InvisibleBlade: Sherlock & Mycroft

Me: John

Warnings for this chapter: some bondage while men go at it, Moriarty sending Sherlock a warning.

Chapter 6 – A Fresh Problem

Sherlock's hand shook vigorously as he held the phone to his ear. He closed his eyes and tried to slow his beating heart down. It would do him no good to be in a state of panic. He had to be strong right now. If not for himself then for John. It seemed like time stretched on endlessly as the phone rang out and for a moment he panicked. Could it be the one time he came seeking his brother's help that the man didn't pick up his call? However his panic was soon put to rest as the line crackled as the sharp voice belonging to Mycroft Holmes rushed to his ear.

'A phone call. Should I be worried?'

'Maybe,' Sherlock bit back a little more harshly than he had intended.

'What's wrong?' Mycroft's reply was quick and got straight to the point. The government official knew that whatever the cause for Sherlock ringing him was serious. The younger Holmes brother sounded truly shaken up.

'Is this line secure?' Sherlock questioned.

'Of course. I presume this is isn't a social call then?'

'God forbid if it were a social call,' Sherlock snorted. 'It's about John.'

'Oh? And what about our mutual friend has gotten you in such a state?'

The detective swallowed down hard at the term 'mutual friend.' That term certainly didn't apply to John anymore. He wasn't quite sure if he should tell his brother. Would he laugh? Would he be called a sentimental fool? Would he simply be stunned into silence out of pure horror? John certainly wouldn't be happy about it and Sherlock wasn't all that comfortable about his brother knowing that he'd finally lost his virginity and that he did indeed hold a heart capable of feeling such things as human emotion.

'Sherlock?' Mycroft questioned, worried by the sudden silence on the other end of the line.

Sherlock shook his head and exhaled deeply. He hadn't realized just how zoned out he'd been. 'I believe his life may be in the gravest danger. I need your help.'

'What sort of danger?'

'Does it matter!?' Sherlock exclaimed. 'I need your assurance that you'll try to help me. Maybe together we stand a chance against him.'

'Him?' Mycroft questioned, puzzled.

'Yes. Jim Moriarty. A devil in a suit,' Sherlock retorted. 'Now, can I have your assurance?'

'You can. We must meet in person. You can fill me in on the details when you reach my office. I will try my best to help you.'

'I'll meet you later tonight. I'll come alone,' Sherlock said, his voice bitter and ice cold.

'You haven't told him?'

'No.'

'Are you going to?'

'No. I'm going to protect him from the truth as far as humanely possible.'

'Very well. Is it wise that you're going to leave him alone?'

'No. It is an incredibly foolish thing to do. However, I somehow doubt Moriarty will make a move yet. He wants me to solve this puzzle. He likes to watch me dance.'

'Indeed it would appear so. I shall see you tonight. I'll heighten security around your flat for the time being.'

As the line hung up Sherlock let his head drop onto the desk. He silently asked himself why it seemed bad things always happened to anyone and anything he let into his heart. And John was now his everything, his world, his love, his crutch to the real world. He couldn't lose him. He wasn't going to let Moriarty take him away from him.

John stayed on the bench, his coffee cup abandoned at his feet. He sat ramrod straight, his feet planted on the floor, his hands clasped in his lap. Whenever he was nervous he always reverted to sitting at attention, a habit of his army days. He stared at the door Sherlock was behind, probably on the phone with Mycroft. If Moriarty really was after him, John knew Sherlock would want nothing but the best security offered, even if he had to go through his brother to get it.

Sherlock's been in there for a while. Is everything alright? Should I go check on him? No. No, he asked for your trust and you have to trust him. He'll come get you when he's ready.

Sherlock gradually brought himself to stand. He walked over to the door and placed his hand on the door handle, freezing as he mentally prepared himself. When he walked out he asked Lestrade where John had gone to. The D.I seemed a little concerned but told him anyway and it didn't take him long to find the army doctor sat patiently on a bench.

'John, we're going home now. I'm sorry. Our dinner plans have been rescheduled. We can get a take away if that's what you so wish but I'm not particularly hungry right now.' He tried to make eye contact, he really did, but that was so difficult. He hated not being able to tell John what was going on but really it was for the best.

'Oh.' John's face fell. While he had been looking forward to dinner, the severity of the situation took precedence. 'I'm not particularly hungry right now either, so we can just go home.' Is he going to tell me? Should I even ask? 'What um... Is anything wrong?'

'Wrong?' Sherlock questioned innocently. 'Nothing's wrong.' As the words left his lips his heart dropped into a bucket of icy cold water. Voices within his mind palace began whispering against his ear drums.

Wrong. Everything is just so wrong. You're lying to him. Yes to protect him. What if it's not enough? What if he gets hurt despite your best efforts? What if it drags you down too? You could lose everything … because John is your everything.

He blinked and shook away his thoughts, drowning out the poisonous voices with a cold numbness.

'This case has proved to be a little tricky, that's all. I think I have it under control though.' He placed an arm around John, almost tugging him into a death grip. He placed a loving kiss upon his Adam's apple. 'I love you,' he whispered softly. 'Now, let's go home and rest. And by rest I mean—' He trailed off, waggling his eyebrows a little playfully. Perhaps he could distract John from asking further questions. He could certainly try anyway.

So he isn't going to tell me. Interesting, John mused. He pursed his lips as Sherlock avoided telling him what he already knew was the problem. But why? Did he think leaving John in the dark would protect him? He didn't get very long to think on that as Sherlock had grabbed him in a rather tight embrace and was telling him that he loved him. Oh no, it must be life-threatening.

'I love you too Sherlock,' he whispered against the taller man's hair. He knew what Sherlock was trying to do, he wasn't an idiot, but he allowed the distraction because it would benefit them both. 'And yes, I do think some "rest" would do us some good.'

Sherlock placed more kisses down John's neck, only too glad that he'd managed to avoid more questions, at least for now anyway. 'I'm going to show you how much you mean to me,' he said in a dark and sickly, honey-coated promise. 'Because I don't think you really understand how much you mean to me.'

God does this man mean a lot to me. When did these strange feelings creep up on me? It doesn't matter now Sherlock. You've fallen in love now. And Moriarty intends to use that against you. He intends to burn the very heart out of you. He intends to hurt John in order to hurt you. If he gets hurt it'll be all your fault.

'Yes, Sherlock, yes. Show me how much you love me,' John groaned, arching into the detective's touch, his libido winning over reason. 'But, not here. Take me home, Sherlock. Take me to bed.'

Sherlock's heart jolted with the first bit of happiness since the revelation he'd made about the current case. He hummed, grabbing John by the wrist and dragging him outside.

They were soon sitting in a taxi again, homeward bound. John fidgeted nervously on the cab ride home. He was anxious to get back to the flat and shag Sherlock senseless, but he was also nervous about the case. He didn't want to dwell on it, he didn't want to focus on it, on the possible danger his life was in. He shook the thoughts from his head and reached for Sherlock's hand, lacing their fingers together and squeezing gently.

When the two arrived home Sherlock was almost hyperventilating. Blimey he needed a shag. It'd make him forget all of the worries now resting on his shoulders. John handed the cabbie the proper amount of bills that time before heading to the door of 221 Baker Street. He noticed Sherlock was shaking in anticipation, or was it anxiety over the case? Maybe it was both. He had somehow calmed down during the cab ride and the significance of what they were about to do and why had hit him like a ton of bricks. He needed to feel alive, especially with Moriarty after him, and he was willing to do whatever Sherlock wanted – needed – to do in order to assure himself that he was still alive.

As soon as they crossed into the sitting room of 221B, John spun around and crushed his lips on Sherlock's, pushing him backwards until his back hit the door. He pulled Sherlock flush against him, grinding against him subtly but enough to get his cock hard again (he'd lost his erection in the cab due to his mind wandering to depressing and serious issues).

'I want you to ravish me,' he growled into Sherlock's ear, thrusting his hips up sharply. 'I want you to destroy me, claim me, make me yours.'

Sherlock pulled John inside of his bedroom, kissing him heatedly. He lifted John up onto the bed.

'Wait a minute.' He smiled softly, walking to his wardrobe he pulled out his favourite scarf. 'I have an idea. I hope you approve.'

John eyed the scarf apprehensively. It was one of his favourites of Sherlock's rather impressive collection, and he had a pretty good idea of what Sherlock wanted to use it for. He stroked the bed sheets to calm himself, enjoying the feel of silk under his fingers. He glanced at the headboard, then back down at the sheets which had been changed. Either Sherlock had changed them before they left for the Yard or Mrs Hudson had come in. John told himself that Sherlock had done it. He didn't want to think about Mrs Hudson walking into their 'war zone' after the rough fuck he'd given Sherlock only hours before. He tore his eyes away from the sheets and looked back up at Sherlock who was still holding the scarf.

Whatever he wants, whatever he needs, John told himself. He smiled as coyly as he could manage and stood up, sauntering over to his lover.

'I am definitely liking the prospect of all that could be used for,' he said, stroking the scarf gently. 'But I think we have far too many clothes on to use that, don't you?'

Sherlock hummed softly, placing the navy blue scarf on the bed. He let his fingers skim delicately over John's buttons. He plucked them at almost an unbearable rate but since today's events John was like a piece of glass in the detective's eyes, and he was almost afraid of John shattering under his touch. He pulled the top from John's shoulders, dropping it neatly to the ground, and smoothed his finger tips down his chest. Somewhere in his mind he needed to feel John's solid form beneath his touch to tell him that everything was going to be ok, that John was alive and well, and out of all odds belonged to him.

He placed a waver light kiss to John's lips, his breath catching in his throat. Previously his hormones had been battering all of his thoughts of what was occurring around him. Somewhere between inhaling a homemade drug to see how far away it took him from reality to waking up for the first time in his life feeling safe and happy he had somehow gotten lucky. He had always thought John was special, that there was a connection between them, an unspoken bond, but now to be able to access every part of him in a literal and figurative sense was too good to be true.

His heart thudded almost painfully in his chest as he realized how dangerous both of their lives were, how fragile he seemed, how breakable his bones and hot flesh were.

All lives end. All hearts are broken.

He closed his eyes and exhaled softly as he unbuckled John's trousers. His eyes dilated as he saw that John wasn't wearing any boxer shorts. 'My, my. You were rather keen,' he spoke for the first time in what seemed like hours.

John's breath hitched as Sherlock methodically worked his way down his torso, first with his shirt buttons and then with his touch. He was being overly gentle, like John would break in his hands. He would have to remind him that he wouldn't break, but now was not that time. He smiled when Sherlock reached his trousers to discover he had forgone his pants, giggling slightly.

'I thought you might like that,' he grinned, looking down at him. 'I was planning on leaning over at a very inappropriate time at the Yard to tell you and see how you would react. Too bad I never got the chance.' He nudged his hips forward. 'Now finish undressing me so I can do the same to you.' Sherlock was only too happy to comply. He pulled John's trousers completely off and chucked them to the side.

'You're the most beautiful thing I've ever seen,' he whispered. 'I just thought I'd let you know.'

'And you are the most beautiful thing I've ever seen,' John whispered, his fingers releasing the buttons on Sherlock's purple shirt, trailing kisses down his chest as he fell to his knees at Sherlock's feet. The shirt fell to the floor as John worked on Sherlock's trousers, pleased to see that he had forgone pants as well.

'Who's keen now, Sherlock?' John smirked as he pulled Sherlock's trousers down to the floor. He stood up and wrapped his arms around Sherlock's neck, pulling him into an intimate kiss. Their tongues danced for a few moments before John pulled back to whisper in Sherlock's ear.

'Now, I am very curious to see how you will be using that scarf,' he smiled coyly. 'Why don't you show me?'

'I have two ideas actually.' Sherlock pushed John onto the bed gently. He picked up the scarf, running the material under his fingertips. He climbed on top of John and began to slowly rock against him. 'Would you like to hear them?'

'Do I get to decide which one I like better?' John asked, sighing in content as Sherlock rocked above him.

'Of course,' Sherlock said with a manic grin.

The curly haired man ran the material over John's lips. 'I could either gag you. It could push against your throat as a thousand delicious noises try to escape. Or—' He chuckled. 'I could tie your hands behind your back whilst I'm making love to you so you can't move. You will be as powerless as a new born baby.'

Sherlock was careful to use the term 'making love.' He hadn't used it before. It had been 'fuck' or 'sex' and that had been ok, but somehow 'making love' made the act seem so magnificent.

John thought carefully on the two options. If his hands were tied he wouldn't be able to touch himself or Sherlock, but if he was gagged he wouldn't be able to say sweet and filthy nothings as Sherlock made love to him. Considering the recent circumstances, John knew which one was the better choice.

'Tie my hands together,' he said, staring Sherlock in the eye. 'It's your turn to be in control, so take control of me, all of me.'

'Turn around,' he ordered. As John did so Sherlock pressed himself against John's entire body. He grabbed John's wrists and ran the scarf's material over them before wrapping it around them and tying a firm knot. John let out a wanton moan as Sherlock's entire nude body pressed up against his. His prick rested perfectly between his butt cheeks and he rocked back teasingly. As his hands were bound he grabbed onto the ends of the scarf, holding onto the silk materials. If that was as close as he could get to touching Sherlock then he would take it. He wiggled his arse teasingly again and grinned against the sheets. Sherlock rubbed himself a little more frantically over John. His cock throbbed with want. He placed a kiss on John's right bum cheek.

'Now I do believe you said you'd sit on my cock whilst I drive you home.'

'Yes I did,' John hummed. 'But you're going to have to prepare me first. And then you're going to have to help me sit on your cock as I can't use my arms.'

Sherlock grinned and stuck two fingers by John's mouth. 'Suck,' he whispered gently.

John moaned and sucked the offered fingers in his mouth, hollowing his cheeks and lapping his tongue around them like he did Sherlock's cock. He hummed around Sherlock's fingers, hungry in anticipation of what was to come. Literally and figuratively.

Sherlock moaned softly. 'You're too good at this.' John huffed a laugh and continued coating Sherlock's fingers with his saliva. He'd gotten pretty good at it in the short amount of time they'd been together. He'd never done it prior to last night, but after all their stints in that time he had developed a basic technique. He couldn't wait to hone it and become somewhat of an expert in that area.

Sherlock pulled his fingers from John's mouth. 'Prepare yourself,' he warned as he moved his fingers to where John so desperately wanted them.

He wouldn't normally have warned John but something had broken in Sherlock today that made him unseen to hurt John.

John pushed himself closer to Sherlock's fingers, desperate for the contact. 'Come on Sherlock, please. I'm ready. Please.'

Sherlock closed his eyes and taking a deep breath he plunged two fingers in. John gasped and clenched down around Sherlock's fingers. It burned a little but it wasn't painful. He pushed his face closer to the mattress, his hands clutching the scarf tightly.

'That's it Sherlock. Open me up. Open me so I can sit on that gorgeous fucking cock of yours and you can drive me home.'

'I don't want to hurt you,' he whispered, continuing to drive John mad with his fingers. 'Tell me if it gets too painful.' He closed his eyes and took a shaky breath. 'I couldn't bear to see you hurt.'

'I'm not made of glass, Sherlock. I'm not going to break,' John told him, rocking back on his fingers. 'Need I remind you that I was shot, died on the table twice, but ultimately lived? I think I can survive you sticking your prick up my arse and fucking me with reckless abandon.'

'Don't say that!' Sherlock exclaimed. 'I never want to imagine you like that. I never want to think that we could have never met.' Tears swelled in his eyes and one splashed on John's back. John froze. He hadn't meant to affect Sherlock in such a way. Hell, he'd made Sherlock cry. This was not good. No. Not one bit. Tears welled up in John's own eyes and he swallowed thickly around the lump forming in his throat.

'Untie me, Sherlock,' he croaked out. 'Please.'

'No.' Sherlock's jaw tightened stubbornly as he began to move his fingers faster, throwing himself into the task at hand rather than paying attention to his emotions.

'Sher– oh fuck,' John groaned, his hips involuntarily rocking back on Sherlock's dexterous fingers. 'You can't... Oh god... Run away from your... Jesus... Emotions forever. At... Shit... At some point you're going to... Oh god there, yes... To have to face them. Talk about them.' John knew it was useless trying to talk about it now, especially with Sherlock's fingers doing such wonderful, pleasurable things.

Sherlock hit John's pleasure spot relentlessly. 'I'm not running away,' he bit back.

'Then let's talk. JESUS FUCKING CHRIST!' Sherlock had hit John's prostate and in the emotional state he was in it was exactly what he needed to bring him back to their current activity. 'After you fuck me, preferably. Please, Sherlock. Can I have your cock now?'

Sherlock removed his fingers and grabbed John, turning him around. Before John could even comment on Sherlock's teary eyes his cock was inside of him and his lips started to attack the soldier's. John gave an 'mmph' against Sherlock's sudden attack on his lips, but it quickly turned into a moan of pleasure and he kissed Sherlock back, hard. He rocked his hips against Sherlock's, rutting on his cock as Sherlock writhed above him. He broke the kiss and gasped for air.

'I thought I was going to ride you?' he asked, somewhat disappointed. 'But this is good too.'

Sherlock pulled at John and leant back onto the bed, watching as John fell onto his cock heavily. 'Better?' he asked softly. He glanced away from John. He didn't want the other man to see how emotional he still was.

'Oh god yes,' John moaned. He threw his head back as he impaled himself on Sherlock's cock, his hands grasping the silk scarf but slowly going slack as he focused on giving Sherlock pleasure too.

'Hey. Sherlock, hey,' he said gently. 'Don't dwell on what I said. Forget that I said it. Delete it from your mind. Look at me. I'm alive and am sitting on your cock. Don't think about what could have been. Think about what is, what's happening now, and don't get lost in your mind. Please.'

He wiggled slowly up then slowly down Sherlock's cock, hoping to draw him out of his reverie and maybe get a rather delicious moan out of him as well.

'I won't,' Sherlock gasped, thrusting upwards. 'I promise.' He moaned and bit his lip. His cock was already begging for a release but he told himself he'd hold on.

'Good,' John half smiled as Sherlock thrust up in earnest. 'Oh fuck. I'm close, Sherlock. Don't stop.'

Sherlock grunted as he frantically bucked upwards. 'I'm close too. I guess it's because we teased the fuck out of our cocks before.'

'That's definitely it,' John ground out. 'Touch me.' Sherlock reached out, wrapping his cool fingers around John's beating cock.

'Oh fuck,' John gasped, fucking himself on Sherlock's cock and in his hand. 'God, so close. Tell me something filthy, Sherlock. Use my name. Help me cum all over your torso as I fuck myself on your cock.'

'Jonathan Hamish Watson I hope you know that by the time my cock is done ramming itself up your arse you won't be able to stand,' Sherlock growled.

'Ooooh yes, Sherlock, yes,' John gasped, frantically moving above Sherlock. 'More. Tell me more.'

'You'll be so raw from this that even moving your legs will pain you.' Sherlock ran one hand to John's arse and lightly spanked it.

Ok, so perhaps his lust was winning over his concern to not hurt John, but that skin on skin sound sent Sherlock to pure ecstasy. That extra jolt was all it took to send John over the edge. He screamed Sherlock's name until his voice had gone hoarse. Sherlock twisted his hand around John's cock as he began a frantic pattern of thrusting upwards so hard John almost slid off of him and bringing his hips back down so John landed on him with a heavy thud.

'Oh fuck Sherlock yes!' John cried, still cumming. He tried to impale himself on Sherlock's cock again. When he realized his legs weren't working (god damn, Sherlock had been right about the not being able to walk thing) he leaned back and used the pads of his fingers to stroke Sherlock's sac.

Sherlock gasped. 'Oh god.' He shook his head. 'A little longer.' He was determined to be at this for a little while longer. The longer he was here the longer he didn't have to leave to see his brother to discuss the danger John was in.

John's cock was still in Sherlock's hand and his arse was still clamped around Sherlock's cock, and the combined stimulation was making him hard again. Fastest non-drug-induced recovery time, John thought sarcastically to himself.

'Look at that, Sherlock. With your prick up my arse and my prick in your hand you've gotten me hard again already,' he grinned down at his beautifully debauched lover. 'See how good you make me feel? How good does it feel to have me still riding your cock? Fucking your hand? Oooh Sherlock it all feels so good, I think I'm gonna cum again.'

'It feels tremendous,' Sherlock groaned. 'Now cum for me and if you're very lucky I will too. In fact beg. If you want me so badly you'll have to beg.'

John writhed frantically over Sherlock, panting in exhaustion and from being so close to cumming for the second time in only minutes.

'Please, Sherlock, please. Cum for me. Cum in my arse, make me cum all over you again. Stay with me, stay in me, don't stop.' Sherlock arched his back and groaned as he finally allowed his cock its release.

'Yes, Sherlock, yes,' John moaned, arching his back so Sherlock's cock would reach a new angle. 'Oh fuck, fuck! I'm cumming!' He threw back his head in ecstasy has he began cumming all over Sherlock's torso again. Sherlock's eyes rolled to the back of his skull as he rode through their joint orgasm.

'Thank you,' he muttered. 'I needed this distraction.' John collapsed on top of Sherlock, landing with an obscene splat in his own cum. If he didn't feel so sated he would have been disgusted.

'Oh, I needed this too,' he grinned goofily against Sherlock's chest. He wriggled his arms to let Sherlock know he wanted out of his restraints. Sherlock's fingers trembled as they untied John. He gently placed the scarf to one side and pulled himself out of John.

'No, but really. I can't thank you enough." The tears were starting to form again. Sherlock could tell he had wet eyes. He blinked and smiled weakly at John. John nuzzled his nose against Sherlock's jaw.

'I needed it too, Sherlock. More than you know.' He sighed, brushing away thoughts of Moriarty before they ruined his 'I just had sex' high.

'Help me into the covers?' he asked weakly. 'It seems you did render my legs useless.' Sherlock lifted the cover and dragged John's limp body beneath it.

'Sorry,' he croaked. 'I got terribly carried away.'

'Like I said earlier, Sherlock, a rough fuck is ok every once in a while. And I'm not made of glass. I'm just so sated that I can't move properly. It's happened before and it will happen again.' He grabbed Sherlock's arm and pulled him down for a soothing kiss, draping the covers around them. 'I'll be fine, love. No need to worry.'

'No it's not ok!' Sherlock exclaimed. 'It's not right that you have to get hurt because of me.' Of course he wasn't talking about sex anymore. His thoughts steered towards Moriarty, his brother, and the protection Sherlock had to get John in order to keep him safe. John blanched at Sherlock's tone. This wasn't about the sex anymore and they both knew it. And it was apparent Sherlock didn't know that John knew, so John decided to test him one more time.

'Sherlock, this isn't just about sex anymore, is it?' he questioned quietly. 'Something's wrong. More than wrong. I can feel it in your tense muscles and your over-protectiveness. Please, Sherlock, tell me what's wrong.'

'Some aspects of my life don't concern you.' Sherlock closed his eyes. 'Now go to sleep. It's been a long day.'Too long, a small voice added in the back of his mind.

John nodded and sighed in defeat, knowing not to push Sherlock too far into talking about something he most definitely didn't want to talk about. The last time that had happened they'd shouted at each other for hours, John had gone to bed angry, and Sherlock had rearranged the contents of the fridge so that John had to move bags of eyeballs and fingers to get at the milk. In the end they had both sort of surrendered, but the issue had never truly been resolved. He couldn't even remember what they had been trying to discuss. He laid his head on Sherlock's chest, listening to the erratic heartbeat as his chest rose and fell with shaky breaths.

He cares so much, and it scares him, John swallowed. He buried his nose in his chest and inhaled deeply, loving Sherlock's natural musk mixed with the smell of sex. If he could bottle that into a cologne he would do so in a heartbeat. He clutched weakly at Sherlock's arms, trying to give himself as much skin-on-skin contact as possible.

'Stay with me until I fall asleep,' John whispered, nuzzling his nose into the hollow at Sherlock's throat. 'That's all I ask. Please.'

'I'm not going anywhere.' Sherlock swallowed thickly, knowing that that was one more lie on top of a thousand other lies to come. He wrapped his arms around John tightly and sighed softly as John snuggled up against him. He wished he didn't have to lie. He kept on telling himself that it was for John's own good but then why was there that gut wrenching feeling of doing wrong bubbling in his gut?

John sighed and snuggled closer to Sherlock. For being all bones and angles his body made a surprisingly soft and comfortable pillow. John thought sleep would be a long time coming, but with the physical exhaustion of his two orgasms plus the mental exhaustion from teasing each other for over an hour plus the threat of Moriarty looking over them, his eyelids began to droop and his grip on Sherlock slackened just a bit.

'I love you Sherlock,' John grumbled into his chest, tilting his nose up so his lips were at the underside of Sherlock's jaw. 'I love you so much. I just thought you should know that.' He pressed a soft kiss to Sherlock's jaw, hoping to tempt him into a soft kiss before he fell asleep.

'I love you too.' I love you a little too much.Sherlock brushed his lips against John's. 'Now sleep.' John hummed against the kiss and settled his head against Sherlock's chest, drifting off to sleep safe and warm in Sherlock's arms.

It was horrible watching John sleep. It was like looking at those photos of the young men all over again, and if it wasn't for the slight movement of his chest Sherlock would have found himself terrified that he was dead. His mind was ticking frantically. It hurt to think. His mind palace was under attack left, right, and center, and with it his pulse beat frantically as his heart pumped out of control. He slowly pulled himself away from the sleeping man. John gave off a disgruntled sound but apart from that remained completely still. Satisfied John was fast asleep he began to talk, knowing full well that the doctor couldn't really hear him.

'I'm sorry, you know. I've been selfish. I let you get too close to me. I'm a dangerous man to be close to, believe me. However I am more sorry for what might happen now that you are in danger. Just know this: I will do whatever it takes to keep you safe.' He let himself have the guilty pleasure of leaving a light kiss on John's head before dragging himself from the bed. He sighed heavily as he began to clean himself up and pull on his clothes. He grabbed his coat and with a small smile pulling at his lips picked up the scarf that only moments ago had been used for far less innocent reasons than keeping warm.

'Goodbye Jonathan,' he muttered, shutting the door to the bedroom and heading out of the flat and into the dusky night.

John slept soundly and dreamlessly, safe and warm, clutching onto his Sherlock pillow. He gave a small sound of discomfort when he felt his pillow shift but was too far into his sleep to really wake up and do anything about it. He could hear Sherlock's voice, muffled and almost distressed breaching through his sleep-addled mind. He didn't understand what he was saying but his voice echoed through his mind and it gave him some rather delicious dreams. As his body started to register that there was no longer another warm body by its side his dreams turned into nightmares.

He was running after Sherlock, whether they were on a case and he was trying to catch up or he was simply chasing after him was unknown. All he knew was that Sherlock was getting farther and farther away from him and no matter how hard he tried to catch up he couldn't. He tried shouting but Sherlock didn't hear him. There was a loud bang in his dream and he continued to run to investigate but when he rounded a corner he found Sherlock's body on the ground and Moriarty standing over him, pointing a gun at John with a malicious grin on his face. As soon as Moriarty fired the gun at him John jolted awake with a harsh cry and clutched at his chest, his wounded shoulder protesting at just the idea of being shot. John gulped down deep breaths to stead himself, telling himself it was only a dream, that Sherlock was alive and he was alive, they were both alive and safe. He flopped back down on the bed and shut his eyes, forcing himself to fall back asleep, not even realizing that Sherlock wasn't in bed with him.

…::-::…

Sherlock arrived at Mycroft's office at the dead of night. He'd walked, wanting to clear his head without the silly interruptions cab drivers seemed to make. He hadn't even needed to knock on his brother's door. It was wide open. Sherlock's heart skipped a beat. Something was wrong here, not quite right, out of place. He walked silently in, monitoring the room with expert eyes, trying to hone in on anything that was fishy or out of order. He froze as he heard a muffled groan.

He swallowed down hard as he walked in the direction that the sound had come from. He felt a little bit of himself break when he came across the sight that now lay before him. Mycroft was now crumpled on the floor. There was a gash running straight through his brother's forehead and blood was gushing from the wound heavily. It looked as though his brother had taken a punch to the nose too and his cheeks and neck were dotted in an array of purple bruises.

Sherlock dropped to his knees and exhaled softly. 'Oh, Myc.' Myc was a reference to the nickname their mother, and in turn he, had called the younger Mycroft Holmes. It was a sign that Sherlock was terrified and, in truth, he really did feel just like a ten-year-old boy way out of his depth.

As the two Holmes brothers clutched at each other in the dark all Sherlock could think was, Moriarty will pay for this. Because, without even asking, Sherlock knew that only one person could have done this to his brother. This was a warning.

Sorry for all the cliffhangers. But I torture myself with these as much as I do you guys. Sorry, but not really. We'll see you next week. Happy Red Pants Monday!

TSA + IB