Fanfiction: Don't be dead (9/11)
Title: Don't be dead (9/11)
Length: 1632 words
Rating: PG 13
Warnings: none
Pairing: mild Sherlock/John, but can be read as friendship
Summary: Post "The Reichenbach Fall". John struggles with his life after Sherlocks 'death' and Sherlock wants his life back. But before they must face a new enemy.
Beta fififolle is just the best <3
All chapters: http://anyrei.livejournal.com/tag/don%27t%20be%20dead
Chapter 9: I'm not on the side of the angels
It was already getting dark, and the street lamps illuminated the road in a diffuse light. Sherlock had snuck out with John to the rear exit, and now the two of them were on their way to Sherlock's apartment.
"Are you sure that we've lost Mycroft's men?"
Sherlock looked at John briefly and nodded.
"Obviously."
"Obviously, Sherlock?"
John hated it when Sherlock looked at him with his 'It-is-so-obvious-that-even-you-could-see-it' look. Sherlock sighed briefly, but actually he loved to impress John with his powers of observation.
"Mycroft has sent two agents to watch you. Neither of them seem to take this task very seriously. Now that you have a regular job and left home yesterday at a certain time, they expect that you'll head back at the same time through the front door. Fifteen minutes ago the agents went to buy sandwiches and coffee and will be busy for at least half an hour with their food, from my last observation. Neither of them has researched how long your working hours are. Otherwise they'd know that your work is done by now and they would probably also guard the back door. But they don't. They're taking a break and they'll not notice for an hour that something is wrong. Therefore we shouldn't strike roots."
John simply looked at Sherlock for a solid second. Then he grinned.
"Let's go, show-off!"
~ ~
"So that's where you live?" John looked sullenly into Sherlock's apartment.
"No, I live in Baker Street. That's just temporary." Even if Sherlock certainly didn't mean his remark to be sentimental, John was very happy about it.
"Can you play my bodyguard tonight? It's important that I strengthen my position with Mr. Smith, today."
"Sure, but I don't have my gun and..." John looked down at himself. He wore his black and white striped shirt and blue jeans. "...I don't look particularly dangerous for a bodyguard."
Sherlock grinned at him. "I've got you a few things."
Sherlock went into his bedroom and John followed him. The detective took a few things out of a bag. Black trousers, a black sweatshirt and a well balanced SIG Sauer P226 John noted, pleased after a short inspection of the ammunition. John took the gun in his hand and smiled slightly. Since his time in the military this weapon had become his constant companion and a natural extension of his arm. Although he was a doctor, John actually was an excellent marksman and expert in handling this weapon, widely used by the British Army.
"Do I want to know where...?" he began to ask Sherlock.
"No."
"Okay."
John put the gun down on the bed and took off his favorite sweatshirt with a swift movement. Sherlock handed him the new one and was surprised that John wore his dog tags under his shirt. Something pulled painfully in his heart. He took a step towards his friend and took the silver chain in his hand. John looked silently at Sherlock. He knew that the detective could read him like an open book and that it was impossible for John to hide something from him.
Sherlock looked at John's bright scar on his shoulder and then in the gray-blue eyes of his friend.
"When I said bodyguard, I don't mean..."
John didn't often see Sherlock struggle for words. The detective cleared his throat.
"I don't want you to get hurt."
John was silent for a moment and looked at Sherlock, motionless. "Sentimental, Sherlock?" John cocked his head and pulled an eyebrow skeptically.
Sherlock said nothing and continued to look at him with his turquoise-blue eyes which John had been fascinated with since they met.
"Don't worry. I kick everyone's ass, if they get funny with us."
John turned away from Sherlock and pulled on the black sweatshirt. Sherlock still looked at John briefly and then left the room to wait for John so he could finish changing his clothes.
No matter what John said, he was worried. That John was wearing his dog tag wasn't a good sign. It was as if John expected to die in combat. Sherlock shook off the thought. John was a good soldier and marksman. He could very well take care of himself. But the nagging question of whether John wanted to take care of himself, remained uncomfortably stuck in his mind.
~ ~
Pete greeted Sherlock cheerfully and John looked at him in surprise, but tried to be friendly. Sherlock introduced the two of them briefly and then went over to the rest of the waiting people, whom he had ordered to come to the docks. Somehow the dark-clad figures looked familiar to John. It took him a while, but finally it dawned on him why. Those were all people from Sherlock's "Homeless Network," on which he could always rely on for a case back then. John followed him slowly and heard as they reported their doing to Sherlock. They had spread rumours everywhere in the underworld that Moriarty was back as a consulting criminal. Sherlock was pleased with the reports and sent the people home after paying them generous.
"Okay, now to Mr. Smith." John nodded seriously.
He was tense, all his senses were sharpened. John wondered how the heart of London could remind him so much of the war in Afghanistan. But it was like Mycroft once said - with Sherlock you always see the battlefield. He followed Sherlock along a road by the Thames up to a large warehouse. Pete had accompanied them, but told them he would wait outside, because he had to make an important business call. Even without Sherlock's talent to draw conclusions John was certain that Pete just wanted to throw his weight around. He didn't know why, but he decided not to worry about those little things and focus on the task before him. Now he had to concentrate on portraying the most scary bodyguard possible, so that no one came up with the idea to do something stupid.
"Moriarty, welcome!" Matt greeted Sherlock effusively with outstretched arms. John couldn't stand the blonde, smooth guy already. He also internally reminded himself again that he had to remember to call Sherlock by the name Moriarty.
"Mr. Smith. How's business?"
Matt approached them and looked with irritation at John, who was standing in his practiced straight military posture and ignored him, while he tactically analyzed the warehouse. Two men at the back of the hall about three metres away. Probably armed with handguns. A man behind Mr. Smith, semiautomatic. Three men in an adjoining room, which could be seen through a glass window. Armament unknown. Coverage options, right and left about three feet distant, containers, and a dark blue Porsche parked behind Mr. Smith.
"Who is that?" Matt asked with his head pointing to John.
Sherlock glanced at John. "This is my - shall we say, mate - his name, never mind."
Matt scratched his chin and eyed John skeptically. "And he can't talk?"
"He can shoot very well," remarked Sherlock while John still skillfully ignored Mr. Smith.
Matt obviously thought about saying something for a moment, but decided to let it go.
"Whatever. We have put your plans into action this morning and they have proved very useful. You've kept your end of the bargain and I have kept mine. William has received your message."
Sherlock smiled. "Then I expect to hear from him soon."
Sherlock turned with a flowing coat and made to leave the hall. "Until we meet again, Mr. Smith", he said smiling and without turning around.
"I'm looking forward to it," said Matt.
"I doubt it," Sherlock muttered, as soon as they were out of his earshot.
John had so many questions, but he was patient until they returned "home".
~ ~
The message was brief, but it burned deep into his heart.
I'm still here, brother. Write me. notonthesideofthe@angels.co.uk
That was so typical of his brother. He had always made fun of his faith. Nevertheless, he was his brother. When he'd heard of his suicide, he had been shaken. Although he knew that Jim had self-destructive impulses in himself. Unlike him - William - Jim never could bundle his intelligence to something constructive.
Because my power is not based on the large number, my rule does not need strong men, but I am the God of the weak.
William smiled. He had never played the power play like his brother. Let the puppets dance, in order to gain influence. He himself was the power, simply by its superiority. Something he had to teach his brother.
And then there was this annoying issue that Jim had started something that he hadn't finished yet. William couldn't stand it when Jim ordered a sniper to kill someone and then wasn't going through with it. At some point you'll lose the respect of their subjects over that.
Someone cleared his throat behind him, and William turned with a raised eyebrow. "Sebastian, haven't seen you in a while."
Sebastian nodded his greeting. "Is it true, what is said?"
"It appears so. He left me a message to contact him."
"Why hasn't he contacted me? Why the secrecy?"
William pursed his lips. He liked Sebastian. Even if the relationship that he and his brother used to have wasn't something he would approve of.
"My brother has always had a sense of theatricality."
"That's not like him. He would have contacted me by now."
"Whatever his reasons might be, Sebastian, he'll explain it to us soon. I'll meet with him."
With these words, he pointed to a large table in the room for Sebastian to sit down at, which was laid with the most diverse foods. But William had only a piece of bread and water for himself.
Length: 1632 words
Rating: PG 13
Warnings: none
Pairing: mild Sherlock/John, but can be read as friendship
Summary: Post "The Reichenbach Fall". John struggles with his life after Sherlocks 'death' and Sherlock wants his life back. But before they must face a new enemy.
Beta fififolle is just the best <3
All chapters: http://anyrei.livejournal.com/tag/don%27t%20be%20dead
Chapter 9: I'm not on the side of the angels
It was already getting dark, and the street lamps illuminated the road in a diffuse light. Sherlock had snuck out with John to the rear exit, and now the two of them were on their way to Sherlock's apartment.
"Are you sure that we've lost Mycroft's men?"
Sherlock looked at John briefly and nodded.
"Obviously."
"Obviously, Sherlock?"
John hated it when Sherlock looked at him with his 'It-is-so-obvious-that-even-you-could-see-it' look. Sherlock sighed briefly, but actually he loved to impress John with his powers of observation.
"Mycroft has sent two agents to watch you. Neither of them seem to take this task very seriously. Now that you have a regular job and left home yesterday at a certain time, they expect that you'll head back at the same time through the front door. Fifteen minutes ago the agents went to buy sandwiches and coffee and will be busy for at least half an hour with their food, from my last observation. Neither of them has researched how long your working hours are. Otherwise they'd know that your work is done by now and they would probably also guard the back door. But they don't. They're taking a break and they'll not notice for an hour that something is wrong. Therefore we shouldn't strike roots."
John simply looked at Sherlock for a solid second. Then he grinned.
"Let's go, show-off!"
~ ~
"So that's where you live?" John looked sullenly into Sherlock's apartment.
"No, I live in Baker Street. That's just temporary." Even if Sherlock certainly didn't mean his remark to be sentimental, John was very happy about it.
"Can you play my bodyguard tonight? It's important that I strengthen my position with Mr. Smith, today."
"Sure, but I don't have my gun and..." John looked down at himself. He wore his black and white striped shirt and blue jeans. "...I don't look particularly dangerous for a bodyguard."
Sherlock grinned at him. "I've got you a few things."
Sherlock went into his bedroom and John followed him. The detective took a few things out of a bag. Black trousers, a black sweatshirt and a well balanced SIG Sauer P226 John noted, pleased after a short inspection of the ammunition. John took the gun in his hand and smiled slightly. Since his time in the military this weapon had become his constant companion and a natural extension of his arm. Although he was a doctor, John actually was an excellent marksman and expert in handling this weapon, widely used by the British Army.
"Do I want to know where...?" he began to ask Sherlock.
"No."
"Okay."
John put the gun down on the bed and took off his favorite sweatshirt with a swift movement. Sherlock handed him the new one and was surprised that John wore his dog tags under his shirt. Something pulled painfully in his heart. He took a step towards his friend and took the silver chain in his hand. John looked silently at Sherlock. He knew that the detective could read him like an open book and that it was impossible for John to hide something from him.
Sherlock looked at John's bright scar on his shoulder and then in the gray-blue eyes of his friend.
"When I said bodyguard, I don't mean..."
John didn't often see Sherlock struggle for words. The detective cleared his throat.
"I don't want you to get hurt."
John was silent for a moment and looked at Sherlock, motionless. "Sentimental, Sherlock?" John cocked his head and pulled an eyebrow skeptically.
Sherlock said nothing and continued to look at him with his turquoise-blue eyes which John had been fascinated with since they met.
"Don't worry. I kick everyone's ass, if they get funny with us."
John turned away from Sherlock and pulled on the black sweatshirt. Sherlock still looked at John briefly and then left the room to wait for John so he could finish changing his clothes.
No matter what John said, he was worried. That John was wearing his dog tag wasn't a good sign. It was as if John expected to die in combat. Sherlock shook off the thought. John was a good soldier and marksman. He could very well take care of himself. But the nagging question of whether John wanted to take care of himself, remained uncomfortably stuck in his mind.
~ ~
Pete greeted Sherlock cheerfully and John looked at him in surprise, but tried to be friendly. Sherlock introduced the two of them briefly and then went over to the rest of the waiting people, whom he had ordered to come to the docks. Somehow the dark-clad figures looked familiar to John. It took him a while, but finally it dawned on him why. Those were all people from Sherlock's "Homeless Network," on which he could always rely on for a case back then. John followed him slowly and heard as they reported their doing to Sherlock. They had spread rumours everywhere in the underworld that Moriarty was back as a consulting criminal. Sherlock was pleased with the reports and sent the people home after paying them generous.
"Okay, now to Mr. Smith." John nodded seriously.
He was tense, all his senses were sharpened. John wondered how the heart of London could remind him so much of the war in Afghanistan. But it was like Mycroft once said - with Sherlock you always see the battlefield. He followed Sherlock along a road by the Thames up to a large warehouse. Pete had accompanied them, but told them he would wait outside, because he had to make an important business call. Even without Sherlock's talent to draw conclusions John was certain that Pete just wanted to throw his weight around. He didn't know why, but he decided not to worry about those little things and focus on the task before him. Now he had to concentrate on portraying the most scary bodyguard possible, so that no one came up with the idea to do something stupid.
"Moriarty, welcome!" Matt greeted Sherlock effusively with outstretched arms. John couldn't stand the blonde, smooth guy already. He also internally reminded himself again that he had to remember to call Sherlock by the name Moriarty.
"Mr. Smith. How's business?"
Matt approached them and looked with irritation at John, who was standing in his practiced straight military posture and ignored him, while he tactically analyzed the warehouse. Two men at the back of the hall about three metres away. Probably armed with handguns. A man behind Mr. Smith, semiautomatic. Three men in an adjoining room, which could be seen through a glass window. Armament unknown. Coverage options, right and left about three feet distant, containers, and a dark blue Porsche parked behind Mr. Smith.
"Who is that?" Matt asked with his head pointing to John.
Sherlock glanced at John. "This is my - shall we say, mate - his name, never mind."
Matt scratched his chin and eyed John skeptically. "And he can't talk?"
"He can shoot very well," remarked Sherlock while John still skillfully ignored Mr. Smith.
Matt obviously thought about saying something for a moment, but decided to let it go.
"Whatever. We have put your plans into action this morning and they have proved very useful. You've kept your end of the bargain and I have kept mine. William has received your message."
Sherlock smiled. "Then I expect to hear from him soon."
Sherlock turned with a flowing coat and made to leave the hall. "Until we meet again, Mr. Smith", he said smiling and without turning around.
"I'm looking forward to it," said Matt.
"I doubt it," Sherlock muttered, as soon as they were out of his earshot.
John had so many questions, but he was patient until they returned "home".
~ ~
The message was brief, but it burned deep into his heart.
I'm still here, brother. Write me. notonthesideofthe@angels.co.uk
That was so typical of his brother. He had always made fun of his faith. Nevertheless, he was his brother. When he'd heard of his suicide, he had been shaken. Although he knew that Jim had self-destructive impulses in himself. Unlike him - William - Jim never could bundle his intelligence to something constructive.
Because my power is not based on the large number, my rule does not need strong men, but I am the God of the weak.
William smiled. He had never played the power play like his brother. Let the puppets dance, in order to gain influence. He himself was the power, simply by its superiority. Something he had to teach his brother.
And then there was this annoying issue that Jim had started something that he hadn't finished yet. William couldn't stand it when Jim ordered a sniper to kill someone and then wasn't going through with it. At some point you'll lose the respect of their subjects over that.
Someone cleared his throat behind him, and William turned with a raised eyebrow. "Sebastian, haven't seen you in a while."
Sebastian nodded his greeting. "Is it true, what is said?"
"It appears so. He left me a message to contact him."
"Why hasn't he contacted me? Why the secrecy?"
William pursed his lips. He liked Sebastian. Even if the relationship that he and his brother used to have wasn't something he would approve of.
"My brother has always had a sense of theatricality."
"That's not like him. He would have contacted me by now."
"Whatever his reasons might be, Sebastian, he'll explain it to us soon. I'll meet with him."
With these words, he pointed to a large table in the room for Sebastian to sit down at, which was laid with the most diverse foods. But William had only a piece of bread and water for himself.