Runaway Home

Chp 14

Please excuse the briefness of these scenes. I decided Sherlock would really only be the type to list facts rather than linger on details…also I was just a tad lazy…I apologize!

Soo-lin was the name of the girl who had disappeared from the museum and of course, just as the detective expected, she was hiding inside the building. Once he discovered her in the facility's basement she submitted to his questioning with little protest. She had been a member of the gang called 'the black lotus' who'd been behind the murders. Their main means of business was smuggling according to the woman. He had shown her the cipher John had found down by the train tracks and she recognized the symbols. She had told him that it was a message but unfortunately their time was cut short when the assassin (coincidently Soo-lin's brother) arrived. Sherlock had tried to divert the man's attention and draw him away from the woman, but ultimately failed.

Officer Dimmock arrived on the scene shortly after the girl's murder. At first he had doubted the detective, which of course infuriated him, but once the man had the chance to see the gang tattoos located on the now three victim's feet, he relented. Not to much surprise he then became relatively enthusiastic about aiding Sherlock in unraveling the mystery. Dimmock proved useful to some extent, he allowed the detective to continue, plus he even had all of the first victim's books brought to the flat. Upon arrival he also delivered the photo John had taken, with what appeared to be the first two words translated. Sherlock determined Soo-lin must have been in the process of translating it for him when she was killed.

Sherlock hadn't spoken with John since their fight earlier in the day and it was beginning to wear on him. John had always helped him with things like looking through the books; it felt wrong doing it on his own. When he went up to ask for help however the boy insisted that he had work the next morning and couldn't be bothered. He could hardly concentrate on the books with everything he was feeling about John. Every time he'd make a witty comment or clever deduction the silence was deafening, he'd grown used to John's laugh and praises. By around five in the morning he'd given up and gone to his room to play the violin. Unable to sleep, yet he lacked concentration. He had a strong urge to leap out of his room and harass the boy until he gave in when he heard John begin getting ready to leave. He decided against it when the thought of John becoming even angrier at him crossed his mind.

All hope was not lost though! His heart skipped a beat when he heard the boy pause by the piles of books. The unmistakable sounds of pages being turned brought him straight to the door. He quieted his breathing to take in everything he could. John was certainly looking through the evidence, even writing things down it seemed! About what, he couldn't be sure, but what was certain was John still held interest for the cases. With any luck he could use that as leverage so to win back the boy's affections.

So a plan was hatched as the blonde went about his day at work and the detective sat at home scheming. It was around supper time when John finally arrived back at home to find Sherlock sitting on the sofa with his knees tucked beneath his chin. The lanky flat mate smiled as the boy shuffled into the kitchen and prepared himself a cup of tea. Sherlock rose from his seat and headed towards the kitchen before John could finish making his cuppa and make a beeline back to his room. The boy's back was turned to the detective when the tall man entered the room. John had just added the milk and begun to stir when Sherlock cleared his throat.

"John?"

The boy turned around and eyed the man warily.

"Yes? Something new you'd like to regulate? Has tea become to dangerous for me to consume on the daily bases or something?"
John scoffed before taking a sip from his mug. It took nearly all of Sherlock's will power not to point out just how melodramatic he was being, he reminded himself of his goal. Keep John.

"No…I'm here to offer up an apology of sorts."

"Oh? How's that?"

The boy questioned cautiously narrowing his eyes slightly.

"I still feel I had good reason for putting those rules in place; however I realize you have taken personal offense to them and I plan to remedy the situation. I have acquired tickets to a traveling circus; I thought perhaps you could use them to take one of your many female companions on a date."

Sherlock stated passively while he shouted internally. He wanted for John to forgive him so bad, but vocalizing encouragement and providing the means for John to continue his association with those girls. It brought bile to the back of his throat.

"Well…that's awfully nice of you Sherlock. Certainly out of character though. I appreciate the effort, really I do, but a couple of tickets aren't going to fix this."

The boy sighed leaning against the counter.

"I had hoped…well I thought perhaps it would make you see that I am open to girls at the flat and you being in more dangerous situations…I just worry that you're not prepared, please, you must understand. I just want you to take proper precautions."

Sherlock pleaded desperately hoping the boy would understand.

"I know you mean well…"

John confessed quietly into his mug before his eyes shot back up to meet Sherlock's.

"What do you mean by 'dangerous situation'? What sort of circus is this?"

The detective smiled at the boy's wit and waved his hand in the air as dismissively.

"Oh, you know…the sort that performs by day…murders at night."

His smirk widened as John's eyes nearly popped out of his skull.

"You think they're behind the murders? They disguised themselves as a circus? Wow…does this mean you're letting me back on the case?"

Sherlock hesitated for a moment. He really did want John to help him again, but when he remembered how terrified he'd been finding John on those steps…he knew he had to do the right thing. If anything were to happen to John it would destroy him.

"Of course you can help with the case; I never said you couldn't, so long as you abide by the rules."

John frowned at that and his hand tightened around his mug.

"So, what, you're taking me there to rub it in my face?"

He sneered casting the detective an angry glare.

"No, not to rub it in your face, but to remind you how much fun it is John. It can still be fun while following the rules; I just need you to see that. I'm only trying to keep you unharmed."

Sherlock insisted resisting the urge to reach out and touch the boy, reassure him of the honesty in his words.

"I know you are, I just wish you had some faith in me is all."

Silence enveloped the two after that for a few moments. The detective wished earnestly that he knew what to say, what to do for John to forgive him and accept the terms.

"I'll go with you, but I'm still not happy about this. You really underestimate my ability."

The boy said with one final sigh and a sip of his tea, and then headed up the stairs. It wasn't ideal, but Sherlock could work with it.

"I haven't been to a circus in ages!"

"No? Well this one is all the way from China."

"Oh! That's so cool! I've never seen a Chinese circus! Do you think there will still be clowns, I love clowns."

"I'm not sure…what do you think Sherlock? Sherlock?"

The detective's nerves were wearing thin; he wasn't sure how much more of this he could take. This girl was a nightmare, a horrible, horrible nightmare. She was small and curvy and red haired and big lipped and small minded. Everything a teenage boy could ever want Sherlock thought bitterly. With every word that passed through her engorged lips he was driven further and further over the edge. By the end of the night he didn't doubt a career change from consulting detective to murderer. How could John not see how annoying she was? The way she clung to him, putting her dirty hands all over him, her high pitched laugh, her incessant need to point out the obvious, and the way she stared so vacantly! Even John could see this girl was an idiot! How could she be better than a genius detective?

"Sherlock? Are you listening?"

John asked sounding on the verge of annoyance.

"Not really. Why? What did you say that required my attention?"

Sherlock replied coldly.

"We're here, and Valerie wants to know if there are any clowns."

John answered slightly irritated.

"Of course there aren't any clowns! This isn't some children's show, its performance art! You want clowns you can go to any two bit fair."

Sherlock exasperated with full contempt for the girl now gripping even tighter to John's strong arm.

"There's no need to be rude, Sherlock."

John reprimanded wrapping his hand around Valerie's grasp on his arm. The detective did his best to suppress a snarl at the increased contact; it was enough to make him vomit.

Once inside the three of them filed in behind the few people who were in attendance (various people from mostly artistic backgrounds). Sherlock observed his surroundings in hopes of finding some useful clues, no such luck. He was able to ascertain some interesting information on Valerie in the process of observation however. She was a year younger than John and clearly knew him through work by the state of her nails. She was obviously very interested in John which would have made him shake with rage if it weren't so obvious that John was not nearly as keen to her.

When the show finally began Sherlock was intent on studying all the performers, knowing the murderer was among them. He desperately needed to get back stage if he was ever going to truly confirm his hypothesis though. John and Valerie seemed enamored with the performance which was a perfect cover. He slipped away silently and made his way behind the large red curtain. There were dozens of costumes and bags of makeup and props, but no murder weapon. Then, out of the corner of his eye he spotted it. An average sized aerosol can containing yellow spray paint. He gave it an experimental spray only to discover that it was exactly as it seemed. He smiled in the dimly lit room proud of himself for another feat of logic.

Suddenly there was a shuffling of feet behind him and he spun around to see none other than the acrobat from the show. The man lunged forward at Sherlock and the detective scrambled backwards to avoid his reach. The man was fast and the brunette had to be quick to stay clear of his grasp. He attempted to land a punch on the man, hopefully buy himself a moment to make a speedy escape. The acrobat side stepped the move however and grabed a hold of the detective's arm, twisting it in a painful angle. Sherlock cried out and while it seemed near impossible with the pain emanating from said arm he wriggled it free and simultaneously lashed out with his other hand bringing it down hard across the acrobat's face. The man stumbled backward giving Sherlock enough time to slip under the folds of the curtain once again.

As he enters back into the room he spots John instantly; he's standing in amongst the small group looking around the room anxiously. It dawns on the detective that the boy had noticed his absence and was disturbed by it. The glowing moment doesn't last long as the acrobat is soon chasing after him through the curtain and wrapping a thick cloth around his pale neck. Sherlock attempted to make a sound, to cry out for help, but nothing came out. With the pressure on is neck building his vision begins to blur, which is why he doesn't even notice when a very foolish but very brave young man rushes towards him in an instant.

"Sherlock!"

John called out as he came within a few meters of the detective and his attacker. The boy wasted no time in charging forward and crashing full force into the acrobat's torso causing the man to grunt loudly as he fell to the ground. Now freed, Sherlock's throat begins to protest, the detective coughed and wheezed as his lungs fought for air. John affectively tackled the man to the ground but had not managed to subdue him yet. The two struggled against each other on the ground while the detective slowly regained composure. Sherlock began breathing somewhat normally again and looked over just as the acrobat's fist connected with John's jaw, the sound of which made the brunette go cold. It was an impressive hit by anyone's standards, the kind Sherlock had seen send bigger men to their knees. To his amazement John just shakes it off and brings his own fist down onto the man's face with a loud thump.

"John!"

A shrill voice calls out, and for a confusing moment Sherlock thinks it was him because he wants to call out to the boy, but he realizes his throat is too tight for any words to come out. Then the originator of the voice appears and the detective can't tell if he's relieved his voice hasn't gone up twenty octaves or furious he isn't the one running to John's side.

"Are you ok?"

The wretched girl asks as John stands up. He nods at her as he brushes himself off and casts a glare down at the unconscious man. The boy walked over to Sherlock and extended one calloused hand out for the man to take, and the detective does and as he does he revels in the feel of their hands touching even as it lasts only the briefest of moments.

"Good thing I'm not on the case, huh?"

John asks with a cocky smile which Sherlock finds far too appealing. What he wouldn't give to cover those smug lips with his own.

"Yes, well…thank you."

Sherlock stammers, lost between his thoughts of kisses and John's blow to the jaw.

"How's your jaw? Not many can take a hit like that, though adrenalin may have played a role I suppose."

The detective continues, hoping to distract his mind with the more productive line of thought.

"Sore, but I'll be fine. I told you I can handle myself in a fight, one of the most important qualities a good fighter can possess is the ability to take a punch. And I've got that in truck loads."

John said with a sarcastic grin that both breaks and melts the brunette's heart. Before he can comment further the horrible Valerie creature returns with her disgusting paws all over John once again.

"You were so brave John! Did he hurt you too bad? Maybe we should get you home and look at it."

She continues ghosting her feminine fingers over John's jaw line. Sherlock fought the urge to reach out and swat her hands away.

"Let's get a cab shall we?"

He gritted out through his teeth leading the two adolescents out along with the rest of the panicked audience.

The cab ride is full of coos and kisses and it makes the detective sick. He should be the one admiring John's bravery, kissing his slowly forming bruises, running his hand through those sandy locks. Instead it's this Valerie creature, and it makes his stomach churn violently. When they reach the flat she doesn't leave, worse, John doesn't seem intent on making her leave. They climb the stairs to the flat and collectively clamber into the living area. Sherlock throws himself down on the sofa, making a point not to look at the boy and his bear.

"Do you have a first aide kit or anything?"

The disgusting, vile, abhorred girl asks and the detective's heart tightens in his chest, because yes they do, and he knows just where it is. John knows just where it is, and he will take her to it, and it doesn't take the world's only consulting detective to figure out what happens next.

"Yeah, it's up in my room."

The boy replies innocently. With each step the pair makes up the stairs to the blonde's room Sherlock's heart drops. Just as the door opens he hears the heavier set of steps, John's set, pause.

"Sherlock, do you need anything?"

The detective's eyes sting and he curses himself as he holds back his waves of anger and despair. He wants to say yes, yes John, I need you, I need you to be rid of that girl and to be with me, I need you next to me, I need to breathe you, I need to have you! He can't say that though, and he won't.

"No."

He answers and his throat constricts as he says it causing the word to catch awkwardly in his throat. The boy pays no mind however and simply enters his room without another word. He lets out a weak whimpering noise as he hears the springs in the above mattress squeal under the weight of the two bodies. It's too much and he doesn't want to stick around to hear the rest, to be able to deduce every twist and turn of their bodies as they writhe against each other. The detective collects his coat and scarf that he'd so recently deposited on the arm chair and hurries out of the flat.

Sherlock rushes into the crisp night air taking in several shaky breaths as he stumbles onto the sidewalk. He hates this, these emotions, causing him to break and hurt like this. All he wants to do is tear his heart from his chest, to put an end to this horrible caring business. He wants for it to just stop, if he can't have John, then it shouldn't be allowed for Sherlock to long for him so strongly. The detective looses himself in his thoughts of self pity and hatred; he is completely unaware of his immediate surrounds as he made his way down the street. It's because of this that he did not see or hear the approaching members of the black lotus creep behind him. Because of this massive oversight, Sherlock is too shocked to react when the two men grab him from behind and haul him into a large black van.

When the detective woke up there was a dull pounding in his head and he realized almost immediately he was in one of the lesser known underpasses in London. He groaned out loud as he realized the high improbability of him making it out of this one with out a few life threatening injuries. An older woman stood in front of him with a gun pointed to his temple.

"How nice to meet you Mr. Holmes, we've been following you closely."

She says bringing the gun closer.

"Oh really, like what you've seen then? Well I'll have you know I don't offer my services to the criminally minded."

The detective states clearly, hoping he can buy himself some time, with any luck Mycroft's men caught the scuffle on the CCTV's.

"We need to know where it is. We know you've been looking and you're the best, so tell me, where is it?"

She said threateningly and took the safety off her gun as emphasis.

"I honestly don't know, I still haven't broken your code."

Sherlock deadpanned, although he sneered a bit at the thought of him not solving the riddle.

"I implore your Mr. Holmes, don't make a fool of yourself, or I will shoot you."

Sherlock stiffened in his chair, these were not the types to be messed with, she seemed very content with killing him. All she wanted was whatever had been stolen.

"I don't know. I didn't get that far."

He said loudly.

"Too bad."

The woman responded and pushed the gun to the side of his head. The metal was cool and brought him close to trembling. He squeezed his eyes shut tight and braced himself for impact when he heard it.

"Stop!"

The young voice called out from a spot far too close, under the underpass but out of sight. The older woman looked around angrily.

"Who said that?"
She barked out and turned so the gun was facing out towards the entrance.

"I'm John Watson and I'm here to save my flat mate!"

The boy answered confidently. The older woman laughed and motioned for the guards to seek the boy out. Sherlock twisted frantically in the hopes of freeing himself, he had to save John.

"John get out of here! You're out numbered!"

The detective cried out, begging to a god he wasn't even sure existed that John make it out of this alive.

"Don't be blarmy, I called D.I. Lestrade, they've got the place surrounded."