A/N: ACK I AM SO SORRY. THIS UPDATE HAS BEEN SO LONG – UGH – WAIT, THAT SENTENCE DIDN'T EVEN MAKE SENSE. Sorry, but it has been really long since I've updated. I guess my excuse for this one is going to be I kind of fell out of Johnlock for a short time because I have moments when I slip back into anime and I'm kind of stuck there for a while….yeah, I get addicted at different times.

But this chapter isn't really a depressing one, for a count on the bright side. This is honestly kind of a filler because I have no idea where I'm at with this story right now and I'm trying to gather my bearings before I move the plot any further. So, I hope you guys like this chapter and be prepared for more. X3 Thank you for reading and reviewing all of you who have done so! I appreciate it terribly so!


Dear John

Chapter Eleven: A New Journey

~oOo~

Third Person POV


John didn't get that much sleep that night. Almost every hour he would wake up, look around for a few seconds in the darkness, wondering who was lurking in the blind spots, and then curl into Sherlock even more than he previously had been and drift off to his next round of his helpless unconsciousness. By the time six o'clock rolled around, John had given up on any chance of getting any more rest, instead deciding to shake Sherlock until he woke up as well.

After a minute or so of shaking, Sherlock had risen from his brief unconscious state to a timid John who was glancing down at the sheets with his hands in his lap. Frowning, the consulting detective raised his gaze to the quiet blonde. "John?" He asked in a voice that was layered thickly with sleep.

"…Can't sleep."

The doctor fisted the warm sheets below him and let out a hesitant breath, trying to tell himself that he was perfectly safe where he belonged – in the vision of his beloved. However, with each moment his mind ticked off, he thought more and more about the letter and it kept getting more unsettling.

Sherlock rolled over and embraced his lover, pulling the blonde back down on the bed. Immediately John snuggled up to the welcoming chest. "It's alright, John. I'm here," murmured Sherlock in his baritone voice, offering his words of comfort to try and get the other to feel safer in this situation. "In a couple of hours I'm going to call Mycroft and we're going to stay at the Holmes Manor for a while, alright? I can't risk your pursuer getting his hands on you."

John gulped and shook his head. "He will. He's done it before. God, countless – I heard countless stories of what he had done to the others, Sherlock, I don't know if even you can stop him. It was terrible. I –." John was cut off with a humming tone and a brush to his short hair, rendering him speechless while Sherlock spoke.

"He hasn't gone up against the Holmes family yet either, John. I promise you, Mummy and Mycroft will stop at nothing to breach their organization. Mycroft cares for you, despite what he has to say, and Mummy will love anyone who has taken a liking to me. He will not lay a finger on you," Sherlock let out a low guttural growl as he promised that John wouldn't get hurt anymore.

John obviously still had his doubts. Even if he did put all his trust into his lover, that didn't stop him from imagining all the terrible situations they could end up getting into and – god, just some of them made his blood run cold. His master wasn't only ruthless – his connections were just as bad when it came down to it. He didn't know what kind of connections the Holmes family had either, which was just as scary as it was comforting, but if Sherlock was really going up against his master, there would be hell to pay on both sides.

As terrifying as it was to know that lives were going to be lost, John couldn't bring himself to be humane enough to tell Sherlock to give him over. He really didn't want to go back.

"Just…." John's voice was muffled in his lover's chest as he rubbed his cheek against the alabaster skin he was laying on. "Promise me you won't get caught in the cross fray? I don't – I don't want to go back, but I wouldn't be able to live if something happened to you…again."

Sherlock bit his lip as he closed his eyes and pondered what John was truly saying. He didn't know if he could stay out of everything when John was coming into play. He would fight tooth and nail to prevent his lover's capture again – he himself had gone through hell, thinking John was dead, and now knowing that it was that much worse he wouldn't risk John getting in any more trouble. That bloody man was causing the blonde to feel fear, and Sherlock was beyond furious that there was someone who was hurting John in such a way without even being present.

If that man ever captured John…if he even ever laid another finger on John, he was not to be held accountable for his actions. That was a promise.

Sherlock finally sighed and carded his fingers through John's hair, trying to ease his pain with every stroke. "I cannot promise that I will not get caught up in it. However, I do promise that I will stay as far away as possible while still being in the center of it – I need to be as caught up as humanly possible. And I promise that I will keep you safe." The dark-haired man finally concluded, jaw clenching with barely concealed anger.

The room grew silent as John took the promises he had received and juggled them in his head. Of course he knew that Sherlock was being protective – he knew he would do the exact same if he were in the other's situation – but it still made him a little upset that Sherlock would be drug into his scene with his master. Regardless how pissed off he was from the letter being an emotional trigger – he hated how helpless he was, but he was also glad Sherlock was able to help him in that situation – he was still terrified about what was to come.

John finally conceded with a grunt. He lifted his head then and pulled away from Sherlock, staring at him with as much love as he could muster at that moment. Sherlock stared back equally as sturdy, bright, crystal blue eyes locking in with more love than any sociopath would ever be able to show. A small smile graced his features. He was really truly lucky to have someone like Sherlock. He was his angel, his savior, and his protector.

"Thank you," John murmured as he closed his eyes half way, still able to see but enough to press his lips onto Sherlock's slightly parted ones as reassurance. The blonde could feel the taller man's lips curled upwards in a small smile as he kissed back, a small, sensual feeling that had no real heat to it. It reassured John mentally; even if there was going to be danger up ahead, at least this time he wouldn't be alone.

He had Sherlock to complete him.

The doctor pulled back with a soft sigh, leaving Sherlock to kiss the tanned man's forehead and hold him tighter.

The two men laid back in bed for the next two hours, simply happy with their position with each other – both knowing that this could possibly be one of the few relaxing times they had until this whole entire ordeal blew over. That could quite possibly take a long time, so for now, they were just happy lying in bed with nothing immediate popping up and stealing their time together.

Sometime later, Sherlock finally convinced John to get up. While John was fetching a clean pair of clothes to wear to Mycroft's, Sherlock had reached over his nightstand and dialed his brother's number. The political man picked up on the second ring. "Yes, brother of mine?" Mycroft's nasally voice was heard through the receiver as Sherlock plopped his head back down on the pillow.

"You already know what I am going to ask. When will the car arrive?"

Sherlock could almost hear the smirk from the other side of the phone. "In about five minutes. Mr. Yyvon will be taking you to your destination. I will be there in two days, and Mummy is already there," the eldest of the two informed the younger. Sherlock nodded appreciatively at this answer.

"Fine. Is Mummy aware of the situation?" He asked.

"Painfully. She will be expecting an explanation of why she had never heard of John as well," Mycroft informed.

"You hadn't told her?"

"I assumed it was for you to tell."

"That is definitely a first."

"Well…there is a first for everything. I will make sure the manor is well protected." Before Sherlock could muster the voice to reply, Mycroft had ended the call. A little disgruntled but well informed, Sherlock himself placed the phone back down and made for his own wardrobe.

As he opened the mahogany door to his mass array of expensive clothing, John popped into the bathroom to brush his teeth. The dark-haired man could hear the water running and spitting approximately every fifteen seconds, soothing him as he shifted through his clothing to find the appropriate attire.

Eventually he settled on a navy blue silk dress shirt and a pair of black trousers. Sherlock quickly stripped and dressed again, counting down the time for those approximate five minutes to pass. He grabbed an empty duffel that was sitting at the bottom of his wardrobe, opening the zipper and throwing in a couple of his most comfortable articles of clothing.

After doing so, he placed the bag on the bed for John to have access to. John, emerging from the bathroom, wiping his mouth with a towel and then rubbing his hands, glanced at the bag for a moment and then sighed. He didn't necessarily want to leave 221b Baker Street, but he also knew it was impossible not to relocate in a situation like this.

John walked over to a set of drawers he had moved his clothing into since sharing a room with his lover, choosing a few miscellaneous jumpers, a couple pairs of sweats, and a few pieces of army clothing he had gathered through the years. Absently he checked his neck, making sure his dog tags were still firmly resting on his neck.

Sherlock watched this, but he didn't comment. Instead, he moved to the bathroom to brush his own teeth.

John packed quickly, although folding his clothing in a slightly better fashion than that of the consulting detective. Sherlock was possibly one of the most organized unorganized people John had ever had the grace of meeting, which was slightly amusing when he placed the unorthodox filing system Sherlock had outside out of his mind palace.

To John, he thought Sherlock's mind palace was amazing. He had once explained the complex route of a mansion to John – all the organized boxes of small ideas and rooms labeled with numbers for the bigger ideas – John had a whole hall placed simply for him. He thought it was quite striking, knowing he could take up so much room inside of his lover's adverse, huge head. Heartwarming, even.

Sherlock stepped out of the bathroom about a minute later, arching his back up in a stretch. John, who turned to the person entering, licked his lips and smiled as he saw the other's shirt stretch across the man's gradually expanding chest. He was glad Sherlock was gaining a little bit of weight – when he had first come into contact at the hospital with Sherlock, he had immediately noticed the lack of fat on him.

Sherlock had been a lot more than anorexic then. Perhaps even a little bit bulimic, even if the man never spoke about it. But John didn't like to think about it all that much, so he stopped there.

"Ready?" John asked instead, with a small, weak smile on his features.

Sherlock's gaze shifted to the smaller man's for a moment, before curtly nodding. "It's about a two hour ride to the manor, but the car will be comfortable enough to catch up on some sleep. You woke me up a couple of times while you were trying to sleep," Sherlock informed John with a playful grin.

John's smile was sheepish and a little bit giddy. He could feel his cheeks heating up involuntarily. "Sorry," he apologized briefly.

Sherlock shook his head and smiled back. "As if I get much sleep anyway."

The younger Holmes picked up the bag off the bed as he passed it and threw it at John. "Our car is waiting downstairs," he told John as he passed the blonde to open up the door for the shorter of the two. John caught the duffel with little difficulty and rolled his eyes.

"Is it just your mother, or –?" Sherlock interrupted that thought before John could continue.

"My father had passed in away in the military when I was a teenager; it's just Mummy any Mycroft." John looked immediately surprised at this, from which Sherlock raised an eyebrow at. He thought he had told the doctor about his family situation long ago, but apparently that was one of the many things he left out about his childhood. He inwardly scoffed. Like it mattered anymore, anyway.

"Oh…I'm sorry," John blinked after a moment as he walked through the bedroom door and to their flat door, throwing the duffel over his shoulder in a comfortable position as he walked. Sherlock followed and closed the door behind him. "Were you close?"

Sherlock thought about this for a little bit before answering. "I'm…well, I guess. We used to play chess all the time and although I always beat Father, I enjoyed being in his presence. He was kind of like you – quiet but supportive. Mummy worked a lot but she played with me and Mycroft whenever possible. They were welcoming parents to all too troublesome kids," Sherlock answered as he frowned, remembering all the shunning his parents had received because he and Mycroft were so strange.

Both of his parents had tried to teach him etiquette when he was young, but only Mycroft understood it. He was completely and utterly lost as to why he had to be nice to this person or why he had to shake hands with this person or even put his fork in this position after a meal – it was all dull and useless. Eventually, they gave up and let him be antisocial.

It didn't mean that they were bad parents, Sherlock reasoned, for he still had a roof over his head all his life. There had been a rough patch for his remaining years in high school after his father was killed – the house was always tinged with remorse and sadness was laced into the walls. The detective had to admit he was a little uncomfortable with going back after so many years of straying from the family home.

While stuck in thought he and John had made it out to the car. John had reached the sleek black Mustang quicker than he had – he briefly wondered why Mycroft had sent a Mustang above his usual luxury car – but that thought was immediately disrupted as John scrambled into one side of the car and him into the other.

"Are you comfortable, Mr. Holmes?" The chauffeur spoke through the glass that separated them from the front of the car. Sherlock nodded and added a polite 'yes, please leave' to end the conversation with the man.

John decided to pick up the last bit of the conversation now that they were safely on the roads of London. He got comfortable himself, not bothering to put on the seatbelt as he drew his legs up on the side of him much like a child or a woman would. "What is your Ma like?" John asked as he turned his head to look at Sherlock, who was sitting with his hands in his lap and his legs crossed like a true posh person.

"Hmmm…." Sherlock thought for a moment. "She would most accurately be described as Mrs. Hudson, a little less frail and a lot more powerful. She's kind, and she loves anyone who has served. She will love you, because she loved Father." He explained to John so the blonde would feel a little less apprehension from meeting his mother after so long.

"She sounds lovely, if a little scary," John commented back, turning his head to glance out the window. He never heard Sherlock talk so much about his family, so he assumed the Manor was bringing a lot of childhood memories back, whether it be good or bad he wasn't sure.

"Oh, she's terrifying," Sherlock agreed. John's head shot back to look at his lover and Sherlock smiled sheepishly. "I remember when me and Mycroft used to fight over who got to play what instrument. I always got to play the violin and the piano while Mycroft studied the flute and the cello. We broke a really expensive violin when fighting over it once, though, and I had never seen her as furious. Father bought us individual violins that following year for Christmas because he wasn't deployed back in time, and she murdered him with words because 'our children need to understand that what's given to them is very valuable and they cannot simply get what they want all the time' were her exact words."

John laughed as he tried to picture what Sherlock was saying. Coming from a very poor Scottish family John was well aware what Sherlock's mother was speaking of. The things that John did have were exceptionally valuable to him, and even though Sherlock had a lot of money he now kind of understood why he didn't use much of it.

"I bet she's proud of you," John positioned one hand under his chin as he gave the other a sidelong glance.

The blonde blinked in surprise when he saw Sherlock's face soften briefly in a look he had only seen when the other was staring at him before. It was startling at the raw emotion he saw directed to someone other than himself, but he realized, with a small smile, that he must love his mother very much.

John rolled his eyes. Sherlock probably never told him about her because of this emotion. He probably didn't want John thinking of him as weak.

"She is, although I have no concept as to why. I was a terrible child."

John stifled a snort. "You still are."

Sherlock's nose scrunched up in an adorable way as he turned to glare at John, who was fighting off a relieved grin. Sherlock, just happy hat John was able to poke fun in such dire moments, felt glad he was able to get John's mind off of everything else but him.

"But you are something to be proud of," John conceded as he glanced back out of the window. They were just reaching the outer towns now, and before long they would be heading into the country. "She raised a wonderful man."

Sherlock smiled to himself and beamed with glee, but didn't comment any further. Without anything left to say, the two men settled into their designated spots and prepared for the long journey ahead of them.