Ahh, it's been too long, I'm sorry, but vacation was amazing.
I spent days on the cruise ship writing and continuing my stories. I hope everyone is ready.
I'm rearing to go though.
Thank you thank you thank you all for the reviews, they mean sooooo much to me, keep up the good work.
Without further ado, I know how long you've waited for it.
BTW no Moriarty in this chapter yet, he's coming though.
Peace&Love
In the car, with Sherlock's unconscious body laying across the backseat, the detective's head in the doctor's lap, John strokes the curly dark hair affectionately while he stares out the window. The ex-soldier is far more tense this car ride back to London, compared to the first one of the day.
Any minute, he anticipates the sedan turning around and heading back to the manor, right back into Mycroft's dark and cold clutches. He fears the politician might have changed his mind, deciding to trap John regardless of his feelings for Sherlock, or the deal they made. John shudders at the powerful reach of the politician and sighs with uneasiness.
John's head pounds with a vengeance, and his nose still bleeds slowly and absentmindedly. He knows he pushed his gift too far today. He looks down at the uncharacteristically still genius and can't help but feel that it was worth it. Forcing his gift past, what he thought were concrete limits and reaching new heights, the intense calming of Mycroft's guards, stopping, what John believes would have been, world war three by calming the detective to sleep. It was all worth it, plus the added bonus of Mycroft expressions and thoughts going into a shocked speechlessness, the immaculate politician completely unhinged, worth it, even if it was for a minute. John knows he is lucky, lucky to have gotten out of there, lucky to still be conscious after such a powerful display of his gift. John realises that he could possibly be working at a lower mental capacity the new developments.
Despite the forcefulness of his headache, the realisations of how mentally unsound he could possibly be, and the consequences of his symptoms, John, as soon as he entered the car, connects tactically with Sherlock regardless, actively trying to monitoring his unconscious thoughts. John worries slightly about the after affects of putting someone to sleep, he didn't even know he could do it until today.
John's hand is intertwined with the detective's, keeping all connections open, albeit very timidly, he isn't trying to be brazen with his mental destruction.
In the last ten minutes, Sherlock's thoughts have strayed away from their usual colors when he sleeps and have gone completely blank, like a giant black canvas conveying nothing.
Sherlock Holmes's mind is devoid of anything thought.
The doctor silently sits in the back of the sedan, is face and body neutral, but his mind is pulsating with pain and worry. The genius has fallen into a deep slumber, John is in distress. He fears that his thoughts made the younger man to tranquil, maybe even into a coma.
John shakes the detective calmly at first, calling Sherlock's name softly in the genius's ear. Sherlock's face remains lax and blank. John shakes the man again, this time vigorously, shouting his name, three decibels away from unbearably loud yelling. Still, the detective remains limp and motionlessness.
After a few minutes, John stops trying to rouse the inactive man, the doctor's head erupting and his nose still leaking. He tries to find the warm lilac and honey within in Sherlock's blank mind. Nothing but dark answers John's apprehensive probes on Sherlock's surface.
In the next few minutes, John does two different things, the only things he can think of, and both are not conducive to his mental health.
1. John, for many reasons, attempts to pull Sherlock out of his light coma.
The genius's lack of thoughts make John afraid for one reason. John didn't even know he could do this with his gift until Mycroft decided to point guns in Sherlock's general direction. What if John can't get the younger man out of this type of coma? What if John did something that even he can't reverse?
Also, a much less, and selfish reason, is John doesn't know how he would get Sherlock into the flat by himself, midday, in the middle of a busy Baker Street. The man may be skinny and lean, but his weight is deceiving. John has troubles getting Sherlock up the stairs on a normal day, when the detective comes back from a case, more often than not, unnecessarily injured and it's up to John to get the detective up the stairs and into bed. John curses and chastising the young man all the way to their bedroom on these days.
Even then though, Sherlock is always conscious enough to help in these cases, at least a little bit, the doctor has never carried the man by himself.
Despite the fact that John is barely working at 50% mentally and his is physically exhausted as well, the telepath eventually decides to bring Sherlock out of his coma, his worries and reason outweighing the doctor's own health...typical.
John closes his eyes and places both of his hands on Sherlock's face, one palm laying over the detective's forehead and the other cupping the lean face. The doctor quickly delves into the detective's mind, bypassing the darkness and the memories, John floats into a space of Sherlock's fascinating brain designated for new experiments to try. The doctor doesn't stay long in this unfamiliar part, the experiments that John briefly sees are technical and even a bit scary.
The ex-soldier can feel the mental strain, he is vaguely aware that his nose is steadily picking up in blood flow. His head throbs loudly and diligently, getting worse the longer that John remains connected so tenaciously.
John catalogs the lack of honey and lilac as he digs deeper and deeper. Maybe, the person has to conscious in order to emit the senses that offer comfort to the doctor. The lack of the familiar senses just put John on edge and make him want to unearth the detective faster.
Finally, John finds Sherlock in his mind palace, a portion of the genius's mind, so far down in his mental standings. The doctor sees the detective perched on his literal mental throne, eyes closed and his pose familiar.
"Dramatic Bastard." John says in Sherlock's brain, causing the detective to open his eyes and stare at John's mental appearance. Sherlock smiles, a large goofy grin, his teeth glistening in the mind palace.
John beckons Sherlock, pulling the detective out of his reverie and the genius obediently follows.
A sudden, sharp and unbearable pain erupts in John's forehead. The doctor is pulled out of Sherlock's mind so fast, that the car around him is spinning unnaturally. The telepath's hands are immediately around his temples, his eyes squeezed shut and his mouth yelling out in the pain. The next moment, John is unceremoniously on the floor of the large backseat, his muscles writhing and his body trembling with the agony.
John notices nothing, his mind to focused on pain as he tries to make his thoughts blank and yielding, unsuccessfully. His thoughts scream at him. First; What is happening? What's going on? Then, Did it work? Is Sherlock out?
His thoughts are answered by his vague awareness of Sherlock's groggy and slightly slurred, yet encompassing loud screams that echo in the car.
2. Then John does the second thing that is no where near healthy in his current state, the doctor blacks out. John opens his eyes abruptly just as they roll back and John succumbs to blackness, the dark consuming him. A pair of confused and sleepy gray eyes are the last thing the doctor sees, the eyes sport concern and sadness, very evident in the rarely unmasked face.
One moment, John is in darkness, his thoughts are slurred and distant, cold even. John doesn't like this place, it's unforgiving and unwelcoming. John panics slightly at the lack of happiness. He fights to get somewhere safe, somewhere he knows is warm.
In the next moment, John opens his eyes. The doctor wakes in silence, his body laying flat, his back to the mattress below him.
"At least the cold is gone." John thinks to himself. Even through the darkness, John doesn't feel cold, nor does he really feel warm, but neutral is a good starting place.
John tries to place his thoughts, his memories. What happened? Where is he? The room is dark, yes but it smells familiar. The dark curtains are drawn, severing any connections with the moonlight or the nightlife of London, leaving the doctor in a stifling darkness.
John shifts in his bed with a slight twinge of fear, he feels the mattress dip next to him, the occupant adjacent shifting also. John stills, his reflexes singing with warning. The ex-soldier snaps his head to the side, causing his head to throb, John ignores it and tries to find the unknown culprit in the bed with him.
He sees the dark curls first and John instantly relaxes, feeling a bit ashamed and silly for reacting so strongly.
John softens, his face unwinds and his body loosens. He smiles at the detective next to him, the icy gray eyes unwavering with concern and relief, and the lean face smiling tenderly.
Looking at Sherlock causes John's memories to come back in a flash, everything from getting kidnapped originally to escaping Mycroft and the car ride.
"Oh. The car ride." John remembers passing out. His memories rapidly play in his mind and his face must show it because Sherlock's weak smile turns into a frown and his eyes dart around the room in anxiety.
John considers the detective, the young man's body is curled on his side, a huge gap between the two of them. He arms are against his chest, shaking very faintly, with anger...concern maybe...and a hint of longing, the untrained eye wouldn't catch it.
The doctor stares at the genius with confusion. He swiftly probes Sherlock's mind, curious and worry in the forefront of his mind to the strange distant feel of the man in front of him.
John freaks out when he doesn't sense the lilac and honey duo at all, in the air before he makes the mental connection or even after when he is inside Sherlock's very blank mind. Did he finally lose his gift? Did he finally push himself to far?
"I wasn't meant to pry into people's minds, I wasn't meant to use it for harm. I've lost it now." John's thoughts are sad, depressing, angry and fearful.
John clenches his fist at his sides, nails digging into palms as the anxiety and fear course through him, causing his heart to beat faster and his breathing to shallow.
"Wait a minute."
John realises something suddenly, he observes the lack of physical touch, the shaking form of Sherlock's fist out of longing, as if the detective is forcing his body not to touch the doctor.
John is reveling in confusion. The pair of them gravitate towards each other all the time even before they became lovers, and most of the time it is subconsciously. Now, the genius is deliberately forcing himself not to touch the detective.
Of course, John automatically thinks the worse. The detective is angry, probably for putting him to sleep during a perfectly good argument. Or Sherlock could be sad, sad at the betrayal, maybe even sad that John made a deal, a forced deal mind him, a deal with Mycroft.
"Sherlock doesn't even know about that...yet." John reminds himself. John takes a second to adds this to his list of things to freak out about. He is right, Sherlock doesn't know that John practically agreed to let Mycroft find out everything about the telepath in exchange for their freedom. John can't wait for that conversation.
The lack of intimate touch is still unsatisfactory and undiscovered.
John eyes find Sherlock's again. Gray eyes stare back at him and John jumps a little at the vulnerability radiating from the pupils with trepidation.
John scoots closer to the genius, his own eyes worried at the distress. Sherlock's eyes widen slightly and his attempts to move back at John's forward march. John stills, having moved maybe an inch and can't help but keep the hurt from his own face.
The detective's fist clench against his own chest, his knuckles white and flexing uncontrollably. John regards the younger man's face, it's soft and tender, sadness, apprehension and longing are painted with obvious care.
"Ah." John's voice is hoarse and he suddenly wonders how long he had been unconscious. John sighs, Sherlock has ceased contact because he is afraid, afraid to hurt John.
The doctor smiles weakly and rolls on his side, his arm abruptly cups the detective's cheek, moving tenderly, yet swiftly, allowing no time for Sherlock to escape the grip. Sherlock instinctively closes his eyes and leans into the touch, his whole body relaxing and his fists loosening with pacifistic ease.
John feels the warmth that he is craving, but the lilac and honey are distant, subtle. Sherlock's vibrancy is missing, missing or purposefully held back. The doctor tries to dig deep, looking for happy memories to soothe the detective and honestly, himself. The doctor knows Sherlock is holding his thoughts back, his mind is blank, not darkness like when he was in a coma but just blank, as if Sherlock has a fortified his memories and caused them to be impenetrably silent.
"I'm fine." John says quietly, and for the most part, the doctor is fine. A tiny throb of a headache that is going away swiftly is the only evidence of an episode. Sherlock just nods tenuously into John's hand, as if he is unsure of the truthfulness of John's statement.
The detective, with his eyes still closed, grabs John's wrist rapidly, yet gently, anchoring the doctor to him, as if the lack of contact is too much for the young man.
The doctor knows how emotionally vulnerable Sherlock gets, the self-proclaimed sociopath is just uniquely good at suppressing all emotions in public. Once the two of them are alone, his mask comes down, not alarmingly but enough that John knows how false the 'sociopath' thing is.
It's a rare form to see the genius so emotionally naked. It still catches John off guard, that Sherlock can feel so deeply, and even still, feel so deeply for someone like John.
The doctor closes the much too big gap between them. Soon, their bodies are pushed together, John's knees curled into Sherlock's thigh. John grabs Sherlock and pulls him closer so the man's head is laying on John's good shoulder. Sherlock lets go of John's wrist and flings his arm around the doctor's waist, completing the embrace. Sherlock yanks John even closer, nuzzling his head into John shoulder.
"Everything is fine. Mycroft won't hurt us." John says soothingly, trying to break through Sherlock's silence, both mentally and physically. Sherlock's mind still stays silent.
"I know." Sherlock's voice is a little hoarse, the detective hasn't spoken in hours, his voice is small yet stubborn.
"Do you now?" John can't help but raise a brow at the man.
"The likelihood that Mycroft would have...kept you from me is very low, statistically speaking." Sherlock spews out rapidly yet with perfect articulation.
"ah, there is the Sherlock we all know and love." John smiles into Sherlock's hair.
"But that's not what has got you scared." It's a statement and Sherlock knows it.
"No." Sherlock answers simply and sighs. John grips the detective's chin and moves it up to look into Sherlock's eyes.
"What?" John asks, his eyes conveying understanding and reassurance.
Sherlock just stares into John for minutes before speaking. "They seem to be getting worse." is all Sherlock says, before gently removing his chin out of John's grip and lowering it, resting his head back onto John's shoulder.
John just hums in agreement. It's true, the attacks are getting worse. They are getting bloodier and the headaches seem to hurt more and come harder each time, even harder than we he used to be hospitalized for the blackouts. In contrast, however, he knows more about his gift now and knows what he is capable of, not to mention that he doesn't even bother with the hospitals anymore. He's more comfortable and confident with his gift now, it's different.
"Yes. But it's more complex now." John states, conflicted about how to explain the difference. "You've helped me learn more about my gift, more about myself than I ever thought possible. It's worth the risk."
"But at what consequences?" Sherlock's voice twitches with a hint of anger, his shoulders tensing slightly.
John wraps his arm around the detective, speechless, trying to soothe the tension out of the younger man.
"I didn't know what happened. Once moment I was at Mycrofts, furious with him and the next I see you on the floor, bleeding and shaking," Sherlock's voice is small and full of raw emotion, John resists the temptation of probing his mind again, to see the image of himself in such a state.
"I sorry." John says, nuzzling his head into Sherlock's dark hair. He didn't intend for the consequences of his blatant disrespect for his health to traumatize the detective but it did and that is now John's fault. "I was worried that you were in a coma." John offers, his voice weak with shame.
"You knew that you weren't at best condition." Sherlock says. He is definitely angry now. "You knew and you still did it."
"I'm sorry." John remarks again. "It was the only thing I could think of."
Sherlock huffs with indignation and John rolls his eyes.
"I won't do it again." John adds.
"Yes you will." Sherlock states, "If the situation comes up between my health and your own you will always chose me over you. Just like you did with the guards."
It's true, John would do anything to protect Sherlock, anything.
"I don't like feeling like that John, helpless." Sherlock adds, tilting his chin up, looking into John's eyes. "That's why I think we should stop experimenting and reading thoughts."
John reels from the detective statements. The doctor doesn't know what is more surprising the fact that Sherlock is turning down dozens of potential experiments or the fact that Sherlock cares so deeply about John's well-being that he is willing to throw out the numerous future experiments.
"Wait. What?" John exasperates, this is not anything what he wanted.
"It's too dangerous." Sherlock states simply, his gray eyes piercing with uncompromising stiffness.
"They help." John says defiantly, his own voice now stubborn. "I wouldn't have been able to hear you at Mycroft's without them. I wouldn't be this far, this skilled, if we hadn't experimented." John cries.
"Irrelevant," Sherlock says simply.
"Irrelevant? I wouldn't have been able to save us if we didn't practice, we'd be doing more harm by not continuing." John shouts desperately. His own mind panicking at Sherlock's decision.
John sighs at the sudden realisation of irony back when Sherlock found out. John had stated that there would no experiments and now John is fighting to keep them.
"No. It's not safe anymore. I'm not risking you getting hurt because of the experiments and what they lead to in practical situations." Sherlock remarks.
"Practical situations. You mean reality?" John questions incredulously, "We wouldn't have gotten away from Mycroft, or the man who broke into the flat, we would have been dead without the experiments," John huffs, now he is growing angry.v"Besides, it's my mental health, you can't make this decision for me."
"Who are you kidding Watson? Since when does Sherlock, or hell, both the Holmes brothers every let you make your own decisions." John thinks with annoyance.
"Regardless, I'm not doing them anymore, they are not safe for you." Sherlock adds, his tone conversational, like he has already won, and he has, John knows it, he can see it in the detective's pleading eyes. John melts into the eyes.
"Fine." John spits, knowing that he lost, but that doesn't mean he has to like it. He pushes himself out of the embrace gently, with just enough force to show his disgruntlement. He rolls onto his side away from the detective.
Sherlock sighs but lets go.
Minutes later, a door below slams shuts loudly.
"Mycroft's men are gone." Sherlock remarks with obvious uneasiness, apprehensive of the tension in the room.
"I know." John says, he had been monitoring them all along. The doctor sighs with resignation, he scoots closer to the detective, letting his anger subside slightly. It's not worth the fight, John knows the reason why Sherlock is being stubborn and he respects the detective's reasons. Besides, he also knows how bored Sherlock can get, it won't be long before the detective comes begging for an experiment or at least until John dangles an entertaining distraction.
John's not one for manipulation but the doctor might have the right ammunition to push Sherlock in his favor. The secret locations of the cameras in the flat that Mycroft's men have just finished planting.