Panthera Pardus

Chapter 6: Relax

"John hurry up!" Sherlock called from farther down the alley.

John struggled to move faster. They'd been chasing this cat burglar for ten blocks now and had nearly caught up to him. However the guy was lithe and quick. Whenever John thought he was finally in their grasp, he would do some quick movement, usually involving a bit of parkour, and escape once again. John saw the man they were pursuing turn quickly and saw an opportunity. He was far enough behind that he could turn into the alley before the building. Putting on a fresh burst of speed, the former army doctor flew down the alley and turned at the end in front of a woman carrying a sack of groceries.

Her call of "Hey! Watch it!" was lost on him as he sped away. John rushed past curious onlookers, looking for the cat burglar. Just as he was starting to think he had missed him, the criminal came rushing out of the alley in front of him, and John leapt. They both crashed to the ground, the air leaving their lungs in a rush and the harsh cement greeting their skin with scrapes. The man below John struggled to get free, but John held tight. "I don't want to hurt you!" John tried to warn the man, however he kept struggling and managed to twist about a bit and punch John in the side of the head.

Stunned, John's grasp loosened. However Sherlock was there presently and recaptured the thief. Handcuffs appeared from one of the numerous pockets in the detective's long wool coat, and the thief seemed to realize his defeat once they were on. "John?" John heard Sherlock call him.

The thief had punched John in the temple and his head was spinning and ears were ringing as a result. "Yeah," he replied.

Sherlock's worried face swam into view as John turned his head to see him. An inhuman growl left Sherlock's throat and he threw the criminal into the brick wall of the building beside them. People were now avoiding them on the street and John could hear the scream of sirens drawing closer. What seemed only a minute later, but was probably five or ten, John felt a strong hand pulling him to his feet. "John? You okay, mate?" Lestrade's voice asked.

John was having a difficult time focusing on anything, let alone walking, of which he realized as he slumped into whoever had helped him up. He only heard bits and pieces of the conversation thereafter, given the ringing in his ears. Lestrade said something about an ambulance to which Sherlock growled and pulled John closer to him. Lestrade then countered with an offer of a ride back to 221b, and John lost track of what happened next, but the next thing he knew, he was in a car with Sherlock. Sherlock's arm was wrapped tightly around John's shoulder and John turned his head to press his face into Sherlock's warm wool coat. Inhaling deeply, he calmed as the familiar scent washed over him.

Soon thereafter, John felt himself being pulled up the stairs to 221b and pushed down onto a soft bed. The urge to just give in and close his eyes was tempting, but he was pretty sure he had a minor concussion and that meant staying awake for a little while longer. "John? John tell me what to do," Sherlock's low baritone inquired.

"Eyes," John said quietly. "Pupils the same?"

He felt Sherlock's thumb gently brush over his eyelid, lifting it to see whether both pupils were the same. A small light shone in each eye a few times before Sherlock released him. "Pupils are fine, and reacting normally."

"Good, good," John murmured. "Rest. Just need rest."

"Do I need to wake you?"

John closed his eyes, but nodded. "Every hour. Just to make sure I haven't gone into a coma."

"Is that likely?" Sherlock's voice sounded worried.

John shook his head slightly. "No, only a minor concussion. Just procedure."

John could feel himself slipping into sleep when a warm body pressed itself along his back. "Sherlock?" he slurred.

"Just sleep, John," Sherlock's soothing voice replied as a long arm wrapped around John's middle, securing him to Sherlock's long body.

John nodded and let Morpheus carry him away.

: : :

Sherlock gazed down at his mate, a frown crossing his face. John had been hurt today, and he hadn't been there to stop it. Of course Sherlock knew that it wasn't his fault, but he still felt responsible. Their bond was growing stronger every day, but Sherlock couldn't help but wonder how John would change when it was complete. There weren't very many documented cases of two males creating a bond. Mycroft had been researching it, Sherlock knew, but had come up with very little. Mostly that the bond would be the same as with a male/female couple. The feelings and ability to sense each other's presence would be the same, but Sherlock couldn't help but wonder about other abilities.

Every bonded couple was different. Some took on more abilities of their partner, and some didn't take on any. Perfect bonds tended to take on more, and while Sherlock was nearly positive that John was his perfect bond mate, there was still the small kernel of doubt in his mind. He'd gone his entire life without even the slightest inclination to take a mate. None of the people he'd met in the entirety of London or Kubal appealed to him. John. John was the only one. If John turned him down, Sherlock didn't know what he'd do. Of course, he was fairly certain that danger was past. John had had his doubt and settled it.

Sherlock looked down at the man curled against him. John's dirty blond hair shone slightly in the dim light coming in from the window. His soft inhales were followed by an equally soft exhale, the gentle movements of each causing Sherlock's hand to rise and fall. The harsh lines on John's face from years in the army had smoothed out slightly in his sleep. It made John look younger than he actually was, and Sherlock found that he liked the peaceful look on John's face. He could see himself waking up to it in the mornings, and that thought alone put a large grin on Sherlock's face. Settling down and tucking his face into the back of John's neck, Sherlock made himself comfortable for the wait till he needed to wake John again.

: : :

It had been five days since the concussion and John was nearly positive that there were no lingering effects. However he'd noticed that Sherlock had kept very close. Whenever John was in the living room, Sherlock was too. Whenever John got up to make tea, Sherlock would casually move into the kitchen as well to 'check on an experiment'. When John went up to his room to get something, Sherlock would follow him up claiming to need something from the linen closet. In all reality, John was getting kind of sick of it.

It wasn't like he was going to drop dead anytime soon. And he'd been a doctor for over two decades now, he was pretty sure he knew the symptoms of a concussion and what to look for for complications during recovery. He even told Sherlock a couple of times that he was fine, but the detective persisted in following John around.

Currently, John was sitting in the living room typing on his blog. Sherlock was sitting close to him on the sofa, reading a science journal. It was the quietest John had ever heard Sherlock, and it was becoming worrying. Right as John was going to speak to Sherlock though, the detective's phone rang. Sherlock reached over to the coffee table to retrieve his mobile and flipped it open. "Lestrade."

John listened carefully, but couldn't quite make out Lestrade's end of the conversation. "Five? Where?" A short pause then, "We'll be there shortly." Sherlock hung up and turned to grin at John. "Five dead bodies have been found in an abandoned warehouse in Camden Town!" Sherlock was practically vibrating. "Quickly now, John!" Sherlock said as he rose from the sofa and rushed to get dressed (he'd been lounging in his old ratty blue house coat). John rolled his eyes, but smiled. This was more like the Sherlock he knew.

In short order, John and Sherlock were in a cab on their way to Camden Town. It was a short ride, perhaps fifteen minutes to the specified warehouse. Police tape and cars surrounded the area, and their cabby threw them a suspicious look, but didn't say anything as he took John's money and drove away. Sally Donovan gave them a glare as they ducked under the bright yellow tape. "Freak's here," she said into her radio as they passed.

"Nice to see you're cleaning Anderson's floors again, Sally. I'm sure his wife will want to thank you when she gets back from visiting her sister," Sherlock replied, not looking at her as they walked past.

"I – you! …" Sally sputtered, but they didn't hear anymore than that.

"Lestrade," Sherlock greeted the silver haired man as they entered the warehouse.

"Over there, behind the crates," Lestrade replied, getting down to business and leading the way to the bodies.

John was prepared, but the sight of so many nude bloody bodies was still a shock to see. Sherlock, clinical as ever, didn't hesitate as he began his assessment. "They weren't killed here. No blood on the floor. This was just a dumping ground." He circled around them slowly, each body undergoing his razor scrutiny. "All share common features, male, similar build. I'd say they were all in the armed forces." Sherlock circled back until he was standing beside John. "John?" he invited the former army doctor to inspect the bodies.

Resolving his nerve, John pushed the emotional side of his brain to the back and took a trained clinical eye to the bodies as he crouched next to the closest one. His gloved hand ran along one of the stitched up cuts along the front left of the abdomen. "These are surgically precise incisions and sutures. Whoever did this has been trained in the medical field."

"A doctor?" Lestrade asked.

John nodded. "A plastic surgeon I'd say." Sherlock crouched next to John to examine the incision with him. John pointed out the method of the stitches. "This is a common stitch used with plastic surgeons. The sutures used are unique though."

"I'd imagine there are a limited amount of surgeons who use it then?" Sherlock piped up.

John nodded again. Lestrade could be heard scribbling in his notepad. "Why stitch up someone you intended to kill?" John asked looking over at Sherlock.

"Look at where the incisions are, John." Sherlock pointed to the various incisions across the torso of the body before them.

John looked closer for a minute before his eyes widened. "Organ harvesting. Whoever's doing this is stealing organs."

Sherlock nodded. "The killer takes out one organ at a time, allowing for the victim to suffer all the more. He takes unimportant ones first, then moves on to the larger ones as the victim becomes less likely to survive. They're basically meat sacks keeping the organs fresh before the killer needs to harvest them."

Silence filled the warehouse at this pronouncement. Sherlock looked around to see Lestrade, John, and the few others on Lestrade's team staring at him. "Bit not good?" Sherlock asked quietly of John.

John shook his head, "Bit not good," he confirmed.

Sherlock grimaced, but continued with his observations, getting up to move around to some of the other victims. "Your killer is someone who's left handed, a plastic surgeon with at least a decade of surgery under his belt, and has a grudge against veterans with combat experience."

"How do you know they had combat experience?" Lestrade asked, jotting down everything Sherlock was saying.

"They've all been wounded," Sherlock pointed out several areas on the different victims where wounds had been acquired, but had been allowed to heal over time. "Bullet wound," he pointed to the thigh of one man. "Shrapnel, most likely from an IED," he pointed to the abdomen of another soldier. "Another bullet wound," he pointed to the shoulder of yet another victim.

"Alright, I get it," Lestrade said.

"They've all been discharged within the last year and a half judging by the tan lines and hair cuts. You'll want to send out a warning to all other soldiers back from combat within the last year and a half and befitting these men's stature and build."

"Great, looks like we've got ourselves a serial killer," Lestrade groaned.

Sherlock grinned, but a look from John made him drop it. "I trust you can handle it from here?"

Lestrade nodded and turned to give orders out to various members of the task team. Sherlock made to get up, but stopped, his eyes riveted to one of the men's arms. Carefully, with gloved hands, he reached out and picked up a dead bug from the man's arm. "What is it?" John asked.

The detective squinted at the bug for a moment. "A beetle of some sort. I'm not sure what kind." He pulled out an empty specimen bag from his pocket and slipped the beetle inside.

"That's evidence, Sherlock," John said in a stern voice.

"Yes, and I'll point it out, but I'm taking this one with me."

The blond man rolled his eyes, but didn't protest anymore. It was soon after that, that Sherlock and John were back at Baker Street. "I suppose you'll be trying to figure out what kind of beetle that is?" John asked, hanging up his coat.

Sherlock didn't answer, but instead threw his coat over the back of John's chair and proceeded into the kitchen and his microscope. John sighed and hung up Sherlock's coat. At least the detective wasn't hovering over him anymore. The blond man continued on into the kitchen where he picked up a take-out menu to one of their favorite Thai restaurants. "Any requests for dinner?" he asked waving the menu at Sherlock. The dark haired man didn't answer. "Right… I'll just get your usual then."

Twenty minutes later, John was eating Tom Yam Goong and Sherlock was absently picking at his Massaman Curry. Normally, Sherlock wouldn't touch food until after a case was closed, however John had discovered that threatening to take away the detective's microscope, for instance, encouraged him to eat. He didn't eat nearly as much as John would've liked, but at least it was something.

John watched as Sherlock went back and forth between a large reference book perched against a pile of other texts on the table and looking through the microscope at the beetle. He could tell Sherlock was getting frustrated. His suspicions were proven correct when Sherlock let out a growl and pushed the reference book away. The blond man waited for a minute, before rising to put away the left over food. After putting the Thai on a shelf in the fridge designated as 'FOOD ONLY', John turned back to Sherlock who was still pouting. "Sherlock?" he addressed the detective softly.

Sherlock's shoulders slumped at the sound of John's voice, but he didn't acknowledge him in any other way. "Sherlock, perhaps you need a break? Get some rest, maybe?"

"I can't, John. You know this," he replied still not looking around.

"I know you have a drive to solve the puzzle and ignore all other things, including the needs of your body."

"Transport," Sherlock corrected quietly.

John smiled. "Your transport then. However you're stumped on this for now and what harm could some relaxation do?"

"I can't relax. Physically, I cannot, John. Not until the puzzle is solved," Sherlock turned to look at John with this statement. There was an odd pleading tone in his voice, as though he was begging John. What he was begging for, John wasn't quite sure.

"What if I were to help you?" John asked.

Sherlock raised a curious eyebrow at his flatmate and turned to fully face him. "How?"

John smiled. "Go into the bedroom and sit on the bed. I want you to close your eyes and take deep breaths until I come in."

The dark haired man gave John a curious look, but didn't ask what he was planning. Instead he quietly did as John had asked. After Sherlock had disappeared into his bedroom, John went to the bathroom and opened the medicine cabinet. Inside was an assortment of various painkillers, bandages, sutures, needles, and antiseptic. However there was also a bottle of baby oil, and that was what John grabbed. He returned to the kitchen and turned the tap on to a luke warm before putting the bottle under the stream. He didn't want to shock Sherlock with cold oil.

Finally, once the oil had been warmed to room temperature, he entered Sherlock's bedroom to find the man sitting still with eyes closed on the edge of the bed. He almost could have been asleep, if John didn't notice the slight stiffening in his frame at the sound of the door opening and closing. "Keep your eyes closed, Sherlock," John said as he crossed the room to kneel before his flatmate.

John set the bottle of oil down on the side of the bed next to him quietly before gently touching Sherlock's knees. "If you feel uncomfortable or want me to stop for any reason, let me know."

Sherlock nodded, his eyes still closed and his breathing still coming in slow deep breaths. John smiled and continued by running his hands down Sherlock's legs to gently slip his socks and shoes off. He set them aside and after rubbing Sherlock's long narrow feet for a minute, journeyed back up to rub small circles in the man's thighs. "Okay?" John asked.

Sherlock nodded slowly. John's hands left the detective's thighs for a moment, but returned to unbutton the purple silk shirt, starting at the top and working his way down with steady skilled fingers. Sherlock's body stiffened a little at John's fingers near his throat, but then relaxed again as they steadily worked downward. After the fine shirt was unbuttoned, John stood to slip it from Sherlock's lanky frame. His warm hands smoothed over Sherlock's shoulders and arms as he slid the shirt down and over the shapeshifter's hands. As he pulled the shirt away, he pressed a gentle kiss to Sherlock's forehead.

"Alright, now I want you to lay down on your front on the bed," John directed.

Sherlock kept his eyes closed as he deftly maneuvered his long body so that it lay stretched out on the bed. His head turned to one side so he could breath properly and his arms came up to curl under the pillow. "I'm going to straddle you now, so don't be alarmed. It's just so I can reach you properly," John said as he swung one leg over his flatmate and settled down on the tops of Sherlock's thighs.

He reached over and grabbed the bottle of baby oil, and squeezed a bit into his palm. The blond rubbed his hands together to get them both coated before gently beginning to smooth the calming oil along Sherlock's shoulders and across his back. Once the expanse of pale smooth skin before John was coated in oil, he placed on hand on top of the other and began to rub small circles up one side of Sherlock's back and down the other, using his palm only.

Slowly, the shapeshifter's muscles relaxed as John worked up and down his back several times. Once John was sure that Sherlock had relaxed completely, he began to run his knuckles up and down Sherlock's back. He let his fists rest on the brunet's back, never putting too much pressure on, and went up and down one side, then the other. Sherlock was now letting out small noises. They were barely audible, but John could hear the occasional moan, which made John smile as he switched to running his thumbs along Sherlock's spine.

John slowly became lost in the work, letting his hands run over Sherlock's lean back, bringing the man relaxation. It was soothing in it's own right. However it was at this point that John realized two things. One, he had the beginnings of a hard-on. Two, he was pretty sure, Sherlock did too.

Taking in a deep breath, John thought of other things. He began to mentally go over the muscles in the back, reciting them like he had in his years at university. However after ten more minutes of massaging, John realized that it wasn't helping matters. Slowly, he finished the stroke he was doing, and leaned back. "Sherlock?" he asked as Sherlock went still.

"Thank you, John," Sherlock replied quietly.

"Right, I'll just… erm… I'll go then. Let you get some rest."

John swung his leg back over Sherlock and moved to get off the bed. However a hand caught his calf. He looked back to see Sherlock laying on his side now, facing him. "Stay," he said. His voice was neither commanding nor questioning. If John had to qualify it, it was suggestive. Sherlock's entire body was lax and yet John could still see the outline of his half hard cock through his trousers. "Sherlock, I'm not sure that's a good idea."

Sherlock's hand left John's calf, sliding down to rest on the bed. His eyes averted and he stared down at his hands. John immediately felt guilt swoop through him. Carefully, he laid down beside the shapeshifter. Sherlock glanced up at him, his eyes a pale blue that John found captivating, especially because it was the exact same as when he transformed into a black panther. "I – It's not that I don't want to," John started. "It's just that, I think it's still too soon. We haven't even lived together for a year."

"It's fine, John," Sherlock replied. There was something in his tone though that told John that it wasn't really fine. "I understand why you wouldn't want to commit too soon."

"This isn't about commitment."

"Isn't it?"

"No, this is about taking our time. Getting to know one another a bit before tying ourselves together forever."

Sherlock's eyes dropped again and he seemed to curl in on himself a bit. John gently ran a hand down the detective's arm. "Soon," John said quietly. "I just need to sort some things out in my head a bit. I promise."

Sherlock nodded, but didn't respond in any other way. John frowned, but didn't push the matter. Instead he scooted closer to the taller man and hugged him close. There would need to be discussions, but they could wait till morning.

: : :

A/N: My apologies for the late chapter! Real life decided to be a douche and not allow me time to write. Hopefully this doesn't happen too often. Also, sorry for leaving you hanging on this chapter. I know! You all thought you were FINALLY going to get some Johnlock smut, but it just isn't in the cards at the moment. Don't worry, it WILL come eventually! (no pun intended… okay, maybe a bit)