Screw what John Watson had to say, Sherlock needed this much like he needed air. Pushing his luck, Sherlock tried to deepen the kiss, only to be pushed off onto the floor with a soft thud.
Appearing up at John, he tried to make his best puppy eyes at him only to be met with a strong stare. The stare that was only reserved for the soldier side of John. In one swift move, John stood up and strode out the room. In was in that moment Sherlock realised that he would never let sentiment bubble up inside of him for a man like John Watson. He would not pursue a relationship with someone so defensive about their sexuality. Sherlock Holmes was going to be the cold calculating man he had always been, and it was all John Watson's fault.
For the next couple of days they had established a routine; Sherlock would torture his violin for hours at end, then hide in his room between the hours of 6am to 9am, while during these hidden hours John would get up and go to work. After John had left, Sherlock would either destroy a part of the flat or find new places in the kitchen to hide rotting experiments just to get a reaction out of John.
It was a bleak Friday morning when Sherlock received a text from Lestrade asking for assistance on a case. It was a 6 at best, but the text conformed that Sherlock could bring John with him if he wished, almost making John sound like a pet of Sherlock's. The whole of the Yard knew this was pretty much the truth; where every Sherlock went, John would follow like the eager pet he was.
For once Sherlock did not want John by his side; he didn't even want to look at him for fear of breaking down in front of him and the rest of the yarders. He grudgingly accepted the case, and practically bolted out the door before John came home.
As the sun settled on London a glow illuminated the street as John limped home, his limp once again proving how much he needed Sherlock. Even if own body knew how much he need the curly hair man, yet he could not admit it himself. As he approached the black glossy door he called home, he felt his pocket vibrate. A text.
Why aren't you here with Sherlock, we have a case? – GL
For a moment this puzzled John, Sherlock hadn't mentioned a new case. To think about the last couple of days Sherlock hadn't said anything to him. The silence between them was becoming immature now.
He didn't tell me. Where are you? – JW
Just down the street from a club called '3 Million'. Sherlock has insisted he heads the uncover operation in order to find the serial killer who has been killing gay men. So I thought I would text you before Sherlock gets hurt. Again. – GL
A cold shiver ran though John. The words 'serial killer' and 'killing gay men' stood out from the text. John had to be there, just in case the worst happened. He didn't care that they weren't talking he just needed to at least see Sherlock. Signalling the next taxi, he gave the address and was on his way.
As soon as John arrived, Sherlock's eyes narrowed on him.
"Who the hell invited you here?" Sherlock snapped at him, voice laced with bitterness. The other Yarders quickly looked between the two men, trying to deduce for themselves why there was now a thick layer of tension and awkwardness in the air. In the same tone as Sherlock, John replied to him.
"Greg did. He didn't want you to go running off and getting yourself killed. Heavens knows why. The flat would be cleaner without you there."
Shit. John didn't mean to say that, only think it. It was Sherlock's fault, he mentally reassured himself.
Somewhere in the pit of his stomach Sherlock felt a stab of hurt from John's comment.
Without a single glance back, Sherlock turned to talk to the other police officers about the details of the plan.
Sherlock had decided that his plan was the best (of course) he would walk into the club, deduce who the murder was, flirt with said murderer to get the information by using a hidden camera and an ear piece then have the murderer arrested before becoming murdered his self. Simple plan, really. Only Sherlock had the arrogance to pull this off. Or be killed in the process.
Sherlock practically waltzed into the club, followed by Greg and John a few minutes later. John and Greg sat themselves in the corner, where they could see Sherlock clearly.
Less than an hour later a young man, with straightened auburn hair bumped into Sherlock. To the untrained eye, this was just an accident. But to Sherlock this was an invitation, the man had slipped a note into Sherlock's pocket. Watching from the camera, Sherlock, John and Greg all read the note at the same time.
I have not been able to stop staring at you since you and your beautiful arse came through the door. Meet me outside in ten. Malcolm.
Boring and dull were the first words Sherlock thought reading the note. Sherlock deduced from the note that it had been written before the man had even entered the club. This man had planned on doing this, whether or not Sherlock had been in this club or not. But still curiosity got the better of him.
That's when John came on in his ear piece. "Don't you even think about it Sherlock. You do not put yourself in danger" John's voice buzzed low under the music.
Fuck what John thought. Sherlock never did as he was told. He was going to meet this man.
Stepping out in to the chilly air, Sherlock manoeuvred his way around the drunks and slipped into the nearest ally where a shadowed figure was waiting further down, smoking a cigarette. Looking around and observing his surroundings he noticed John and Greg coming up behind him. He took a step forward and spoke loudly down the alley way.
"I got your note, Malcolm"
"Oh I rather hoping you would pursue me out here" Malcolm replied.
With that the other man slowly stepped out from the shadowed wall, flicked his cigarette onto the floor and watched Sherlock almost like he was a piece of meat. Seeing that look in the man's eyes made John feel sick who was still observing in the background, ready to run and save Sherlock if he needed it.
Malcolm confidently raised his hand to stroke Sherlock's angled face. "So beautiful" complimented Malcolm, Sherlock only hummed in response. Taking that as encouragement, he lunged to capture Sherlock's lips. The kiss soon became a battle for dominance, each of the men's tongue was sliding against the other, Malcolm pushed Sherlock up against the wall and attacked his neck with love bites leaving his mark on him. At this point Greg had to turn his head away, feeling slightly guilty at watching this hidden in the darkness while John could not direct his eyes away not out of pleasure but because he wanted to rip the other man's face off for touching hisSherlock.
"It's a shame it is going to have to end this way" said Malcolm as he pulled out a knife and plunged it straight into where Sherlock's chest was.
With that John ran forward without thinking, and punched Malcolm straight in the jaw knocking him backwards onto the stone floor. Turning around John saw a sight he didn't want to see Sherlock slumped against the wall.