Next chapter. Enjoy.
Sherlock seemed to know exactly where he was going, or where he had instructed the cabbie to take them. That was one of the things that John knew were his: knowing things that no one else knew.
But something nagged at John. Harry wasn't exactly a great person, but she knew not to do anything illegal or aggravate the wrong people. So Harry getting kidnapped didn't make sense.
"Sherlock?"
"Yes, John?" Sherlock's eyes sparkled as they looked at him.
"Er..." He cleared his throat, trying to ignore the feeling that melted into him with that glance. I am not gay, this is a favor. "Why was Harry targeted?"
The other man didn't answer for a moment. "It has to do with you, your letters you sent to her updating Harriet on your life. Clara loved her and would never hurt her, and your parents are dead, so you are the only thing of importance that she has left. And you, John, are very important." John knew his face was heating up.
"Was it my time in the army? I didn't think I told her anything classified," John fretted.
Sherlock slowly moved a hand closer to him, but didn't touch him. "You didn't tell her anything wrong. We'll find out what the problem is when we get it out of her captor."
John smiled a little. "And how are we going to 'get it out of her captor'? I thought there was more than one person anyhow."
"The other person left instructions before he died. I've dealt with him earlier, this has him all over it." He paused. "And we'll beat it out of him. Is there any other way with idiotic criminals?" John full-on grinned at that.
They arrived at a group of warehouses labeled 1 through 6. Sherlock paid the cabbie, but the person said, "You know this is a bad part of London, mate?"
"Of course I know," Sherlock said dismissively. "That's part of the fun." John got out after him, smiling at the poor cabbie that had no idea why this crazy man would purposely come there. Sherlock was rubbing his hands together in glee. "Now, where are you, my dear?" John saw his eyes lock on one building in particular. He grabbed John's hand and started running. John could feel the detective's heartbeat explode into his wrist, just as his was doing.
The warehouse at the very end of the line was closed, unlike the others that were all open. "Can this kidnapper get any more stupid?" Sherlock asked with a giddy laugh, pulling John over to it. John decided he really really liked this version of the detective: the crazy mad deductions master with eyes glowing silver. "You know how to kick down doors, and here's a marvelous opportunity."
John nodded, bringing his foot up and doing some serious damage. Sherlock laughed happily. "This is why I chose you," he said.
John turned to look at him. "Why?"
"Because you're amazing." Sherlock practically shone when he said it. "Your sister should be not far from here." This time, John led the way, spotting the figure on the floor immediately. But, once he got nearer, he noticed the person was a man, bound and gagged, obviously struggling.
"That is not Harriet," Sherlock said quizzically.
"According to your description, that's the captor." The captor, as if acknowledging that was who he was, moved around even more.
"We can see you." Sherlock's voice was annoyed and vaguely disappointed. "But Harriet is the problem, not you."
John gazed around. "If Harry did this, I know where she could be." Sherlock was spared a response by a loud noise echoing from behind them.
"Johnny!" a drunken voice yelled.
John sighed. "The nearest hiding place. Behind the open door."
"That isn't any way to greet your big sissy!" Harry said, her hands on her hips as she staggered into a patch of light made by a window. "Say hello!"
"Hello, Harry," John replied begrudgingly. Suddenly his tone became hard. "I was worried about you! You can't just walk in and say hi!"
"Sorry," the drunk woman giggled. "And hello, Sherlock Holmes. You're really as gorgeous as John said."
John and Sherlock both looked equally taken aback. "What the hell are you talking-" "What do you mean, John never-" The two cut themselves off once they realized they were speaking at the same time.
"I met him this morning at 5 am, I wouldn't have told you about him," John said.
"Well, obviously you did, because otherwise my brain wouldn't have cared," Harry slurred. "Plus, you met him over two years ago, you silly boy."
Sherlock's face went simultaneously white and blank. "We spoke for the first time today, Harriet," he said slowly, almost dazedly. "There was no other time that anyone else in the building knows about. You're intoxicated and need to go home."
Harry let out a short burst of laughter. "Liar, liar, pants on fire. Johnny and Locky kissing in a tree, K-I-S-S-I-N-G! First comes love, then comes death!"
John shook his head. He could not believe this. She was so much worse than he remembered. There were tears in his eyes, but he tried to keep them back. "Harry, we need to take you home. The police will arrest the man that kidnapped you, and we can leave this alone."
Sherlock picked her up and carried her out of the warehouse, ignoring the drunken statements she shouted. John was holding his head like a migraine had come. "She can sleep on my couch tonight," he told Sherlock.
"Our couch." John looked at him like he was crazy. "We do have an experiment going on, and I will get results with or without your sister singing obscene children's rhymes. I'm staying with you."
John laughed. "That isn't an obscene rhyme."
"Oh yes, it is. Plus, you owe me for dragging her out of here. I don't think you could accomplish it with your stature."
With a snort, John replied, "Aren't boyfriends supposed to be nice about little things like that?"
"If you are counting yourself in that number."
"I just called you my boyfriend," the other man groaned.
"And it is greatly appreciated. I may finish this experiment yet."
The three of them ended up in another cab, going the opposite direction back to 'their' flat. John was in no way used to the whole 'boyfriend experiment' thing, so the 'sharing a flat' thing was harder to get past. But he didn't mind that much. Sherlock made up for all of that, however, Harry would probably be dead soon if she didn't stop the singing.
It took both of them to drag the loopy sister up the stairs and into 221B. She was not making it easy at all. "I'm contemplating sleeping pills to get her to be quiet and lay still," John half-joked.
"Maybe something a little stronger," Sherlock grunted.
"What do you want for dinner?"
The detective snorted. "Eating is tedious and interferes with my mental processes." John's mouth tightened into a hard line.
"Yeah right. Seriously, I will make you eat."
"Good luck with that. It's unnecessary, and as my boyfriend, you should respect that."
"I respect that you're important to me and by extension your health." It had turned into a staring contest between the two men. John smirked. In the army, he had some mates that just would not back down, so he'd gotten very good at intimidation. Of course, Sherlock wasn't about to be forced into saying John was smarter than him.
The contest would have gone on for much longer had Harry not chosen that moment to pop her head up. "You two are practically eye-stripping each other, and it's creepy to see my little bro do that."
Sherlock blushed deeply, while John scolded, "Just because you're my sister doesn't mean you get to make short jokes too."
Harry rolled her eyes. "La la la. Whatever you say."
"Now stop that, or I'll take Sherlock up on his offer."
With an eyebrow wiggle, she answered, "Which offer exactly?"
This time, John was blushing, and he stumbled over a few words saying, "Sherlock, please give me patience."
"One of the things you should know as my boyfriend is that I have no patience at all. Apologies, but I have none to give," Sherlock huffed curtly. "Harriet, we will drug you. My brother has ways and means that I have no wish to think about to knock you out for several days."
Harry obviously wasn't believing anything he said. "Yada, yada. All I want is to know why you two are bringing me to your flat. I have my own flat."
"Filled with beer and lacking Clara," John sighed. "Plus, you and Sherlock need to talk about the kidnapping. He had some theories."
That actually shut the female up, which surprised both men. "Now, back to our original conversation. Sherlock, what do you want for dinner?"
"Aren't I supposed to like whatever my boyfriend makes?" They'd knocked against the door, and John had to fumble for the key.
"I keep thinking I'll get used to that title, but I really doubt it." John let them all into 221B, dropping his keys in the bowl next to the door.
"I've never used the title before in my life, to refer to anyone, much less mine." John smiled. Sherlock was like a child, a little bit. He didn't know things that most people did, and knew things that most people would never know. A paradox. A very handsome paradox. Alright, what the hell is wrong with you?! Snap out of it John, you are not gay. He shook his head and walked into the kitchen.
"Chicken alfredo sound good?" Harry nodded eagerly, while the detective just waved his hand in an 'I guess it sounds fine' kind of gesture. John knew that was as good as it was going to get, so he started the boiling water.
As he cooked, he couldn't help but notice Sherlock watching his every move curiously. But his curiosity wasn't just that, there was more, John could see it. His silver eyes were...glistening? Glowing? Not really. Shining. John took a closer view when he knew Sherlock wasn't looking. There was something...Longing. Love. And it was painful to him, but he was doing a damn good job of keeping it hidden.
John reached a hand out to wrap around Sherlock's tapping fingers. The man looked up like he hadn't seen John coming. "Why are you doing that?" he asked quietly.
"You look sad. I don't imagine that's a common occurrence." Sherlock's lips twitched up. "Want to talk about it? I am your boyfriend after all."
The man responded by further intertwining their hands. He looked peaceful now, but still sad, John noticed. "I had someone. A friend." Sherlock winced as he said the word. "My only friend. And I left him, when I always thought he was going to be the one leaving me. I know it wasn't my fault, but I don't tend to believe that most days. You remind me of him, you have since I first saw you, and I thought, irrationally I know, that maybe I could treat you as well as he deserved and I'd move on."
"Are you sure he has?" John asked, feeling a wrenching sensation in his chest that reminded him of his limp: existing, but with no reason. A phantom ache. It didn't make sense.
Sherlock nodded. "I know he has. I can't get him back." John gazed at their hands on the counter for a moment before returning, one-handed mind you, to the pasta.
"Well, I can't let my boyfriend sleep all alone when he's feeling like this." John's smile was warm and comforting, and he wanted it to reach the genius so badly. "Eat, stay, and sleep. I'm pretty sure you don't do any of those things enough."
"Stop flirting and get me some food!" Harry shouted from the couch.
Both men blushed, but Sherlock's was more invisible than John's. "It is amazing that she can shout even though she should be getting a hangover sometime soon," John remarked. Sherlock nodded, neither of them moving their hands.
Night fell soon enough, Harry crashing on the couch, and John and Sherlock moving into John's room. "We can both sleep in the same bed, or if you're not comfortable with that, I have a spare bedroom."
Sherlock tilted his head to the side. "Why did you bring me in here then?"
"To see if you need any blankets," John quickly responded.
Sherlock laughed for the first time since the warehouse. "I sleep in just a sheet normally, so this is more than I expected."
"With me or in the guest room?"
"With the drunk lesbian woman out there. Of course, with you!" Sherlock sat on the bed and didn't look like he was going to move anytime soon, so John smiled and rummaged through his dresser, trying to find something of his that could fit the much taller man. When he had got to the bottom of his very top drawer, he saw some items that didn't look like his.
"Hey, Sherlock? I found you some pajamas." He tossed them to the detective. "They aren't mine, so I don't know how they ended up here, but they seem to be your size-ish." Sherlock stared at the articles for a minute, shocked. "What's wrong?"
"Nothing, they just remind me of my favorite pajamas at my place."
John just smiled. "What a happy coincidence. I'll be in the bathroom brushing my teeth." He left the room.
Sherlock hastily changed into the clothing, muttering to himself about people that believed in coincidences that never knew about the law of large numbers. He knew that wasn't the problem, but he tried to convince himself it was. John returned after a few minutes, having dressed in a t-shirt and a pair of sweats. "Do you need to brush your teeth? I have an extra toothbrush."
He shook his head no, and John shrugged. "Alright. Sleep then?" Sherlock nodded this time, feeling not fully able to speak. The two climbed into the bed, Sherlock attempting to take up as little space as possible, John settling easily. The detective was warm and tired for the first time in a while, but couldn't relax his guard. An hour passed, but Sherlock couldn't go to sleep. "How are you comfortable over there?" John asked blearily, clearly about to fall asleep and having had enough of the other man. "Get over here, you git." John wrapped his arms around Sherlock, curling into him.
He's softer than I thought, John thought as he held the other man. "Isn't that better?" he mumbled. "You deserve better than you've been getting."
"Yes," Sherlock whispered back. "Thank you." He paused. "Goodnight, John." But John was already asleep. "I miss you," he breathed.
For once, Sherlock's dreams were blurry. And happy.