Author's Note:
You get to see Sherlock be a BAMF in the first part of this chapter. Enjoy!
"That looks like him. He was with that Captain so it's got to be him," one man muttered as he hauled Sherlock into the back seat of the Jeep. "Obviously a Holmes. Dark hair, long face, tall as Hell. No doubt." He smiled and motioned toward the phone in the front seat. "Grab the phone, it has the Captain's number in it. I snatched it off the older one." When the phone was tossed into the back seat the man snapped a picture of Sherlock shoved uncomfortably into the car and sent a picture to the number labeled 'John Watson' with a small laugh. "C'mon, let's go before they come back."
The group had patrolled the area without success, trudging back toward camp when John felt the cell phone Mycroft had given him vibrate in his pocket. That was odd. He moved one hand from his assault rifle to pull the object from his pocket and open the text. What he saw made him stop cold. His fiancé, hands tied and tossed in the back of some car.
Found your little toy, Captain Watson. Probably shouldn't leave things like this unprotected in the middle of the desert.
His knees buckled and he fell to the ground, Hollman at his side pulling him up with shouts that he couldn't make out.
The four men entered a small abandoned house, one throwing Sherlock into a corner with a small grunt. "Hey, get up!" He kicked Sherlock in the stomach and crouched down to study the consulting detective. "I said get the fuck up." He tangled a hand in Sherlock's hair and yanked his head up.
Pain brought Sherlock back to consciousness with a groan. His eyes struggled to open and it took a moment to focus his gaze on his tormentor. "Wha?" He managed to slur out. He was disoriented and confused. He was forced to his feet by whoever was pulling on his hair. His head was pounding. Oh right. Gun to the head will do that. His chest hurt too. That was new. Probably got kicked at some point. Lovely. He tried to tune out the pain his body was screaming at him, and focus on his captors and began to deduce everything he could about them.
"Good morning," the man grinned and patted Sherlock's cheek. "So Captain Watson just went off without you, did he? And we've got something to solve. He killed our friend Sebastian and you killed Moriarty." A hand tightened against Sherlock's neck, slamming him back into the wall. "And we've got a fancy plan to bring him here and get you both in one go. Like the sound of that?" He held the cell phone up and hit the 'call' button, putting it on speaker right as John answered.
"Sherlock? Sherlock, are you there?" His voice was worried, he was panting, and the voices of men planning were echoing in from the background.
The man smirked and nodded toward the phone, mouthing 'talk' as he held the cell phone close to Sherlock's mouth.
What? John didn't kill Moran. One of his own sniper's did. People really should get their facts straight before saying things to make themselves look stupid. Sherlock's thought process was cut short as he found himself gasping for breath and slammed against a wall. Fuck this guy. He wouldn't play their game, not even with a gun to his head. He rushed out the words as fast as he could so the message would get through. "Stay away. Trap."
John had barely caught the words by the time the phone call ended and he was left staring at the screen.
"The fuck? You asking to get killed?" The man tossed the phone on the floor and rushed Sherlock, pinning him against the wall with a growl. "Tell me about him, why don't you? Before we hunt him down ourselves. Your darling little future husband. He's got a kid on the way, doesn't he?" He gave another tug to Sherlock's hair and pressed his nose against Sherlock's cheek. "This isn't the time to be acting like some sort of hero, Sherlock Holmes. We'll get both of you."
Despite the pain and torment his body was going through, Sherlock laughed. He looked up to his captor, a strange smirk on his face. "You think you can threaten me, by using them? You are wrong. Kill me, fine. I won't give you anything. You clearly haven't done your homework. Do you have any idea who my family is? What will happen to you?" He laughed some more. He wasn't bluffing either. Between his older brother and father, he almost pitied these guys. Mycroft may be a Government suit but he was dangerous nonetheless and his father was just well him. Such a perilous situation shouldn't be so funny, but he was still laughing. Something he was sure would only get more pain inflicted upon him. However, if he continued to fuel their rage they would get sloppy and he may be able to gain an edge.
Laughing? That caused the man's blood to boil, a growl escaping his mouth as he grabbed Sherlock by the body armor and lifted him from the ground. "I'm going to kill you. Nice and slow, make you scream." He crouched slightly and tossed Sherlock into the air toward the center of the room. "And send it to your... what's that you call him? Your 'dear doctor'?" A laugh echoed through the room. "I'm that sniper that was supposed to kill your darling little pet, Holmes. I'm the one that shot Sebastian. And I need to get rid of Watson because he knows too much." He lifted his foot and placed it on Sherlock's cheek, pressing his head into the floor.
That was about the response he expected. Well, pissing this guy off was sure easy enough. The pain was excruciating by now but that wasn't important right now. If Mycroft was smart, he would have contacted Dad again and the whole building would blow up, preferably without him in it but his father wasn't known for being patient. He had certainly gotten his reckless nature from the Colonel. His hands behind his back searched the floor and found a piece of glass and began to use it to cut through the rope on his wrists. Time, he needed to buy a little more time. By his calculation, his dad's people should be showing up within five minutes or less. All this was based on assumptions with no data to back it up. He just had to hope Mycroft had made the call.
After a long moment the man glanced into the rest of the house and walked away with a disinterested grunt.
John had followed Mycroft with his group of men, a few men added in and Sherlock's father tagging behind. The plan was relatively simple: Sherlock's Dad and his three men would storm the back of the house while John and his men went in with the sole purpose of rescuing Sherlock.
When the man returned with a hot cup of water, bending to lift Sherlock's shirt and pour the boiling water on to his skin, he suddenly noticed something was wrong. Movement. It was outside and that wasn't normal. The door burst open and John rushed in, gun raised with a single shot fired. The man fell on top of Sherlock with a 'thud,' blood pouring from his neck.
"Sherlock? Sherlock!" John threw his helmet off as more gunshots went off in the back of the house, dropping to his knees and tossing the dead body off of his fiancé. "Oh, Christ, Sherlock." He winced at the hot skin on Sherlock's stomach. "Are you alright?" He was shouting above all the commotion.
Free. His hands were finally free. Sherlock was about to shank the guy with the blade of glass in the stomach, but suddenly the man was dead and the cup of water dropped from the dead man's grasp. He didn't have time to move and hissed with pain as the hot water seeped through his shirt where the body armor didn't protect him. Which was pretty much his lower stomach because there wasn't body armor long enough for someone of his size apparently. Between his head pounding, his ribs, his stomach, his whole body aching, he found it difficult to focus. He was safe now, so there was no point in keeping it together. "Wha took yaslong?" He muttered before falling unconscious.
John wanted to keep him awake, to shake Sherlock, but the state he was in was horrible. He handed his gun off to Hollman and maneuvered Sherlock over his shoulders, bending Sherlock at his stomach around his neck. "C'mon, let's get the fuck out of here," he grunted. It was several miles until they were back at the camp but John ignored the burning in his legs, his head lowered as he carried his fiance across the desert. All of the talking behind him was ignored, the horrid comments from Sherlock's father even drowned out.
The moment they were back on the base John carried Sherlock to the infirmary, moving quickly and stripping Sherlock of his clothes. He cleaned his wounds, treated the burns on his stomach and hand, and hooked him up to an I-V It wasn't until John fell into the chair beside the bed that he realized how exhausted he was. "Sorry, Sherlock. I'm sorry." He rested his head beside Sherlock's hip, holding his hand and stoking his thumb across his knuckles, and fell asleep instantly.
Siger Holmes was talking to his eldest son. "When your younger brother wakes, you get him the hell out of here, you understand? He can't go two seconds without getting himself into some kind of trouble. That Captain of his is lucky I don't have him court marshaled. He left a civilian alone and unarmed in the middle of the desert." The Colonel was clearly agitated. "I swear to God Mycroft, if you call me a third time I'm not coming. I have more important things going on than having to worry about my boys out here in this shit hole." It was the closest he would ever get to admitting he cared about his sons. He slapped Mycroft on the back and then walked away to his chopper that was waiting for him.
Sherlock wasn't sure how long he slept, but when he awoken his body was still aching. It hurt to try and move so he didn't bother trying. He stared up the ceiling, when he became aware of someone holding his hand. He gave it a faint squeeze. "John?"
Mycroft watched his father leave, glancing toward Sherlock and John with a sigh. It was only natural with those two that they were constantly in trouble. One was in the middle of the war and the other was constantly fighting his own. He had been about to leave the room when he heard Sherlock speak. It was quiet and he was sure John wasn't going to wake up, the soldier was lightly snoring with his face pressed against the mattress.
"He's asleep, Sherlock." Mycroft walked toward the bed and flashed a tight smile toward his younger brother. "Are you feeling alright? You've been through quite a lot in the past few hours."
Sherlock turned to look at Mycroft. "Dad didn't go in blowing everything up. He is either getting soft in his old age or he is slipping." He gave a small laugh but regretted it when his chest hurt from the effort. He cut it short with a cough. "Oh..also…sorry for sucker punching you earlier…" He coughed again and turned his head away.
"I convinced him not to. John and I did, actually. The risk of possible injury to you was too high," Mycroft explained, smiling a bit at Sherlock's laughter but frowning the moment he heard Sherlock's cough. It was then that Mycroft laughed, lifting a hand to rub against the deep purple bruise on his cheek. "It's fine, Sherlock. You were upset, it's fine. It was nice to see a bit of emotion from you, to be honest. Hadn't seen it since we were younger." His eyes traveled to John who had shifted slightly in his sleep, the muscles in his face tightening as his grip on Sherlock's hand did the same. "Dad was thinking about court marshaling him, Sherlock. He left you in the middle of the desert without an escort or a weapon. He put you in serious danger."
Sherlock's eyes narrowed for a moment as he listened to Mycroft speak, but then gave a small smile. "Dad's definitely going soft then." With a bit of effort and groan of pain, he shifted so he could see John. "He didn't mean to. He thought he was protecting me at the time. Keeping me safe. Admittedly, it was a tactical error but don't hold it against him. I don't." He rolled back over onto his back, because it didn't hurt as much at being propped up on his side.
"I will continue to be slightly upset with him. It is a bit upsetting, to be honest. He should know better." Mycroft paused for a moment before his cell phone started to ring and he politely left the room.
"Well, fuck him," John muttered, lifting his head with a smirk before yawning. "You doing okay, then? I took care of you the best I could." He stood and pulled his hand away from Sherlock's, inspecting his body closely. The guilt that shot through John's stomach at seeing the injuries on Sherlock caused him to visibly wince. "Christ, Sherlock, I'm sorry."
"I'm in some pain but I'll be fine. I've been in worse shape." Sherlock wondered if this would ever be over. He made a mental note to talk to Mycroft about the information he had learned while being held captive and tortured. He couldn't discuss it would John. The army doctor would only worry. "John, I know we were going to try and make plans to see each other in another three months but with Sarah pregnant, there is a lot that needs to be done. A lot that needs to be taken care of." What Sherlock didn't mention was that he was worried that more of Moriarty's people were out there. Watching. Waiting. It was a possibility.
The look that John gave Sherlock was hurt but he puffed out his chest with a sure nod. "Right. Of course. I mean, it would be best. Good. Very good." He blew the air noisily from his mouth and ran a hand through his short hair. It was true, John didn't want to admit it, but he was upset that he wouldn't be able to see Sherlock for the next six months. "We can text, then? Skype?" He kept his gaze locked on the floor, moving into the bed without question and laying so Sherlock could snuggle against his side. "Letters, of course. Pictures of the future terror."
Sherlock most certainly snuggled into John, taking his fiancé's hand and intertwining their fingers as well. He leaned his head on the army doctor's shoulder, eyes closing in contentment from the closeness. This could be the last time for awhile or worse ever. No. Not right now. He had to keep a clear head so he could to talk with his older brother later. "Of course we will text, Skype and exchange letters. Anything new regarding the baby, I'll tell you next time we talk."
John studied their fingers for a long moment before speaking again. "I love you," he whispered. He turned his head and placed a soft kiss into Sherlock's hair. It was moments like these, quiet and loving, that John would always remember. "You're leaving in the morning. Please stay safe, don't do anything stupid like blow up the flat... And I guess we could start making my room into your study, yeah? You can't exactly do experiments in the kitchen if there's going to be a kid around." He lifted their intertwined hands and placed several soft kisses across Sherlock's knuckles. "Buy whatever Sarah wants, use my next paycheck."
"Since we're getting married, shouldn't we share a room?" Sherlock asked with a bit of smirk, his eyes opening and titling up so he could look at John. "Oh, I had thought about the experiment thing. I'm going to find an office building or something. To keep home and work life separate. I could never stop being a consulting detective John, but I can adapt and change things a bit."
"We've been breaking rules since before I got deployed. We've shagged in every room of the flat and been sleeping in the same bed," John replied with a grin, meeting Sherlock's gaze warmly. The man snuggled against him was changing his life for John's little mistake, for the future pitter-patter of feet in their flat. "I had planned on sleeping in your room, though. Bed's much bigger." He gently met Sherlock's lips, sucking Sherlock's bottom lip into his mouth as he pulled away. "We can put her crib in that free corner right across from the door the first few months... then change my room into hers." He met Sherlock's lips again, a little more passionately than he had before.
Sherlock returned the kiss, eyes closing briefly. His body was in too much pain and damaged to do anything else. He broke the kiss eventually, because he didn't want to start something he couldn't finish. He slid down with a small groan of pain, so he could lay his head on John's chest. His one hand stayed in his fiancé's and his free hand laid across the army doctor's stomach. "I'm going to miss you. I don't want to go home, but I know I need to. It really isn't safe for either of us. It was stupid of me to come in the first place, but I just couldn't leave you when I found out you were down in that collapsed tunnel. I love you." He gave John a small sideways hug, as best he could from his current position.
"Shh, calm down." John looked down at Sherlock with a tight smile. "Why don't you go back to sleep? You need it." The arm around Sherlock's shoulder tightened protectively and he squeezed Sherlock's hand. "I love you too," he whispered. After the comment John let his body relax slightly, his head falling back with a loud sigh. This entire situation was horrid, he would admit, but the fact that he was with Sherlock managed to get rid of all of that. "I'm just glad you're alive. I threw up when I found out you'd been kidnapped, Sherlock. I was so scared." He squeezed Sherlock's torso tighter to him and slammed his eyes shut. "And as much as I hate to ruin this perfectly romantic moment, please ignore the hard-on I have right now. Adrenaline, I swear."
"If I thought I could get away with doing anything, I would. However, I really don't think my body is any shape to try and most certainly wouldn't appreciate me trying." Sherlock smirked a little even though John couldn't see it. He was sore and tired. Maybe sleep wouldn't be such a bad idea after all. He let his eyes close, his body completely relaxed as fell asleep on John.
John watched Sherlock with a smile on his face, relaxing after a long moment. He wasn't going to sleep, he couldn't. Watching Sherlock was too wonderful, something he was going to miss for the next six months. This was the perfect opportunity to just stare at his future husband, admire how young he looked in his sleep. "You're the most perfect person I have ever met," he whispered into Sherlock's head. "I hope I never lose you." As much as he tried to stay awake his body gave out on him after several hours and he eventually fell asleep with both of his arms wrapped tightly around Sherlock.