John was sat on the sofa, George playing with his hair, he flinched at his touch. He had to keep George sweet; he had to get out of here. He just wasn't sure how. He originally thought he could just wait around, they couldn't stay in the flat forever, but this line of thinking got Coyle and Peirce killed. There really was no way out, there was no escape. He then he had a horrible sinking feeling in his stomach, he knew he would die in the morning.
George nibbled at his neck. John felt sick, he wanted Sherlock, and his body craved Sherlock. He loved Sherlock; he wished it was Sherlock cuddling him, kissing his neck. He needed Sherlock right now. He wondered how far George would expect him to go. Peirce had had sex before she was killed. She must have been desperate, thought if she played along then she would live. Coyle to, god they must have been terrified. Maybe he would die to; if he was going to die he would rather just get it all over with.
Coyle and Peirce had died, maybe they had given up, but John couldn't. He wanted to live; something was preventing him from simply giving up and accepted his fate, that something was Sherlock Holmes. He had to get back to him, he wouldn't be able to live without him, and how would Sherlock be able to function without him? He wouldn't remember to eat or sleep. He had to get back to Sherlock; he had a reason to live.
'Listen' He leaned forward and tried to get the taxi drivers attention 'can you hurry up'. Sherlock was beyond desperate now, pulling his hair out and grinding his teeth. John was alive; he refused to believe that John had been killed. His John. No, John wouldn't let someone strangle him without a fight.
'Listen mate' Sherlock leaned foreward and tried to get the taxi driver's attention 'Can you hurry up'
'You're the one who wants to drive through Central London during rush hour. I'm not Moses, going as fast as I can' He chuckled at his own joke.
Sherlock fell back in his seat.
Lestrade pulled out his phone, 'I'm calling for back up he's probably armed'
For the first time in his entire life Sherlock could not think straight.
'He has to be alive, I need him'
There was no way out, he needed a phone, maybe if he had the gun. How would he get to that? He looked round for it but couldn't see it. He guessed it was on George's person somewhere. He looked George up and down and saw it placed in the waistband of his trousers. Ok, so he needed to distract him and go for the gun but how? He was an army boy, he could do this.
An idea struck him, it made him feel sick but he couldn't think of anything else. He would just have to try. He turned to George and slipped an arm round him, George cuddled into him, and then John crashed their lips together. He flinched but he had to make it seem real or George would guess something was amiss. Just pretend it was Sherlock he thought to himself, he kissed George and pushed his body against him. George groaned but kissed him back. John put a hand on George's chest, hoping George would think he was coming on to him. Clearly his plan was working as George let out a small moan.
With one swift movement, he reached George's gun and grabbed it. George was in such a daze from the kiss he barely noticed what John was doing. He grabbed John's hand yanked it away and then stood up. John had never seen anger like it. He pointed the gun at John.
'Tell me you love me John'
'No' John said defiantly. He didn't care anymore; he knew he was going to die so he refused to play his games.
George pushed John back onto the sofa then John felt his hands round his neck, squeezing the life out of him. This is it John thought, I am going to die. John felt his world go black, the last thing he thought of before he passed out entirely, was Sherlock's face.