Sorry for taking forever to upload, but everyone's taking advantage of the last four days of the summer holidays, and I haven't been home very much. School's starting soon…what fun…meh. Well, here's the chapter!
Chapter 3:
Outside, the wind was blowing, strong and powerful, straight into them and was enough to make John wince as it cut into him,
'Where-where now?" he asked, looking at the others,
"Home," Sherlock said, 'we all have to go home," No one needed to look at Lestrade to know that the thought was enough to scare him,
"How?" asked Sally, more to elongate this than having to take Lestrade to the one place he wouldn't want to go.
For the first time in his entire adult life, Sherlock refrained from commenting on how stupid that question was, and instead his eyes scanned the rush of cars that were driving past them, "By cab," he said, looking around for the black car. Lestrade shivered and walked away from the kerb, so that he was leaning on the railing of the bridge, staring down at the water. As Sherlock tried to hail a cab, John walked up to him and laid a hand on his back, "I know you said you'll punch me, but are you okay?" the DI turned his head so that he was looking at John, blinking rapidly to clear the tears that were threatening to spill. He managed a choked laugh, "Right, that's it, what do you want? A black eye or a split lip?" there was a smile on his lips but his eyes said that he was anything but happy. John turned to stare out at the water this time,
"Lip," he said, turning back to his friend, "Definitely lip. Less noticeable," Lestrade swallowed and was about to say something when Sherlock and Sally both called them back, the door of the waiting cab open.
John cursed the bad timing and ushered Lestrade in front of him. The DI was about to say something important.
Sherlock pulled John closer to him to fit Sally and Lestrade in and the doctor tried not to feel too upset that he and Greg had been interrupted. He'd get the DI to talk. After all, whom else did he have now?
The cab moved off and John twisted around so that he could see Sherlock's face, and his light grey eyes, staring off into the distance. I wonder how he's going to deal with boot camp? This almost brought a smile to John's face as he turned back around and settled in for the short ride.
"SHERLOCK!" an hour had passed and John was still not packed. Generally, he took ten minutes to pack. It didn't matter where they were going. Military training had meant that he was always going to be ready to leave whenever he needed to and in as little time as possible. But Sherlock was not making his life easy – every time he tried to find something, it went missing from its usual place. Now, he was standing in their relatively small living room with his hands on his hips, waiting for a reply. He was greeted by silence. Huffing, John stomped up the stairs, threw his bedroom door open and froze, his mind going completely blank.
The scene in the room was something he had never seen before, "Sherlock," He breathed quietly and the detective, wrapped in a very small towel, his body still steaming from the hot shower, dripping all over their bed, face flushed from the cold air, and standing on the bed, staring up at hole in their ceiling looked at John, his black curls falling over his eyes. He shook them away, splashing John with a little water,
"Hi John," He said, grinning. John stood for a moment longer,
'What are you doing?' he asked, surprised he could even form words anymore,
"I believe it's called looking for my other pair of socks," Sherlock replied. John followed a droplet of water as it dripped down his front, over the muscles on the detective's lean body and into the towel, that, he decided, he didn't really like anymore,
"In the ceiling?" John asked, walking forward, slowly, keeping his eyes glued onto Sherlock, as if this image would disappear should he look away,
"Well yes," Sherlock looked back up, standing on his toes, flexing all the muscles in his body, "I remember, it was an experiment…" He faded off as he stared into the darkness, and was taken completely by surprise when John tackled him off the bed and ripped the towel off before they landed on the floor, both panting for completely difference reasons.
"You've been making my life hell," said John, trailing his eyes down Sherlock's body, seeming, even though Sherlock told himself it was impossible, to burn a trail across him,
"Isn't that why you love me?" Sherlock asked, struggling to maintain composure with that expression on John's face, that hungry look that said he would give anything, everything to have his way with Sherlock,
"I never said that," John whispered back, purposely shifting so that he was straddling the detective's hips, keeping him in place. Sherlock was about to skip the foreplay and get on with what both of them wanted when the phone rang downstairs. They stayed where they were, breathing erratic, and relatively light-headed,
"Don't get it," Sherlock said, tempted to flip them over so that he could make sure John couldn't get it,
"What if it's important?" John asked,
'Who cares?" The phone kept on ringing and John sighed, climbing off Sherlock,
"Damn it," he muttered as he walked back down stairs, trying to get his head back into order. He had to do something about Sherlock. For God's sake, the man managed to make him forget what he was angry about just by being there.
John searched around for a while, trying to find the phone, flinging cushions out of the way and finally, locating it underneath the couch. Pulling it out, he answered it without looking as to who it was on the other line,
"Hello?" John asked, a little gruffer than he would've normally been,
"John?" the doctor almost dropped the phone,
"Greg?" he asked, all thoughts of what he could currently be doing to Sherlock to show his appreciation of the earlier display thrown from his mind, "Are you alright?" there was no response, just the traffic in the background and…water? John wasn't sure, "Greg?" he asked again, "Where are you?" There was silence from the other end again and John was beginning to worry. Suddenly, the line cut and John was left staring at his phone.
Sherlock walked languidly into the room, resting against the doorframe, and John willed himself to stay focused, "That was Lestrade," he said, keeping his eyes fixed on Sherlock's face,
'That's great," the baritone voice was even deeper than normal,
"Sherlock," John pleaded, walking over to him and placing his hands on the detective's shoulders, "We need to find him. He wasn't saying anything," John said and Sherlock rolled his eyes,
'Greg's a big boy, he can look after himself," Sherlock brought John closer, placing both his hands on the doctor's hips, "and we only have today before we have to go to boot camp," Sherlock kissed John's neck, "and there's no…kissing…allowed…" each word was broken with a kiss and John's struggle to not give into the tempting man grew into an all-out war,
'Sherlock," he pulled back and looked into his eyes, the pupils fully dilated, "Sherlock," he repeated, and the detective finally gave up,
"That means I have to get dressed," he muttered and John laughed,
'Maybe not," he said, looking down at his phone,
'What do you mean?" Sherlock asked, starting to understand what John was saying,
'Sherlock," it was John's turn to turn on the charm and he ran his hand lightly along Sherlock's spine, "I need you to call Mycroft," he said and Sherlock groaned,
'No," he said, about to turn around, when John wrapped his arms around the detective's torso,
"I'll repay you," he said, his voice so low, Sherlock would've missed it if he took a breath in, "magnificently," John added and Sherlock held out his hand,
"Give me the phone,"
Mycroft was in the middle of a very satisfying sushi roll when Anthea walked into his office, 'Mr. Holmes?" She asked and he looked up,
'What is it?" he asked, the chopsticks halfway up to his mouth,
"It's about Detective Inspector Lestrade," Mycroft all but dropped the sushi he was holding,
"What?" he asked, regaining his composure quickly
"DI Lestrade," Anthea repeated more forcefully, as if she were worried that she wasn't getting through to her boss,
"What's happened?" Mycroft asked, getting to his feet and walking over to her. She held the phone out and Mycroft snatched it up,
'Hello?" he asked,
"Hello, Mycroft," Sherlock drawled on the other end as John forced him into some pants, despite the consulting detective's earlier protests. John said something about how he wouldn't be able to pack if Sherlock continued to wander around naked. The doctor ignored Sherlock's comment about how that was the point of it all,
"Sherlock?" Mycroft couldn't actually believe his little brother was calling,
"Yes, it's me," Sherlock's earlier good mood was evaporating by the millisecond, "You need to figure out where our DI has gone to,"
"What do you mean? Why isn't he with you?"
'Doesn't matter," Sherlock said, "Just figure out where he is. Check his home, check Scotland Yard, and just find him,"
"And why do you think I could find him?" Mycroft asked, more for show than anything else,
'Because you're you," John cut in, "I got a call from him about five minutes ago. He sounded completely out of it," John let the worry creep into his voice, "We need to find him," he said. Mycroft was already walking into his office and was ready to start dialling his many associates,
'We will," he assured, "how long do we have?" he asked,
"O500 tomorrow," John replied,
"Damn," Mycroft muttered, "Twelve hours – that isn't enough,"
"It had better be," John walked to the window and away from Sherlock, who was trying to get rid of the phone, "I heard water near where he was…and traffic,"
"Water and traffic?" Mycroft repeated, realisation dawning on him and John at the same time
"Check every bridge with a camera in London and surrounds," John said, but Mycroft was already doing that,
"I am," He replied, sitting down at his computer and paging half a dozen of his men, "Listen, you and Sherlock need to get into a cab and start looking. Drive around. I'll text you the bridges that I've eliminated as I eliminate them,"
"Right," John hung up and turned around to face Sherlock, who was still lounging on the doctor's favourite chair, watching John,
"I have to put a shirt on, don't I?" he asked, a little sullenly,
'The shirts not the biggest of our problems, Sherlock," John ran upstairs and Sherlock followed at a more leisurely pace. John threw a shirt at him as he grabbed his jacket,
"Let's go," he said, not waiting for Sherlock to do the buttons up, and dragging him down the stairs. Grabbing his own phone, John also pulled Sherlock's coat and scarf off the stand before slamming the door behind him.
Running onto the street, the cold wind blasting them and making Sherlock redouble his efforts to get full dressed, John actually managed to hail a taxi and pulled Sherlock in,
'Take us to the closest bridge," He said and the cabbie nodded once and pulled away from 221b Baker street.
Nehehe. Where's Lestrade? Not suicidal I hope….nehehehe…okay yeah. I'm better.
Apologies for sending anyone around the bend. But I'm halfway there and needed some company ;)
Aza
xoxo