A to Z of Sherlock's Darkness

[An A to Z format often seen anywhere else but in Sherlock's fanverse! Readers suggest a topic or word for each letter from B to Z (A already done) and I will pick one and write a one-shot on it. Starring Sherlock, John, Lestrade, Molly, Mycroft, Moriarty, and co. Angst, hurt/comfort, fluff, bromance, and general darkness. Vulnerable Sherlock and protective!OCs. M to be safe!]

Disclaimer: I do not own BBC's Sherlock. All kudos goes to Moffat, Gatiss and Thompson. And the biggest, steamiest, pile of kudos goes to the legendary, genius, and generally sexy human being, Sir Arthur Conan Doyle.

-B is for Broken- Suggested by Dawnfire11

The case was supposed to be simple. The step father was supposed to be charged for conspiring to kill his wife and daughter over inheritance money. Lestrade was supposed to thank Sherlock and John. Donovan and Anderson were supposed to make snide comments. And Sherlock was supposed to go back home with John, satiated for at least a couple of hours before boredom took hold again. But things never worked out the way they were supposed to. Life never did for the boys at 221B.
At this precise moment, Sherlock was rattling off figures and facts that Lestrade had blatantly missed ("You're always missing the vital information - do you even have eyes?") when Donovan rushed into Lestrade's office, slightly out of breathe and sour faced at seeing Sherlock there.
"Donovan?" Lestrade frowned, immediately sensing trouble.
"Sir, a phone call, from Francine Pullman."
"What is it, Sally?" the grey haired man said impatiently.
Donovan swallowed. "She said that her daughter has been kidnapped. By her husband."
Lestrade swore and stormed out of the office, Donovan following closely behind. John glanced over at Sherlock who seemed to be smirking.
"I was right," the detective murmured.
"Yes, you were Sherlock. But now a teenage girl is missing," John said patiently. He seemed to be constantly reminding his best friend of his humanity during cases.
Sherlock nodded and hummed under his breath as he gathered his coat and scarf.
"Come on, John. I need to have a word with a certain Francine Pullman."
John sighed wearily and followed Sherlock out of Lestrade's office.

"She's lying," Sherlock said in a hurried voice as they left the Pullman household.
John raised his eyebrows. "What? You mean to say Francine Pullman was lying about her daughter's kidnapping?"
They walked briskly down the street and the doctor struggled to keep up with the detective's long strides.
"That's precisely what I'm talking about John. But why? Why lie about something as important as a kidnapping?"
"Maybe Francine and her husband planned the kidnapping together? Or maybe there isn't a kidnapping after all?"
Sherlock clicked his tongue. "Maybe, John, maybe. But there's something else…something important…something right in front of my eyes….eurgh! John, quick, tell me exactly what you know about the case. Tell me everything."
John started but quickly complied. "Well, Lestrade called us in because of an unidentifiable body found in the Thames. The body turned out to belong to a Russian ex-military turned assassin-for-hire, Vyacheslav Alistratov who was paid recently in cash by Manny Pullman for precisely two hits – his wife, Francine and her daughter, Cassie."
They rounded the corner and hailed down a taxi. As they got in, Sherlock nodded at John to continue. The doctor sighed.
"The reason to which you cleverly discovered (Sherlock smirked at this) was because of Francine's only other living relative, her great-aunt Marilyn Knight, passed away and left a hefty fortune for Francine and her daughter. If both were to die however, that same fortune would be passed down to Manny Pullman, the remaining family member left alive."
Sherlock hummed again under his breath and his attention turned to the taxi window. John fell silent, knowing his friend was deep in thought.
"Francine does not know her husband had called for a hit," the detective suddenly said aloud. "I believe that she and her husband want to do Cassie Pullman harm. I also believe that Francine Pullman is hiding something. And that this something will be the key to unravelling the motives behind the intended harm towards Cassie."
Sherlock paused and scowled.
"Family is treacherous and fatal," he growled. He glared at John, as if he was trying to prove a point, but the doctor ignored Sherlock and instead went over the case in his head, suddenly very worried for the youngest Pullman.
They pulled up outside a dilapidated warehouse and after paying the taxi driver, clambered out into the bitingly cold air. John stretched and looked around, confused.
"Where exactly are we?"
Sherlock was typing away frenetically into his phone.
"This, John, is where Cassie Pullman is being held."
John gaped at the detective but quickly regained his composure. He should be used to this by now, but every time he was floored by Sherlock's incredible detective skills.
As they walked hastily towards the warehouse, Sherlock explained how he had deduced where Cassie was being held in his usual quick paced and impatient tone.
"Pink, powdery stains, obviously left by certain flora on Francine's jeans. I did a quick search on my phone and found out the type of flower – it was Drury by the way – and another search showed that this flower was rare and only grew in certain, specific conditions which led us here – Michael's Metalware, abandoned in "53 after the Second World War – and since I know that Francine has no business in this part of London, I easily deduced that this must be where she was keeping her daughter and I keep telling you John, it is all so stupidly simple, if you only opened your eyes. You and Lestrade both!"
John ignored the exasperated tone of his friend's voice. "But why would Francine notify the police of Cassie's kidnapping if she herself is the kidnapper?"
"Because, John," Sherlock said slowly, irritated, "if Cassie suddenly disappears, the first suspects would be Francine and her husband. However, if they set it up to look like they were as much of a victim as Cassie was and point the blame somewhere else – perhaps a mutual friend or colleague, I'm not too sure on that one – then they would be virtually blame free. The question is why Francine would want to harm her own daughter? You people have your sentiments, do you not? I know the answer is simple. So simple! I just can't…" Sherlock trailed off and he suddenly froze in his tracks.
John couldn't help but give his friend an amused smile as he recognized the spark in Sherlock's eyes.
"Well?" he asked the detective expectantly.
"It is simple! It's so obvious. So, so obvious, John!" Sherlock laughed and clapped his hands before almost running towards the warehouse. Knowing that he would get the full answer sooner than later, John made a noncommittal sound from the back of his throat and pulled out his gun as they approached the darkened entrance to the abandoned building.
They entered cautiously, Sherlock sniffing the air and darting about the large space looking for clues. John was in soldier mode, scanning the warehouse and squinting in the gloom. An angry vibration in his pocket startled him.
"Hurry up and answer that. Tell Lestrade we found Cassie in the old warehouse off Caledon Road," Sherlock called from the darkness.
"But we haven't found her yet," John called back, pulling his phone out.
"We will."
John smiled grimly and answered the phone call.
"John Watson speaking."
John? It's me, Greg. My phone's dead so I'm calling from Sally's phone. Where are you two? We need you at the Pullman household. We need the human lie detector here.
John let out a breathy laugh. "Greg, we know where Cassie is. She's at the old Metalware warehouse off Caledon Road."
A pause then quite swearing. I won't even ask how you found her.
"Good, don't. Oh, and you better arrest Francine Pullman since you're there already."
What for?
"For the kidnapping of her daughter. She-"
A huge crash made John drop the phone and grip his gun in both hands, his feet already moving towards the sound.
"Sherlock?" he called out, his voice laced with concern.
"No," an unfamiliar voice called back.
A floodlight switched on and John reeled back, blinking heavily. When his eyes adjusted, he saw Sherlock crumpled on the ground and Manny Pullman's right boot clad foot digging into the stunned detective's torso. Cassie was also there, unconscious and bound to a chair, her body limp and face deathly pale.
John swallowed thickly and raised the gun, cautiously approaching Manny.
"You're that John Watson fella," Manny grinned, baring yellow smoke stained teeth at John. "And this 'ere," the unkempt man nudged Sherlock with his foot, "is the famous Sherlock 'olmes!"
"Why are you doing this, Manny?" John asked the older man in a low voice. He glanced down at Sherlock again and his doctor's eye searched his friend's body for any signs of injuries.
"Wasn't part of my original plan," Manny admitted, scratching his head. "But when Frannie told me bout who Cassie really was, and what she wanted to do to the little bitch, I just 'ad to say yes. Too much fun to pass up!" Manny let out a rough, bark like laugh.
"What are you talking about? Who is Cassie?" John felt his grip on the gun loosen slightly, curiousity getting the better of him.
"Francine isn't Cassie's mother," came Sherlock's raspy voice.
John felt relief flood his body momentarily at the detective's apparent awareness.
"Francine is Cassie's sister. She had taken guardianship of Cassie when she was a baby, so Cassie didn't know her as anyone else but her mother. And Francine took on the role without knowing it would be too much stress and responsibility for one as young as her – she was only nineteen – and she grew bitter. Isn't that right, Manny?" Sherlock tried to pull himself up into a sitting position but Manny growled and kick him back down into the ground. John took a step forwards and raised his gun.
"Just let him go, Manny," John said in a low voice.
The older man laughed and shook his head. It was then when John saw that the man had a gun of his own, hidden behind his leg but angled down at Sherlock's head. John blanched but stood his ground.
Sherlock continued his ramble, oblivious to the immediate danger to himself.
"Then ofcourse great aunt Marilyn died and let behind a great sum of money to both sisters – only Francine was just as greedy as you, wasn't she, Manny? She wanted the whole fortune and not having to half it with her sister. So she told you her plan didn't she? Kidnap Cassie, get rid of her, and place the blame on someone else before running off with the whole fortune, free and rich. Only, she didn't know your plan, didn't she, Manny? Your plan to pay an assassin to kill her and Cassie. But you didn't count on the assassin getting himself shot in the head," Sherlock laughed hoarsely at this.
Manny frowned and kicked Sherlock savagely in the side. "Shut the fuck up," he grunted.
"Well? Are you going to let him go?" John asked Manny, tiring of the stand off.
"You 'ave to be kidding me right? You both uncovered the bloody plan – all of them! I ain't letting you go. No bleeding way." Manny raised his gun and adjusted it, showing it in plain sight as a warning to John.
"The whole of Scotland Yard is on their way, Manny. I wouldn't do that."
Manny grinned manically. "Well, then. I'll 'ave to be quick then, won't I?"
"Are you really that thick?" Sherlock called from underneath Manny's boot.
"Sherlock, don't exacerbate things," John said through gritted teeth.
"You'll go first then, Mister Sherlock 'olmes," Manny smiled and cocked the gun.
John cocked his gun and stepped forwards, heart thumping.
"Manny, don't, I will shoot you!"
"Then go ahead and shoot me. But you know my bullet will 'it your friend before your bullet 'its me."
John felt sweat bead his forehead and he silently prayed for Lestrade to just hurry up.
Sure enough, not even a second after his silent plea, John heard the telltale sirens of police cars surrounding the warehouse. John raised his eyebrows at Manny who was staring at the entrance with panicked eyes.
"Fuck fuck fuck!" the older man swore and loosened his grip on his gun.
John pulled the trigger as Sherlock spun into action and freed himself from Manny's gun and boot.
Three things happened simultaneously.
The bullet tore through Manny's shoulder and the older man cried out as the gun flew out of his hand.
A millisecond before, the gun in Manny's hand exploded and Cassie was thrown to the ground, still tied to the chair, by the force of the bullet – dead before she hit the ground.
And the police, led by Lestrade stormed into the warehouse, all witness to the accidental killing of Cassie Pullman.
John stared at the dead girl, his mind frozen in shock. No, he mouthed, God no.
Everyone snapped out of their shocked daze. Policemen and women swarmed all over the warehouse, arresting Manny and leading the moaning man away, presumably to the hospital then a dank jail cell. Lestrade was at John's side and barking orders, his face pale and grim.
John just stood there, staring at the girl's blood pooling steadily across the dusty ground.

"Freak."
Sherlock opened his eyes and blearily sat up, a pair of steady warm hands helping him. He had momentarily passed out from the pain in his side when he had twisted away from Manny, but he had definitely heard two gunshots before darkness enveloped him. His panicked gaze rested upon a still-standing John Watson, and his heart calmed down tremendously.
Emotions, he scolded himself.
"Oi, Freak."
Sherlock focused his attention on a grim looking Sally Donovan kneeling beside him.
"Donovan?" he blinked.
"I said, are you okay?" Donovan asked in an exasperated tone, her nose wrinkled as if asking Sherlock this particular question was painful.
The detective ignored her and struggled to stand. His side erupted in fiery pain and he struggled to breathe, coughing into his trembling hand as (to his horror) Donovan steadied him.
John seemed to snap out of his daze and, pushing the waves of guilt and self-loathing down, the doctor was immediately at Sherlock's side, in full doctor mode. Lestrade sighed at the two and he went back to barking orders at his officers.
"I think he may have broken some ribs," Donovan said, a twinkle of worry in her eyes betraying her indifferent expression.
John nodded curtly and he helped Donovan lower the half conscious detective back down onto the ground. Donovan quickly went to get the paramedics as John took Sherlock's vitals.
"Are you in a lot of pain, Sherlock?" John asked, his fingers reaching for a pulse. It was fast and faint.
Sherlock shook his head, his face pale and sweaty. "No. I just can't breathe well."
The detective coughed into his hand again and John saw flecks of blood.
"You've broken at least two ribs," John said, "and they have punctured your left lung. Just keep still until Sally comes back with the paramedics, Sherlock."
Sherlock gasped for breath but nodded faintly. "Family…is…family is fatal…" he said breathlessly.
John nodded and tried not to glance at the now covered body of Cassie Pullman.
"It's not…your fault, John…" Sherlock grasped John's hand.
The doctor lowered his head and swallowed thickly.
"But if I hadn't shot Manny…he wouldn't have accidentally shot Cassie…"
Sherlock's grip tightened, making John glance back at the detective's firm gaze.
"John, if…if you didn't shoot Manny…he would have shot me…you didn't know Cassie would be shot…you did what you had to. Nobody can…blame you for that."
Sherlock panted in exertion and his eyes rolled up into the back of his head.
John stared dumbfounded at his best friend, who had passed out in his arms, before coming back to his senses.
"PARAMEDICS!" he yelled, panicked.
Donovan came running back, two paramedics in tow, and John stood up, letting them do their work. He frowned at the unconscious detective.
Sometimes, Sherlock said some things that reminded John of his humanity.

Sherlock reached up to the cupboards, his body trembling in exertion, before sharp pain ripped through his side and he doubled over the kitchen counter in agony, a soft moan escaping his lips. John looked up from his laptop and he went into the kitchen, concerned.
"Sherlock? What are you doing?"
Sherlock waved a hand at the doctor, his other hand held protectively against his bandaged ribs and his breath coming low and fast. John eyed the open cupboard and sighed.
"If you wanted tea, you could have asked me," he said tiredly. He took Sherlock by the shoulders and led him to the couch where he sunk down, curling up around his injury.
"Would you like me to make you tea, oh great and invincible Sherlock Holmes?" John asked the pale detective with a small smile.
Sherlock shot daggers at the doctor before nodding, a blush creeping across his cheeks at his blatant display of weakness. John chuckled and went to make his injured friend a cup of tea.
The detective was healing nicely over the last few days and Manny and Francine had both been incarcerated for a long, long time. John attended Cassie's funeral (which was attended by himself, Lestrade, a limping Sherlock, and to everybody's surprise, Donovan) and he decided to make peace with himself and with the dead teenager.
He took Sherlock's advice to heart and he was healing from the event as quickly as Sherlock was.
The great detective had told John that family was fatal.
But John thought Sherlock was wrong. He thought of Sherlock as his family and though being with Sherlock may have proved fatalistic in some instances, they always bounced back.
Because family wasn't about death. It was about healing.

-B is for Bonded-
John was Bonded to Sherlock.

a/n

Yay! This chapter is fucking long! Thanks to Dawnfire11 for the prompt "Broken".
Sorry if there wasn't enough hurt!Sherlock and too much of the case! I think I got too caught up in the case… But I hope everything made sense and that you enjoyed it nonetheless!
Never fear, next chapters will contain more hurt/comfort with Sherlock.

So the next letter is…. C!
Please leave me a review with a one word prompt/idea/object/etc that begins with the letter C! I will not be able to post a new chapter until somebody prompts me, so it's all in your hands my lovely readers!

Let me know what you think! Love it? Hate it? Shit on it?

-Yuki xox.