CHAPTER 25. HELD ALOFT
Despite Lestrade's initial intention to run a background check on John Watson, he was swamped with paper work and just forgot about Sherlock's flatmate, who the detective decided, wouldn't be around longer than three days.
A week later, he was running full speed, which would always be half speed compared to the long legged sprint of a certain reckless consulting detective. And after turning a corner he lost the two of them over a fence he couldn't even hope to jump even if he climbed onto the Skip.
Coughing he swore under his breath, damning his smokers lungs, he should have quit a lot sooner.
"Kelly come with me, Donovan you and Hedricks head that way."
"Yes sir, if we reach him first do I get to handcuff the bastard?"
"Donovan, if you are referring to the assailant then yes."
"Of course, come on Hendricks." She rolled her eyes and they went the alternate route, he called for back up to circle around the other side of the y shaped alley way, knowing Sherlock and Watson would chase the Russian thugs they were after straight out into the street where more officers would be waiting. At least that was the plan in Lestrade's head, and it half worked.
~0~
John panted heavily sliding to a halt as the Russian gangster they'd been chasing through the alley was tackled by two uniformed officers. Sherlock and Donovan were squaring off now, arguing over the number of suspects.
"You're missing one! Use your tiny little brain! Two, two suspects. Surely they taught you to count in state school?"
"Admit it you got it wrong! If there had been two where is the second one? If you don't get out of my way I'll have to use these!" Donovan shook a pair of cuffs at him, hopefully the DI would show up and play referee. John could see this was going to go no where.
Where was that man with the salt and pepper hair. John went back down the alley, hoping up over the fence he stood on the skip on the other side, jumping down no Lestrade.
He could hear someone-oh. walking over it was a radio, just like the one Sally had in her hand, except this one was broken. Someone must have dropped it, well maybe he could double back and find the DI, give him his radio, distance himself from the raised voices, really how could anyone be so disagreeable. Sure Sherlock had his quirks but really you catch more bees with honey than a sergeant full of vinegar.
John's instincts put him instantly on alert before his thoughts could catch up. Something was wrong, the sounds of muffled voices just down one of the more wider of alleys. Why would Lestrade be so far this way, he should have gone straight-
Something hit him, how could he be so dense, two. Sherlock had said two suspects, no one was asking about the second one. Moving quickly hoping he was wrong he drew his phone out, ready to make a call when he felt the old familiar rush of adreniline the hightened senses, waiting for an enemy to attack from anyside, maybe an explosion a suicide bomber. This was London, he remineded himself, no explosions here, no civilian hostages, or waiting snipers. No but there were criminals, he turned a corner hearing the indistinguishable sound of struggling.
There it was a massive man dressed in black suit pants and a blue silk shirt the sleeves rolled up, dark greesy hair slicked back, something right out of a damn action movie. Except this was reality and the hunting knife the thug held in his right hand made a madding sweep twords an already down DI. Thankfully the older man rolled right out of its path, but his escape was blocked, John reached for his Browning, his hand finding nothing but his belt, rembering Sherlock had said to leave it, this was just a quick look see nothing exciting. Sure, nothing exciting.
Blue eyes scaned for other possible dangers, identify hazards, and form a plan of attack. The sight of the young officer holding a hand to a bleeding thigh triggered something in John. Before he could properly think he ran full force at the big knife wielding thug just as he was about to swing what looked like a truncheon. Must have taken it off the injured cop, bastard.
The massive man hadnt expected the sudden force slamming into him knocking him off balance, forcing him back a few steps. "Call for back up!" John tossed his phone at the groaning DI.
A gash above his left eye, wouldn't need stitches, favoring his left, possible bruised ribs, gasping for air, more likely fractured.
It was the other man, the one who's face rapidly was turning several shades of gray, each one even more pale then the first. He was losing blood, hands shaking he was holding his leg. Damn, could be an artery, better make this quick.
John sized up his opponent, they circled each other, of course he would be underestimated so John hurled the handful of Russian curses he had learned from Lutsky. Lutsky's parents had been immigrants that ran a butcher shop in Cardiff. Lutsky always swore in his parents native tongue, John picked up on it real quick. The giant in front of him started to reply in like, John pulled his coat off wrapping it around his left arm. Right first things first best disarm the fat bastard.
The ex army doctor wasn't as nimble as he used to be, still fresh out of the hospital less than a month, his shoulder still gave him pain but he didn't have the time to listen to it's protests. He blocked the predicted slashing of the knife, block the arm not the weapon Watson, coat was a precaution. A good one at that, he could feel part of the blade cut through to his skin, a flesh wound only, good, stepping in a hard blow to the solar plexus, knife clattering to the cement the truncheon easily removed by twisting wrist back, now he had the truncheon, he liked these odds, the bigger man grunted holding a meaty hand to his abdomen. Another threat or a curse, what did he say about John's mother?
No time swing Watson make it count, need to get behind him or drop him to his knees, watch his reach, kick the knife. Good, and duck. John let his training take over, he wasn't aware of his surroundings instead he brought the officers weapon hard to the left knee, just as a meaty fist swung, catching John's right side, rattling his rib cage and his frame but never his resolve he knew pain, and he could work through it.
Still he'd dropped the truncheon when that hit from a meaty fist knocked him to his back, managing to roll out of the way of heavy boot aimed at his head. Another comment about his legitimacy, John countered with one ridiculing the man's masculinity.
Then managed to get behind his advisory bringing an arm around the man's corded neck he sealed this hold locking it into place with his other arm, bending at the elbow, he squeezed. All the big man had in him as his oxygen rapidly depleted was one desperate thrust back against the brick wall of the alley, John held tight, although when he was crushed between the wall and the man at least a foot taller than him, and five times his weight, he felt his own shoulder scream out, and he knew one more would drop him. Fortunately the Russian started to snore falling forward limply.
John panted, cringing slightly, damn, to much strain on his shoulder. He couldn't think about it, or give in to it. He'd listen later, after the injured where stabilized.
"It's alright, I am a Doctor." He panted, pulling what looked like a white handcherchief from his pocket. "This is all I have, but we have to put pressure on this, let me see it."
"Bastard got me good."
"Just going to need a few stiches, doesn't look like you'll be playing footie for at least a month. But he didn't get any arteries. Now it's going to hurt but I need you to keep your hands over this, I do have to tie it tight, but it's to help slow the bleeding."
"I was a crap player anyway."
"Yeah, I was always partial to Rugby myself."
"Well you tackle like one. Not bad for a-"
"Oi, if you say shrimp, midget or anything of the like, I'll have to black out your other eye." The younger officer laughed despite himself. John checked the young mans pulse, he thought of all the wounds more severe he had to patch up with less time. This time, he only had to stabilize, help would come and the younger man, who couldn't be more than mid twenties would be at a hospital fast, stitched up and released within hours, if his blood pressure permitted and he hadnt lost too much blood.
No dead bodies, no smoke from burning buildings, the ground here was steady beneath his feet instead of trembling under grenade blasts and nearing tanks.
"An ambulance is on the way." DI Lestrade's grainy voice broke through John's haunted thoughts.
"Right, lets take a look then." John's legs felt a bit wobbly when he stood, but he held to the last of his adrenaline.
"You'll need a scan Detective Inspector, most likely you cracked two ribs, but it's best to confirm it. They'll ice it, and a plaster no stiches above your eye." John's blue eyes bore into Lestrade's. "No concussion. Good, real good. Any nausea? Headache?"
"What the hell are they teaching you in medical school these days?" Lestrade blurted out. When in reality he meant to say something like 'Doctor Watson are you some kind of super agent?'
John never had a chance to answer, but Lestrade suspected he wasn't going to anyway. Several officers rushed into the alley, paramedics followed at their heels. John went straight over to the two tending to the young SC, Kelly, Timothy Kelly was the name he had given John.
Lestrade ignored the questions from the other set of paramedics, instead his eyes followed the young doctor as he faded into the crowd, moving unnoticed out of the alley except by the tall figure that staid at his side. Lestrade followed, he wanted answers, and of course to thank the younger man. He'd saved his ass and Kelly's.
"I just need air."
"John-you"
"Please, just let me puke with privacy-" To late John Watson turned his back on his flatmate. Damn it, nerves, he never had been this way, in the service his nerves had never felt so raw.
How embarrassing he was a soldier, why was the blood on his hands so troublesome, damn his tremors! "FUCK!" he growled, trying to take a deep breath how humiliating to have his stomach empty out there in the alley, not to mention his damn shoulder started to remind him why exactly he hadn't been to active these last weeks.
"I'll just be over here, let me know if you need anything." Sherlock turned around not understanding John's sudden embarrassment. Everyone through up at least once in their lives, and John had seen Sherlock passed out choking on his own vomit. He cringed recalling a few times his old dormate had to help him clean up after a particularly bad binge week.
"Not now Lestrade, we'll give our report tomorrow at the yard." Sherlock cut the DI off, placing himself between the DI and the sight of a young Doctor losing whatever he'd eaten in one day, and possibly yesterday.
"Is he alright?"
"Of course he is." Sherlock growled.
"He doesn't look so good, maybe the paramedics could-"
Sherlock turned to look over his shoulder, John had his head resting against the cool brick wall, trying to steady his breathing, he held his arm close to his body. Lestrade could see the indecision play across the young dark haired man's face.
This was indeed a first.
Lestrade stepped out of John's field of vision, he could barely make out the muffled voices arguing back an forth then finally the two were nearing.
"Fine I'll go but I'm not going in an ambulance." John allowed Sherlock to lead him away from the alley, unaware of the DI at their heels.
"Fair enough, I'll call a cab."
"I'll give you a ride." Lestrade pretended he hadnt seen anything. Sherlock gave him a slight nod, with a look of appreciation. Maybe, the DI thought to himself, I do have a concussion.
"Good, you'll have to get those ribs scanned." John's voice sounded hoarse, and scratchy. As if he'd been yelling, was he really worried about Lestrade, the guy looked ready to keel over for Christ sake.
Lestrade watched as John limped from the alley at a painfully slow pace. This was not the same man who had charged forward, taking out a fairly large assailant. Then saw to the injuries of two complete strangers, only to keep his own injuries hidden.
Who the hell was he anyway? There was so much more than brown jumpers and a polite grin.
A/N: thanks JAL for your informative instructions over the use of a truncheon. It came in handy!