This is a direct follow on from the previous chapter and is another scene re-write from episode 3. Please R and R.
The Binds that Tie
"Take my hand."
"Now people will definitely talk."
"So what if they do."
It wasn't a gesture of convenience, born of the shiny metal that now bound us. It was one of acceptance of the fact that now we were to the other what we each needed in this world. We had found each other and we would not be letting go. No matter what happened to us this night.
I catch the smirk that shines in his eyes despite the dark and I lose my concentration briefly letting the gun slip from my grasp. Idiot.
"Leave it, there's no time."
He pulls us in to the alley, our breaths hitting the cold air as our backs press against the brick wall. He darts around the corner every few seconds to check for our pursuers.
"Have you seen this?"- I say, picking up the paper from the top of the pile that awaits it's keen, salivating readers. "Some guy called Rich Brook 'spilling the beans' on you it seems." I steady my voice and regret the question as soon as it leaves my lips. "Who is he?"
"John, some things are best left unsaid. It was a time that would swallow me up and split me out on to London's dirty streets. He was a regrettable, insignificant part of it. I know you won't be reading it yourself and I thank you for it. The story is true enough, but not involving a man of that name. He died of an overdose 3 years ago. It matters very little. There is only one person that would have surrendered the details of our 'arrangement' to Moriarty."
"Mycroft? Sherlock, I'm so sorry."
He turns coldly, catching me off guard with the old familiar anger and defence shining in his eyes.
"What for? I expected no less from him John, it shouldn't surprise you. What is your need to over-sentimentalise everything? It really is very tedious. Must you always be a pup at my heels?"
Before I know what has happened he is replaced by blackness as he leaps at the jagged metal fence to our side. Flinging himself over it, he seemingly forgets the hand-cuffs attaching us and pulls at my arm as it stretches above the cold bars. I shout in pain as the over eagerness rips at my bad shoulder that has already been extended out of its comfort zone.
"Argh. Sherlock wait, we're going to need to coordinate."
The realisation of causing me pain hits his eyes hard and he curses. I see the strain in his eyes in that moment and he leans forward placing his forehead to the bars and takes a deep breath.
"Forgive me John."
"Listen Sherlock. Can't we just… go somewhere? A hotel maybe? I know you keep a credit card in your brother's name. He wouldn't notify anyone, I will be seeing to that believe me."
"You have no idea how wonderful that sounds John, really you don't. But we have to finish this, or it will be finished for us and I don't care to think of what that may mean. We can't be distracted. Not so late in the game."
"I think it's too late for that," I say pressing myself to the cold bars that now separate us. He leans the rest of the way and places a long kiss at my hair line. He remains there long enough for us to forget that we are stood in a filthy alley divided by the fence. It feels like the entire world could be separating us in that moment and the rain on the side of my face tingles in harsh contrast to his warm skin upon the other where he nestles.
"I believe you are probably right," says a muffled whisper in my ear. He pulls back and inhales deeply. "But all the same, come on now move to your right. We need to speak to the repellent Miss Riley. I'll explain on the way."
There is no one home, much to our detriment and so we set to searching the small neat apartment looking for anything that would shine a light upon the link between this woman and Moriarty. Once we have satisfied ourselves at the rummage we stand in the middle of the small flat.
My shoulder is aching horribly from the chase and I struggle to hold it comfortably. Sherlock observes me closely then lifts his free hand to my neck and shoulder. Warmth spreads where his hand lies and he rubs it gently easing out the pressure. I hang my head in relief allowing it to fall on his chest and his hand moves slowly to rest upon my neck.
"Better?"
"Much. Thank you."
Before I know it, we have been dissolved by the tension between us. It seems this is the inevitable end of our close proximities these days. We are lost to the other in rough kisses and one-handed grasps. I growl in frustration at the constraint of the metal about our wrists.
"Damn it, I want these cuffs off."
"Oh I don't know. I'm becoming rather attached." He says using his side to pull at the metal gently guiding us towards the sofa.
"Very funny."
"I haven't heard you complain before John."
"I don believe that this is the kind of thing that one should get up to in someone else's flat. It's not considered very polite Sherlock. How long do you think until she'll be back?"
He straightens up. "Well, judging by the car insurance documents on the coffee table, she's just renewed and therefore has probably driven to work this morning. There isn't a train station close by. She works for a pitiful red top paper; the headquarters of which all reside around the central London area. Traffic around Canada Square is horrendous due to a burst water main and she'll have hit rush hour traffic and so….."
"I retract the question. Shut up and sit down with me. I have a feeling it will be a long while until we get another chance."
I pull him down upon the couch and he hits the light switch on the way down plunging us into heavenly darkness.
Around twenty minutes later there's a key in the door. There's little time to compose ourselves as the redhead hits the light switch. Sherlock turns to stare in annoyance at being interrupted.
"Is it too late to go on the record?"-He growls. "Congratulations, the scoop on Sherlock Holmes and John Watson."