turned to look at him, a wide grin on his face – it made his heart skip a beat.
"You know, the best way to gather data for a theory is to perform your own experiments. So I think we might have to do this more often."
Chuckling in response, this was the last thing John had expected to hear from Sherlock.
"I love you, you complete git."
"I love you too, John."