Sherlock was left lying on John's bed with a bandaged wrapped around his hand and wrist. He was curled up against the wall with his back facing John, who was seated in a chair next to the bed.
"Why, Sherlock? Why would you do that?" he whispered. Sherlock shifted a little in the bed.
"I don't know what happened. I felt like... something was controlling me. I'm...sorry, John."
John stood, the chair slightly scarping on the floor, making Sherlock fling his arm out and attach it to John's.
"John...please don't leave me..." he murmured helplessly, his head turning to reveal soft, blue eyes that shone in the moonlight that fell through the window, casting shadows on the rest of his face. His eyes slowly closed and his hand dropped away from John's arm. John sat back in the chair, listening intently to the muttering that was escaping Sherlock's lips. He leaned in closer and caught the familiar story that was falling out of him.
"'Tell me how much you love me,' said the woman to her lover.
'I'm afraid I can't,' he responded woefully. The woman smiled.
'Can you show me?' she asked, a hopeful glimmer in her eyes.
'There's only one way I can,' he stated, turning and walking out of the house..."
John recognised it from the piece of paper he had picked up a while ago.
"He walked forever," John whispered, breath brushing past Sherlock's ear, "even when he thought he'd give up, he continued. He walked until his heart began to beat with every step he took. His steps became military, a continuous rhythm that kept him alive through the weather and landscapes that surrounded him. When he couldn't walk any more, he turned around. He walked through the familiar landscape, his body thinning from not eating, his feet aching from the rhythmic steps. When he returned to his home, his lover stood in shock, eyes welling up with tears. He walked to her, and when he was in front of her, only then did he stop.
'I would die for you,' he whispered, collapsing at her feet as his heart stopped."
By the time John had completed Sherlock's story, the dark-haired boy had turned to face John, their faces only centimetres apart. John could feel Sherlock's breath mixing with his own. The smell of the thin boy filling his nostrils. When Sherlock's lips brushed his, John went over the edge. He took the weak, pale boy's hesitant lips in his own, sucking and tasting and never letting go. His hands pushed themselves into Sherlock's hair and Sherlock placed his hands on John's back and side, pulling his golden boy closer to him. When they broke apart, they looked at each other nervously. Sherlock's eyes were closing once more, heavy and exhausted from the pain he had caused his left hand. John placed a few more chaste kisses on Sherlock's lips before lying in his large bed with his arms wrapped around Sherlock's now sleeping form.
When Sherlock woke several hours later, the bed was deserted. He touched his injured hand to his lips absently and shuffled over to the depression where John had slept. It was vaguely warm against his skin- John had gotten up a few minutes beforehand. He pulled the blankets around him and curled into the warmth. Eventually, the morning sun flashed into his eyes, and he was driven out of the bed to escape the brightness. He pulled at the short singlet John had given him for pyjamas, trying to hide the lick of porcelain skin that stuck out from the bottom of the singlet and the top of the snug boxers. He silently crept downstairs to find John sitting vacantly at the table with a cup of tea in front of him. Sherlock made his way to the other side of the table, sitting and boring his eyes into John's. John blinked and woke from his daydream, smiling awkwardly and blushing a little. Sherlock reached across and held one of the hands that was resting on the teacup. John shuddered from the feel of Sherlock's warm, thin hand against his own, shifting his digits so their fingers were linked.
"John," Sherlock murmured, a soft rumble that was reminiscent of a faraway storm, a storm that John wanted to stand in the centre of. To see the chaos sweep around him and be anchored to the pale-skinned perfection that was Sherlock.
"Yes, Sherlock?" John answered hesitantly, the walls of his daydream storm wavering and threatening to shatter.
"I wanted to thank you. For everything."
"Sherlock, I didn't really-"
"John, this might sound stupid but... You saved me. You cared about me when no-one else did. You stopped me from becoming a slave to Moriarty and his drugs. You put yourself in danger for me...Thank you."
John caught the shimmer of a tear on Sherlock's bowed head and squeezed his hand reassuringly.
"Don't leave me. Please."
"I'm not going anywhere, Sherlock."
"Promise?"
"I promise that I will try as hard as I can," John smiled. Sherlock followed with a tiny smirk tugging at the corner of his mouth.
"What the fuck happened to him?" Jim shouted at the doorman to his drug dungeon.
"I'm sorry, Mr. Moriarty. I tried to stop 'em-"
"Them?Who was with Holmes?"
"Another boy. 'e was short, an' 'e 'ad blond 'air an' blue eyes. Said 'e knew you, Mr. Moriarty."
Jim was fuming. John fucking Watson. How dare that bastard take his Sherlock away from him. Jim stood angrily, tipping the side table that held his tea onto the floor and storming out of the damp den.
The remainder of the weekend passed with John taking Sherlock through the remains of his manor in search of any of his possessions. Charred test tubes and slides were the only salvageable thing left of Sherlock's room, which they left with the ashes of Sherlock's former home. Sherlock hadn't been able to contact Mycroft since the fire, and he felt better for it. Since neither of the Holmes parents had been found, the formalities regarding the land had been passed to Mycroft. When they returned to John's house, three uniforms had been left folded on the porch, along with a hundred pounds in an envelope addressed to Sherlock. Sherlock scowled at the suspicion that Mycroft had left it for him, making John roll his eyes and take the clothes and money inside for him. When it was time for them to return to school, Sherlock sat with John on the bus, basking in the warmth that radiated off him. As soon as the bus pulled away, Jim casually strolled up to them.
"Johnny. How are you?" He smiled.
"Fuck off, Moriarty," Sherlock growled. Jim glared at Sherlock and Sherlock stepped in front of John defensively when Jim moved towards them.
"I wasn't talking to you, Sherlock dear. That's very rude of you. Now, Johnny and I have business to attend to, if you'll let us be..."
"You are not getting anywhere near him, you psychopath," he spat. John noticed that flash of darkness and malice that swept across Jim's face as Sherlock's icy gaze pierced into him. John moved to sand next to Sherlock, grabbing his hand and linking their fingers in support. Jim stared at their hands, his eyes wide with fury and his teeth bared in an ugly snarl.
"What the fuck are you doing?" he hissed at John, "nobody gets to touch Sherlock but me! Sherlock is mine!"
"I'm pretty sure I'm the one holding his hand," John quipped. Jim let out a bestial growl and basically leapt at John, stopped short by Sherlock greeting Jim's face with his fist. Jim toppled over, clutching his face with what seemed to be sobs escaping his mouth.
"See?" he whimpered, "Sherlock loves me. Please, touch me again."
"You're insane," John breathed, shocked at the smiling boy kneeling in front of them. Sherlock scowled in disgust and delivered a swift kick to Jim's side, knocking him over to reveal the splatter of his own blood that had sprayed across his cheek. He laughed maniacally. Sherlock grabbed his shirt and shoved him against the wall.
"Wait. Sherlock, you're the one that beats him up?" John asked in confusion. He remembered the injuries Jim had last time he was beaten up. They way Sherlock had attacked him just now, it seemed to fit his injuries.
"It's okay Johnny," Jim smiled, "he feels amazing. You'll never have the connection Sherlock and I have."
Sherlock glared at him and tossed him to the floor. Jim grabbed onto Sherlock's leg, clinging to the fabric and burying his bloody face into it. John was fed up. He kicked the disgusting creature clinging to Sherlock's leg and Jim looked up at him in surprise that quickly contorted to pain.
"Johnny...That hurt..."
"Good. Stay the fuck away from us, you pathetic psychopath," John hissed. He turned to leave with Sherlock when he heard Jim's eerie chuckle.
"...You never learn, do you, Sherlock?"
"What?" Sherlock span to face Jim, who was painfully getting to his feet and stumbling towards them. Sherlock stepped back as Jim leaned his crimson-splattered face towards his, grinning darkly.
"Nothing gets in the way of us. Not your old John, not your father, and especially not your new John," Jim murmured. Sherlock's face crinkled in confusion, "how many more Johns will I have to dispose of before you're mine?"
"Dispose? No...no...you couldn't have..."
"So you honestly believe that your stupid dog just randomly had a fatal seizure? You didn't suspect anything? Seems I overestimated you."
"What the hell did you do to John?"
"Clostridium Botulinum. Please tell me you've heard of it."
"You poisoned his dog," John interjected in confusion, "to get closer to him?"
"If you hadn't have come along, he would have been comforted by me, and I would be the one holding his hand!" Jim spat at John, his voice whining like a spoilt child.
"You burnt my fucking house down! Why the hell would I like you after that?"
"It got rid of your father, didn't it? I thought you would have thanked me."
"John, we're leaving," Sherlock tugged at John, trying to get as far away from the masochistic psychopath as possible. He pulled John into an empty classroom, collapsing to the floor in front of the door and doing something John wouldn't have thought possible.
John Watson watched in pain as Sherlock Holmes buried his face into him and cried.
Remember that story? Neither did I, but I re-read bits of the story to fully catch myself up and realised I'd left Sherlock's story to John completely unfinished. Well, here it is.
This story feels like it's coming to an end. Maybe in the next chapter. I know, it's been wonderful having so many lovely readers.
But it's currently 5am here and I'm not even sure myself. I might pull an all nighter and write the next chapter, I might wait a day. All I know is my time is limited, as after these holidays I'm doing my final exams and graduating. If this story finishes before the holidays, it will be sad, but also a relief.
As usual, I'm so happy with everyone that's shown love to this story. You all get internet waffles!
Let's see what I can do now.
Apologies for the enormous A/N .
SH