My goodness, I was amazed at the amount of you who story-alerted and favourited. I'm honestly chuffed with it! Anyway, this is a long chapter but it's where all the problems finally come to light.
Warnings: Contains slash.
Disclaimer: Sherlock belongs to the BBC. I only own this plot.
John paced around the flat like a worried mother waiting on her children to come home. Bitsy had purred around his feet when he came home, nuzzling into his leg as a "welcome home". Tobias, however, had taken to sitting by the coat rack. He kept glancing back at John as if to say "where's the other one?"
Taking out his phone, John sent a text. It had been at least forty-five minutes since he left Sherlock and the worry was eating away at his gut. /Where are you? I'm worried. Please don't be too long, Sherlock – JW/ Putting his phone back on the table, John stopped to take a breather and make some tea. Carding a hand through his short hair, he clicked down the kettle.
Ten minutes later John heard the familiar sound of the front door unlocking. Jumping up from his seat, he rushed to the door and yanked it open in time to see a dishevelled looking Sherlock stagger up the stairs. He was clutching at his left arm and there were small cuts around his lip.
"Jesus Sherlock!" John helped his boyfriend up the last few steps and settled him down on his armchair. "I was so worried! Who did this?" He was fussing around, taking off Sherlock's blood stained coat and tossing it aside.
"John, stop. I'm f-fine." Sherlock wheezed, laying his head to rest on the back of his chair. In the light, John could see a small bruise around his lover's right eye. His bottom lip was split and bleeding around the cuts. "It's just a few bruises."
"And a bleeding arm, bruised eye and from the sounds of it a bloody cracked rib. I am a doctor you know." John shook his head, feeling almost angry at whoever did this. "…Please tell me it wasn't Moriarty?"
"No, no. It was just his two goons. G-got me with a knife to the arm… Threw a few punches too."
"And then what?" John started to open Sherlock's shirt, careful of his ribs.
"And then I got them back. They're really quite t-thick." Sherlock winced and tried to swat John's hand away but stopped when he saw the concerned and stern look on his face. "Sorry. Look, I'll be fine by the morning."
John threw the shirt to the ground and went to fill a bowl of tepid water. "But you're not okay now. Let me help you alright?" He returned with the bowl and a face-cloth, sipping it in and squeezing any excess water out of it. Sherlock could only nod and close his eyes when John began to dab at the slit cut on his arm. When the blood was cleaned off from his arm, John wiped it with anti-septic (which stung a bit and made Sherlock hiss), wrapped it with a bandage and secured it in place.
"I'm just going to check your ribs for tenderness, alright?" John received another nod. "Now, breathe in for me." Sherlock did as he was told and took a slow breath.
"It doesn't hurt."
"Okay, good sign. What about this?" John gently applied pressure to the ribs, and Sherlock hissed gently. "Alright, just a mild break in the cartilage… It's a small fracture. You," he stood up and leaned down to inspect his eye, "you have to take it easy. No running around for at least twenty-four hours. And I go where you go, understood?"
Sherlock watched John as he took care of him. He was so protective, so nurturing, that Sherlock wondered what would happen if he wasn't there? "Yes John, understood. You can stop fussing now and make me a strong cup of Darjeerling tea. Please."
John was mildly surprised at how Sherlock complied without a fight. He smiled down and pressed a light kiss to Sherlock's forehead. "Coming up, love. Tobias missed you." John nodded to the tomcat who was sitting by Sherlock's feet, looking up at his master with wide eyes.
"Come on, then. Up." The detective patted his knees and Tobias hopped up a moment later. He made himself comfortable and lay down. John picked Bitsy up and carried her to her bed. He made both himself and Sherlock a cup of tea and settled into his own chair.
"You need to rest. Let's go to bed, eh?" John looked over at Sherlock a good twenty minutes later, who was almost dozing off. Taking his hand, John led him carefully up the stairs and prepared him for bed. "Hold still." He motioned, rubbing some healing cream onto his lip and anti-bruising cream around his eye.
"You're too kind for your own good." Sherlock whispered once he and John were under the covers. "It worries me sometimes."
"I'm just worried about losing you. Look, let's get some peace for tonight and forget all about Moriarty. Tomorrow, we'll head back to Scotland Yard and see if anything else has come up." John wrapped his arms protectively around Sherlock, afraid that if he let go, the man would simply disappear into thin air.
"Mhm. I'm sure this is just another one of his games." Sherlock said the word with distaste, seeing as his last "game" almost left them dead. "Night, John."
"Goodnight, Sherlock."
Rain was pouring down the next morning and it made Sherlock frown at the window. When John woke up, he glanced bleary-eyed down at his boyfriend and raised an eyebrow.
"Sherlock? Are you okay?" The detective looked up and cleared his throat. The swell around his eye had gone down and his cuts were almost invisible. The look on his face was one of discomfort and annoyance.
"It's raining. Rain always means something bad. Don't expect anything good to happen." Sherlock sat up, feeling for tenderness around his ribs.
"I don't expect good news anything when it comes to Moriarty. Let me have a look at you." John peered down at the area. It was red and just a little bit swelled.
"It doesn't hurt anymore. The skin does." Sherlock sighed and let his head fall softly back against the headboard. "We should have a shower."
John pursed his lips and touched Sherlock's cheek lightly. "How about we take one together? Saving water and all that." Sherlock's cheeks displayed feint colouring then but he nodded, lips quirking upwards in a half smile.
John ran the shower and was gathering the shower gels and shampoo when he felt cool hand slip around his waist and under his t-shirt. He relaxed into Sherlock's embrace and let his head fall back onto the taller man's shoulder. "We should step in while the water is hot." Sherlock nipped at the shell of John's ear and they undressed each other.
John adjusted the shower hose so it would suit both of their heights. Turning around, he stood tip-toed to kiss Sherlock. John's tongue brushed slowly along the detective's lower lip and he granted entrance, locking his arms around the older man's waist. The kiss was heated and by the time they pulled away, Sherlock's back was against the cool wall of the shower.
"Later." John whispered with a chuckle. "I don't want you waddling into the Yard thismorning. Lestrade will definitely know something is up." Sherlock laughed and they separated. The steam from the shower and the heat of the kiss took the blame for his flushed cheeks. John reached down and handed Sherlock his shampoo while taking his Blonde one. They showered together, even taking turns to massage shampoo into each other's hair, and by the time they stepped out the bathroom was more like a sauna.
"I have no shirts left. Jesus, we need to either get Mrs. Hudson to do some washing for us or find the time to do it ourselves." John towelled his wet hair and moved to Sherlock's drawer (yes, Sherlock's clothes officially took up half the space of his wardrobe) to fish around.
"She'll just give us the 'not your housekeeper' line again. But she'd still do it, bless her." Sherlock smirked when John pulled out a grey t-shirt.
"Sherlock is this really the biggest size thing you own?" The t-shirt was not only tight (and defining John's army muscles), it was a v-neck and exposed some of his chest. John raised an eyebrow as he looked at himself in the mirror.
"In my defence it looks great on you." Sherlock broke into a grin and John pulled a face when he found a pair of his own jeans. No way was he chancing a pair of Sherlock's trousers. Sherlock dressed in his usual smart style; white shirt, black suit jacket and black trousers. John found a deep purple cardigan in the back of the wardrobe and shrugged it on over the t-shirt. He really did look gay.
"What the hell are the Yard going to think when I come in wearing this? And walking with you. I'm pretty sure they've already put two and two together from yesterday." John almost shrank behind his lover as they walked. He shivered a bit, cursing himself for once again leaving his jacket behind.
"Does it matter what they think? We're a couple. Why should we have to hide that?" Sherlock grabbed John's hand and pulled him to his side. John just smiled and linked their fingers together. An elderly couple tutted at them in the street and it took all of John's social decency not to ask them what the hell their problem was.
"Won't Anderson just use this to make snide comments about us?" John frowned as they approached the entrance to Scotland Yard. The doors were glass and inside John could see Anderson, Donovan and Lestrade in conversation. Sherlock stopped before entering and tilted his head at John.
"Of all the things to say John, really." He scoffed. "Anderson has the IQ of a bloody bird. His opinion isn't something to worry about." John stood for a minute looking into Sherlock's silverfish eyes.
"Oh fuck it, it really doesn't matter!" And with that, he grabbed Sherlock by the lapels of his long coat and kissed him square on the mouth. Of course, all three on the inside saw. Donovan looked gobsmacked and Anderson looked utterly disgusted. Lestrade, however, just smirked and muttered a 'knew it' under his breath as they walked in.
"Morning Sally. Terrible weather isn't it?" Sherlock beamed at the tanned woman, whose mouth was still hanging open. John just rolled his eyes – Sherlock's smugness about their relationship was cute but at the same time quite embarrassing.
"Right, how did Bart's go?" Lestrade asked, walking with the couple to his office,
"The lighter was empty." John sighed. "I don't know what it means."
"It doesn't mean anything." Sherlock added silently. His fingers were steepled under his chin in his thinking pose.
"What?" Lestrade folded his arms and shook his head. "I don't understand."
"Yeah, neither do I. I thought you said he meant for you to fill it?" John looked at Sherlock and the detective met his eyes briefly. "You know, trigger a chain reaction?"
"Forget that. The lighter was just a silly distraction. The picture is the real clue."
"So wait, what are you saying? Moriarty's going to burn John? Or… Burn "the heart out of you" as he so elegantly put it." Lestrade sat down in his swivel chair and looked between Sherlock and John, who shook his head.
"He wants me out… I am Sherlock's heart, metaphorically speaking, and Jim Moriarty doesn't like that. He wants…" The doctor took a breath and looked down. "He wants Sherlock all to himself. And he's going to do everything he can until he gets his own way."
"No. John I already told you I refuse to let him think he's won!" Sherlock paced back and forth in the small office, rambling off incoherent thoughts and making deductions. "We'll have to be extra vigilant alright?"
Lestrade stood up and pinched the bridge of his nose. "You two should go home. Take it easy. I'll see if there's been any suspicious behaviour around your flat." The DI opened the door but stopped John before he could walk out. "I suppose I should say congrats to you both."
"Thank you, Lestrade. Come along John." Taking the older man's hand again, Sherlock led the two of them out onto the street to wait for a cab. The clouds had darkened considerably and though the rain had stopped, the chill in the air along with the thunder in the distance was enough to make John shiver violently in his too-tight t-shirt.
Sherlock shifted his long coat to cover John, shaking his head. "That's what you get for leaving without putting your coat on." He murmured, for John's ears only. "I suppose I'll have to warm you up when we get home, won't I?" He held his head high enough that John couldn't see the colour staining his cheeks. Before they did it for the first time he never would have had the nerve to say something like that. John could only smile and lean into the heater that was Sherlock.
The cab came and they sat in the back, entangled together to keep warm as they headed for home.
John needed to know they were being protected. Sure, Mycroft had his cars follow the couple when he could, but he didn't know whether that was truly going to keep them safe. Nothing had happened in the two days since they had last been to The Yard, but it didn't stop the constant worry gnawing at John's stomach. He sent a quick text to Mycroft asking him to meet for coffee. John knew Sherlock would more than likely disapprove of his brother being so involved, so he would have to be sneaky.
"I won't be long." He whispered to the detective who was sleeping on the sofa. Ripping a piece of paper out of his notebook, John scribbled down a message explaining he was going to buy milk and he would be back soon. Making sure to bring his jacket this time, the doctor left 221B quietly and headed down the road.
Within two minutes, a sleek black car pulled up beside him. "Good evening John. Take a seat." Mycroft gave the man his usual half smile and opened the door.
"I'm sorry for interrupting you, Mycroft." John settled back on the creamy leather seats (they were also heated, John noted) and clicked his belt into place.
"Nonsense, John. Anything that is perturbing you or my brother is important to me." He tapped the tip of his umbrella to the back of the driver's seat and gave the name of some fancy French café John had never heard of. "I think congratulations are in order, too. You're good for him."
"Uh, thank you. We won't be long will we? It's just that Sherlock doesn't know I'm gone." John glanced outside as they turned down Kensington; a posher side of London.
"We shouldn't be. Ah, here we are - Le Jardin Des Cygnes." Mycroft said the name with a perfect French accent. "It means The Garden of Swans."
"Oh, right." John was let out of the car by the driver and looked up at the larger than average café. "This looks expensive. Can I pay you back later?" They entered and sat down at a table near the back. It was decorated with delicate white lace over a blue tablecloth.
"Don't worry about it John. My treat today." Mycroft took up the menu and sniffed, switching to the tea section. "Now, what was on your mind? I have already spoken to Detective Inspector Lestrade to get his side of all this."
"It's the flat. I don't know if it's possible but I was wondering if one of your men could keep constant watch on it. I've been losing sleep thinking about Moriarty and worrying about Sherlock."
"Already done." Mycroft said, waving over a waiter.
"What?" John was about to ask what he meant but this was Mycroft – Sherlock's older, protective brother who held a 'minor role' in the government.
"I had twenty-four hour surveillance set up for you both a few days ago. Your uncertainty surrounding your safety should subside somewhat. And John, there are two of you in this relationship."
"Well… Thank you… And yes I know but I still can't feel at ease knowing that son of a-" John calmed himself and rubbed his hand over his face.
"Chances are your safety is more at risk. Don't forget that Moriarty's infatuation is with Sherlock. He's not going to want to hurt him before he tries to get you out of the picture." As the waiter came over, Moriarty gestured for John to order first.
"Oh, I'll have an omelette and a cup of coffee with extra milk and a spoon of sugar please." He handed his menu up. Mycroft did the same.
"Just a Greek salad and a cup of green tea for me, thank you." Mycroft offered the waiter a little half-smile, so much like his younger brother's. It was easy to see where Sherlock got all his little quirks and habits. "Don't worry about him, John. It's Sherlock... He's a genius, remember? He'll keep himself safe."
"I just hope you're right, Mycroft. And thanks again for the surveillance thing." Mycroft hadn't mentioned that the surveillance had been set up right after John actually moved in. It was better to have him think it was a new thing or John would just become wary of him. Their order arrived several minutes later and they tucked in.
"I'll keep in touch John. You really are doing a wonderful job of taking care of my younger brother."
"I try my best. Thanks for everything." John shut the car door and headed upstairs. He was attacked by Sherlock the minute he opened the door. He was pinned harshly against the door and kissed hard, bruising and needy. When the detective pulled back, John could only pant for breath and catch him as he melted forward.
"A little more warning before you run out to the shops would be nice," he said softly. "And it would be even nicer if you came back with what you went out for." The lanky detective leaned in for another, slightly needier kiss, shifting slightly against John's chest. Even still wincing when he moved the wrong way, Sherlock's mind was still clearly in the gutter. The attack last night must have hurt him more than he realised.
"I'm sorry love…" Did John dare tell him where he really went. Bracing himself, he pulled Sherlock back and looked at him. "…I went to see Mycroft. To talk."
"Why?" Sherlock's arms found themselves around John's waist, desperate not to let go. His tone had a hint of jealousy about it.
"I thought he might know more. He's really looking out for us, you know."
"I know that. The flat has been bugged for a while now." Sherlock made a small face but made no snide comment.
"Oh? Interesting… He said it was only a few days ago. Wait, so that's how he knows about us? He's been watching us?" John immediately wondered just how much the elder Holmes brother actually saw.
"That and through Lestrade. It's his favourite game, watching me. Making sure I don't do anything silly. He's let up a good bit since you arrived." Sherlock chuckled softly and peeled away from John. "I'm hungry."
"Lestrade? Since when have those two started talking?" John took a breath and followed Sherlock. "Maybe we should go get a bite to eat? That new Thai restaurant you like is opened late for take-away."
"You should go. I'm sure Mycroft will have someone follow you." Before John had a chance to answer, Sherlock launched at him again and nuzzled John's neck. "I love you, you over-protective doctor." John held back and stroked Sherlock's soft curls, inhaling.
"Someone has to be the protective one. You'd end up in a ditch somewhere if I didn't keep watch on you like this. I love you too, Sherlock." Giving one last squeeze, John leaned back. "I should go. I take it you want the extra spicy sauce too?"
"You know me so well." Sherlock grinned and handed John his wallet. "Don't be too long, love." John stole a quick peck before heading down the stairs and out the door. At best, the take-out was only ten minutes away. John was vaguely aware of a black car following close by. It was bigger than Mycroft's usual cars and possibly older going by the sound of that engine.
Eventually the car disappeared. Just as John's hand reached the handle of the Thai restaurant, he heard footsteps behind him.
"Now now, Johnny boy." John froze. There was no mistaking that menacing voice. "What are you doing off that leash of yours? Loyal pets never leave their master's side." Moriarty. Taking a slow breath, John turned around to face the voice.
Moriarty's face was twisted in an evil smirk, standing by the open door of the same black car that had been following him.
Dun dun dun! Right, the next chapter should be up tomorrow at the latest. I need to do a mind-search and channel my memories into the next few chapters.
And yes, there will be some Mystrade later on.
Thanks a million guys, your support really motivates me :)