Okay, so I'm between the final meeting between Moriarty all about John or all about Sherlock.
With John, Tipear suggested that Moriarty kidnaps John out of boredom or curiosity and Sherlock finds him and they defeat Moriarty. (Or they push Moriarty out of the country so he can come back for a sequel?)
With Sherlock, Lisa suggested making it more about Sherlock and I was thinking about Sherlock getting kidnapped in a final battle of wits with Moriarty and John coming to save the day.
I can honestly see it going both ways. What do you guys think? Do you have any other suggestions.
Also, With this chapter, I realised that no one has been mortally wounded lately and I'm all one for injury h/c so here we go.
Reviews are mint. I love you guys for really taking the time to comment and give me ideas, it really helps.
Warning for language and violence, you've been warned.
Peace&Love
Sophie
"Mycroft." Sherlock greets bitterly, turning his head towards the door. It's Saturday morning, and the two of them are case free. Sherlock just having taken down a brutal serial killer earlier yesterday afternoon and the both of them are now resting, much to the pleasure of John and his tea.
Obviously, as it is with Fate, when Mycroft is involved, Saturdays are evidently not meant to restful for John.
The doctor tenses involuntarily as the politician enters the sitting room, his umbrella tuck against his side like usual.
The elder Holmes sits down on the settee wordlessly, his movements undemanding and non-threatening. John may be on good terms with Mycroft but it still angers the doctor at the man's audacity to barge into their flat unannounced.
Instead of voicing his anger, John plops down into his chair, next to the detective and opposite the politician, not really sure what to expect.
"John," Mycroft starts, looking toward the doctor, shifting uncomfortably, "I'm here to learn about the rest of your rules." The words come out in a whisper and John, for a second, doesn't realise that Mycroft even spoke.
"Mycroft." Sherlock speaks first with a hiss, his body no longer slouching. "No."
The politician sighs and squeezes his umbrella, his knuckles white. John just stares in shock.
"It won't be like last time, I promise." The politician remarks. "Yeah right."
John watches in silent contemplation.
"Mycroft, are you demanding or asking?" John asks, sending a wave of calm and smug confusion to Sherlock. "Hold on, I want to see this."
"John." If it was anyone but the elder Holmes, John could have sworn that Mycroft is whining.
"This is a bad idea." Sherlock's thoughts are logical and cold.
John sends a wave of smug happiness. "Yes, probably."
John raises an eyebrow at the politician expectantly.
"Fine." The elder Holmes says a tad petulantly. "John, would you please tel me more about your...gift?" and John's pretty sure that Mycroft had to resist the urge to huff with annoyance and defeat.
John laughs, the elder Holmes scoffs and turns his head away from the two men in front of him.
"Well, since you asked so nicely." John says nonchalantly. Mycroft's head snaps back and looks at the doctor, a slight gleam in his eyes. The politician clears his throat and his face snaps back into his neutral cold gaze. John pretends not to notice the elder Holmes leaning forward in excitement.
Sherlock, however, notices too, and he will not let it idle. The detective scoffs in surprise and John is immediate in his actions. He sends defiance and disapproving disappointment, reaching across the gap between the chairs and placing a hand on the detective's bare arm. John reiterates his emotions of defiance, disapproving disappointment and adds a hint of reluctance. "Be nice and shut up, I want to see this." By touching the detective, the emotions are more potent and Sherlock calms immediately, his body relaxing, his mind slowing very faintly, enough to let any jabs the detective might have, leave his mind.
The detective gapes at the doctor with an open mouth, his eyes pleading. The stormy gray dilate into the detective's adorable puppy-dogged state. John just shakes his head with a lot of self-control and force whilst he sends a defiant unhappiness. "Definitely not."
"Fine!" The detective huffs, slouching into his chair yanking his arm out of John's grip and crossing them in annoyance.
John chuckles rescinding his arm back towards his body.
Mycroft raises an eyebrow and looks between the couple."You have tactile connections?" The politician asks, genuinely surprised.
"Yes." John responds sliding back into his chair comfortably.
What was that?" Mycroft asks, "When you touched Sherlock?"
"I calmed him down." John states nonchalantly.
"John, you never told me you could do that, let alone have tactile connections." Mycroft observes.
"Well, you never asked, and the last time we had this type of conversation you forced me into someone's mind for the purposes of the British Government. I wasn't very keen on informing you of the aspects of my gift." John snaps back bitterly. He looks at Mycroft, the politician cowers his head in shame. These emotions are are so foreign for John to see in a Holmes that John head is whirling with amazement.
"Aspects? As in plural?" Mycroft asks coldly, gaining his normal calculating attitude back after a few minutes.
"You have a lot to learn, brother." Sherlock states, chuckling, before standing up and moving to find his violin, or at least that what John sees in Sherlock's mind, beside the proclamations of boredom and annoyance.
John laughs, the elder Holmes scoffs.
"Start from the beginning." Mycroft asks politely and for a moment John actually trust the politician, the screaming matches that they've had for months, long forgotten and the politician actually curious and wanting to help.
So, John tells Mycroft everything. John shares the aspects of his gift, he reiterates the white noise and the actually mind reading and adds on the information about the tactile connections. The telepath even informs the elder Holmes about the senses of mental taste and smell that John gets when he probes minds. Mycroft is especially happy when John conveys that the politician's senses consist of chocolate and caramel, which just got an indignant huff from a surprisingly patient Sherlock who is cradling the violin but not playing it the entire time John and Mycroft chat.
The older man doesn't asks for any demonstrations this time, he just listens politely. John acquaints the politician with his ability to convey emotions which Mycroft remembers with all true familiarity.
John even tells Mycroft about the emotional code, exemplifying the basics. Happiness for yes and unhappiness for no and at Sherlock's mental insistence, John pushes irritation into the older Holmes's brain and then precedes to tell his brother cheekily that annoyance is the code for Mycroft. The politician didn't comment and instead ignore his brother and asked John for information about more of the code.
Which John reluctantly supplied, getting kind of uneasy about sharing something like this with another person that isn't Sherlock. The detective, however, is oddly encouraging, although John would call it more along the lines of bragging but if it makes the chat go faster and Sherlock is okay with his brother knowing, then, by all means, John is up for it, anything to get this conversation and any future ones over with.
Lastly, John finishes with the rest of the rules, explaining them as he did before and even telling Mycroft of the two new ones. John even starts with the two newest rules, the ones about negative emotions and the boundaries of his calming powers, because they are the most recent. After those, John informs the elder Holmes about his latex rule, doubling up on gloves he explains the reasons behind it how unprepared broken connections are painful. He then shares his rule about keeping the gift a secret, which is obvious to Mycroft. The last thing John shares is the limits of his gifts. The doctor explains about the nosebleeds and what happens if John over exerts himself.
John finishes with an exhausted smirk, they've been talking for the better part of three hours and most of it was John.
"Thank you John, I know that must have been difficult." Mycroft states standing up, getting ready to leave and John sends relief to Sherlock.
John stands up also to follow the man out politely.
"But," Mycroft starts once they reach the landing, John stiffens, his body tensing and some part of his brain telling him that he should have been prepared for this. The visit didn't result in a screaming match or fists, it is too good to be true. "You left out rule ten." Mycroft adds looking at the doctor expectantly.
John laughs, a long and hearty laugh that causes the attention of Sherlock to peek his head outside the sitting room door and gaze into the landing that Mycroft and John stand on.
"I want to know all the rules, John." Mycroft states with a soft demanding tone.
John snorts, "Yes, I'm aware, Mycroft." he sneers, "It's just that Rule #10 doesn't apply anymore."
Mycroft raises his eyebrow. "Rule 10 states that Sherlock must never find out."
A week or two passes...
"We are really in trouble now." John thinks to himself as he watches one of the men smash his and Sherlock's mobile against the dirt ground. It now lays in a pile of bits and pieces, no use to anyone.
The doctor sends shame and anxiety into Sherlock. "Shite." They are so screwed.
John knew they shouldn't have followed the gang into the industrial complex, he knew it was a bad idea, especially since they didn't tell anybody they were going.
But with a mental "Come along, John." The doctor would follow the detective into a volcano.
Except volcanoes would kill instantly, now they are deep within one of the warehouses, staring down the barrels of several guns, enticing a slow death in the face.
Five men, each armed with their own guns, stand in front of John and Sherlock. The doctor and his detective have been forced on their knees whilst another two men behind them retrain them with ropes. The soldier doesn't struggle, he listens to Sherlock's thoughts instead, following the detective's deductions as he tries to formulate a plan.
Sherlock's thoughts are a mess and show defeat. The detective sends a sideways glance towards the doctor after a few minutes. If his thoughts didn't express it, that look did. Sherlock Holmes does not know what to do.
They are completely and thoroughly outnumbered.
The leader steps forward and opens his mouth to talk.
"Do it." Sherlock's thoughts command and John doesn't hesitate, he ignores the man starting to talk. Sherlock distracts the man whilst John opens connections around the area, finding each mind. He pauses for a second, thinking about the safest way to go about it so John doesn't have an attack.
The best way to do it would to be one at a time, calm each person to a certain point, enough for disorientation, one at a time, breaking and starting a new connection each time and then at the end, when they are all confused, make them sleep one by one again. By the time the last person succumbs to sleep, none of them would have known what hit them.
Easy enough.
As fate would have it, a sound beside the doctor suspends John's plan.
He snaps his head to the side to see the leader pushing his gun into Sherlock's neck. John's mind erupts in anger and targets the leader first. The man, a short, disgusting pudgy man straightens in confusion. John focuses slowly on him, his anger in control for a moment. The man's eyes go unfocused and John stops, he moves on to each of the other men, disorienting them.
A sudden pain in the back of John's head stops him. The force of it, knocking John forward so he face plants onto the ground, his body turning so he lands with his back to Sherlock.
"John!" Sherlock exclaims out loud and John tries to roll more onto his side, through the pain in his head, which he can already feel the blood starting to flow.
"Now I'm going to ask again." The doctor hears the short man say through gritted teeth. "Why does my head feel fuzzy? What kind of voodoo tricks are you playing on me? Do I need to beat it out of your partner here to get you to tell me Sherlock?"
John, through his pain sends a shaky wave of relief to the detective. "Thank god they don't know."
In the daze of pain, John wonders idly why everyone assumes it's Sherlock with the super powers.
Another sudden bursting pain finds John's side abruptly, tearing him out of his wondering. John looks down awkwardly, just in time to see the blade of a shimmering knife being pulled out of his right side. John just stares in shock and pain as one of the gang members backs up, the blood dripping from the blade.
"John." Sherlock's thoughts are worried and panicked.
Blood seeps out of the doctor's side and flows freely down his face from the head wound. John knew this was a bad idea, but nonetheless the telepath sends a shaky wave of reassuring contentment to the detective. "I'm fine. It's okay." The doctor writhes uncontrollably.
"You are a terrible liar, John." The detective is feeling guilty and panicked. John doesn't move, the pain in his side overtaking him, far worse than the headache throbbing painfully in his head.
"Tell me!" The pudgy man demands, pushing the gun once again into the detective's neck.
John has to do something, nobody knows where they are, there is no hope of rescue, especially not in time, with John's stab wound deep and bleeding heavily.
Nobody except John, who happens to be so angry and protective that the decision is easy.
In one swift moment, finding the seven minds, John sends one powerful wave of deep calm. The men drop rapidly, each creating a thud sound as they hit the dirt ground, not one of them knowing what hit them.
John can feel the over exertion immediately but no additional pain comes and John is confused for a second by that, before he is interrupted by the screaming of the pudgy leader.
"You are bewitched!" The man says sleepily, his arms flailing, the gun being aimed all over the place. A sudden bang erupts in the warehouse and then the man falls into his slumber.
"Sherlock! Sherlock!" John calls loudly, against all odds. Now his head hurts, the pain that should have happened is growing steadily and rapidly into his mind. The detective doesn't respond and John panics. He digs into the detective's mind, bypass the lilac/honey, looking only for the pain.
John almost blacks out between finding Sherlock's pain and the doctor's own agony. The soldier has to retreat quickly before the pain renders him unconscious and therefore useless. John calls for the detective again but no answer. The doctor, with as much power as he can muster rolls onto his back.
"AHHHHHH!" John screams and bites his lip. The stab wound pangs at him, the blood soaking his jumper. John finally gets into a position where he can see the detective. John screams and shouts for the detective but Sherlock doesn't move, his body is limp and John can see the blood soaking his shirt somewhere in his midsection and the doctor hopes it missed everything major.
"SHERLOCK!" John calls again. He wriggles painfully trying to get out of his binds. The rope rubs against him but John ignores it. His face winces and contorts in turmoil. It's useless. John looks around for something sharp, anything. The man that stabbed John is millimeters away, one roll and John could reach his knife laying sheathed in it's belt.
John stares at the distance with apprehension and sheer terror. This is going to hurt.
John steels himself and on the count of three he rolls himself toward the knife.
"FUCK! AHHHHHHH JESUS! SHITE!" John yells as he rolls, the pain almost blinding. John feels the beads of sweat and the flow of blood increase. He gets as close as he can to the man, laying beside him, the hands behind his back reaching for the knife, John pushing through his torture the only way a soldier could. Finally, John clutches the still bloody knife by it's hilt, pulling it out of it's casing.
"Fuck." John exclaims as he clumsily cuts himself on the blade as the doctor tries to maneuver it to cut his binds.
With painful exertion and leverage, John saws at his restraints.
Eventually, the ropes go slack. John brings his injured hand to his front, curling it against his torso.
The doctor is breathing heavily, the blood from his head wound making his vision misty and the sting in his side growing worse, not to mention the fact that his nose has now begun to bleed from the mental exertion.
The doctor is not in the best shape. John lays briefly, letting the pain overtake him, almost willing to just fall asleep, it feels so nice.
"No, Watson. Get your arse up, Sherlock needs you." John yells at himself and after two attempts he stands up feebly, his movements are jerky and weak. He grips his side, trying to staunch the blood as he moves.
In four steps he is next to the detective.
"Sherlock." John exhales and falls to the ground next to the genius, almost falling on top of him. Sherlock doesn't move, John's hands go to work. He immediately lifts Sherlock's shirt and finds the wound, the blood soaking everything. John clamps his hands to the wound, pushing hard, trying to get the blood to stop. The contact sends John painfully into Sherlock's mind. The detective is full of pain, but no thoughts come. Through the suffering, John digs down and finds calm memories and bring them forward without hesitation.
The doctor is going to collapse from his pain, from the exhaustion and mental limitations and then Sherlock will die.
What can he do?
A small idea pops into John's mind, a crazy and maybe impossible idea.
Mycroft.
The telepath wastes no time and breaks the painful connection with Sherlock, keeping the pressure on his stomach. The genius needs help immediately.
John concentrates hard, not even sure if he can link their brains this far away. John tells himself that the range could be a Holmsian attribute and with that hope, John fills his mind with Mycroft's senses and looks for his familiar connection.
Against all odds, and John's own doubts, the doctor finds the politician, how he does it is incomprehensible and for another day, but right now John lets the chocolate and caramel combination fill him.
The politician's mind is rapidly playing as usual, but John slows down, the rubber band tensing.
John lists forward in agony, his mind and body shutting down.
"No, not yet." John yells at himself.
"John. What are you doing?" Mycroft thoughts sting horribly and the force of them make John's vision blur. John continues regardless.
John sends a wave of unadulterated pain and helplessness into the elder Holmes, hoping the Mycroft remembers their conversation of emotional codes.
"Are you hurt?" Mycroft's thoughts ask and John almost cries in relief. John mindlessly presses harder onto Sherlock, blood pooling beneath the two of them.
John sends happiness and then more pain and helplessness to back it up.
"Happiness is yes, right?" John sends a wave of euphoria and happiness and pride, any emotion to make Mycroft understand.
"Okay, Okay, Is Sherlock with you?" Happiness and the more pain.
"He is hurt." John send happiness again then a wave of pain that measured out what Sherlock is feeling.
"Where are you?" John sends happiness to convey that he knows where they are at, but how does he inform Mycroft the GPS coordinates over emotions, so instead he sends irritation.
"Okay, I know, yes and no questions." John sends a wave of happiness.
"John, I can see you and Sherlock headed west on a street, towards warehouses." John almost explodes in relief and he sends that relief to Mycroft. John careens forward again before he catches himself, John sends a painful impatience. "Hurry up, Mycroft, I won't last and neither will Sherlock."
"You are in one of those warehouses?" John sends happiness for clarification.
"Which one?" John send irritation again.
"Sorry, from the right, in happiness, which number warehouse are you in?" John focuses, as they entered they area, there were five warehouses, they went into the one in the middle, the third one. John sends one burst of happiness and then another burst and then the next before going silent.
"The third warehouse?" John sends happiness.
There is nothing left, adrenaline is so long gone that John is running purely on force of will and it's slipping. John's hands are losing their force
"John, you are fading. Why?" John just sends a brief stream of pain.
"Stay conscious John. I'm almost there." John sends relief and then tries calling for the detective. John sends panic to Mycroft, he can feel the connection getting weaker. His hands slip and John falls on top of the detective, he screams in pain and subconsciously sends some into the link. John can't get up, he is stuck in a wave of pain and complete exhaustion. His force of will is gone.
"John, hang on. I'm coming." Panic emits from the politician.
Mycroft's panicked thoughts are the last thing John feels before succumbing to the cliched black. Anything, John thinks, feels better than the endless pain.
Mycroft runs into the warehouse, a flank of armed men behind him.
"John? Sherlock?" The politician bellows. Mycroft can no longer feel the poking of his brain and is thinking the worse.
The elder Holmes hears the sirens of ambulances (that Mycroft thought ahead and called en route) pull into the complex.
The warehouse is a maze but Mycroft has the blueprints and runs for the most likely place the doctor and his younger brother would be held.
Mycroft pushes a door open and runs into the only open space in the entire warehouse. The politician freezes. Bodies lay everywhere, all still, all of them without evidence of a wound.
"John is a lot more powerful than I thought." Mycroft thinks to himself. As his employees fan out around Mycroft, the politician searches for the people that matter.
He finds them in the middle of the room. Blood is everywhere, trails of it tell exactly how John drug himself, then rolled himself and then stood moving towards the detective.
Mycroft runs over to the unconscious bodies.
John lays on top of the detective, both men soaked with red.
"Here." Mycroft commands to his employees, pulling John off of Sherlock and placing him flat. John remains motionless as does the detective.
Paramedics are next to Mycroft in an instant, the politician stands up and watches from a far as each man has their own set of paramedics, their hands all over John and Sherlock. An unconscious scream erupts from the doctor and Mycroft leans down next to John.
"John, John can you hear me?" Mycroft calls, careful not to touch the man. John writhes and struggles as the paramedic jumps around his body, putting pressure on the knife wound. Through all of this, John doesn't answer and he writhes and screams each time he is touched.
A memory hits Mycroft, one where John is talking of latex gloves and broken tactile connections. Mycroft extends his hand out abruptly, catching on of the paramedics wrist in his grip.
"Sir?" The paramedic huffs in surprise, gently pulling her grip away. The other paramedics working on John have since stopped and are watching the exchange with tension.
"All of you need to triple up in gloves." The politician commands, leaving no room for argument. He lets go of the wrist and watches as each of the paramedics comply through a haze, each reaching into their medic bag and quickly putting on more latex gloves. Now, when John is touched, he doesn't scream and his face doesn't contort in agony, instead the doctor twitches slightly. Mycroft hopes it is enough.
Soon the two men are on stretchers and escorted through the warehouse and to ambulances.
Mycroft ignores the littered bodies around him and the potential bureaucratic pile of bollocks he'll have to deal with later and follows the medics out.
Finally, they reach the surface and Mycroft breaths in relief, he gazes as the men are loaded.
A presence beside him doesn't even jostle the politician, as he watches the cars drive away, their sirens blaring there lights illuminated the street.
Not until he hears words does the elder Holmes act.
"Sir, the car is over here." Anthea says gently.
Without responding, Mycroft, his suit bloodied, runs to the sedan and they immediately take off towards the hospital, his umbrella resting against his restless knees, twisting the fabric with anxiety, giving anything to here his brother's voice or even John's intruding emotions.
What do you think?
I hope its okay.