Sherlock advent stories Dec.5: Courage
Title: Courage
rating: Teen
characters: Sherlock, John and mentions of Mycroft
a/n: Not fluffy! But I did enjoy writing this one.
AO3 link
Courage
Bullets ricocheted off the wall that separated John from Sherlock. He could hear the detective's heavy breathing, but nothing else. The urge to call the man's name overwhelmed him, but the danger was still too close. If he could remember right, and his combat training had kicked in, then there were no less than six other men looking for him and Sherlock, all heavily armed and irritatingly willing to die for whomever they worked for. Empty factories were quickly becoming John's least favorite places to visit right after the Diogenes Club.
“Just bloody fantastic,” John mumbled to himself. Mycroft had texted earlier with more intel for the Hamilton case and a possible name for the head of operations, but somewhere someone leaked the information. There was no other explanation for how these men knew where Sherlock and him would be and at what exact time. John's mobile vibrated in his pocket and for one breathless moment he thought he would be discovered. In the heat of battle every noise seemed magnified but no one came for him.
“Retreat!” John heard a man yell before the bullets abruptly stopped. In the chaos that followed he heard the boot falls of the other soldiers and Sherlock's deep voice calling for him before it was silenced by a gunshot. Oh god.
“SHERLOCK!” he yelled and ran from his protected position. A body that looked like the detective's was sprawled out on the floor, a puddle of blood beginning to form near his upper body. For all John knew, it could be a fatal shot or just a very bad head wound from when Sherlock fell. Not far from him rested another body, probably the unfortunate man to shoot Sherlock.
“He's not the brightest is he?” John whipped around only to see a blonde man dressed in a suit. A very expensive looking grey suit to be exact. The doctor pointed his own gun toward the new comer and contemplated shooting first and questioning later because Sherlock was bleeding out.
“You better answer me very quickly if you don't want to be shot between the eyes because my friend is dying and you are in my way,” John growled. “Who are you?” The man smirked before placing his Walther PPK/S on the ground and motioning for John to approach the detective.
“A friend. I have already called for backup, so if Mycroft was listening at all there will already be an ambulance on the way.” John didn't need to be told twice before his legs were carrying him toward Sherlock. The young man was deathly pale and so still that for one horrifying moment the doctor thought he was dead.
“When he get home Sherlock we are going to have a long nice chat about what to do in situations like these because lord knows it's going to happen,” John brushed his hands through the detective's curls only to discover that the blood was not from a head wound, as he had hoped, but from a gunshot wound to the chest. He took of his jacket and jumper so he could use the soft material to staunch the blood flow. Part of his mind was thankful it hadn't been the blue one because anything Sherlock gave him was precious.
“ETA three minutes,” the blonde man informed him. “He should be fine.” John wanted to shout at the stranger, but it wouldn't do any good. Instead he kept pressure on Sherlock's chest and thought of the most vilest names to call Mycroft when he next saw the wanker because this shouldn't have happened at all.
“Courage,” he whispered to Sherlock. “We'll get through this as we always do.” In the distance John could finally hear the sirens and took his first deep breath since the shooting had started.
rating: Teen
characters: Sherlock, John and mentions of Mycroft
a/n: Not fluffy! But I did enjoy writing this one.
AO3 link
Courage
Bullets ricocheted off the wall that separated John from Sherlock. He could hear the detective's heavy breathing, but nothing else. The urge to call the man's name overwhelmed him, but the danger was still too close. If he could remember right, and his combat training had kicked in, then there were no less than six other men looking for him and Sherlock, all heavily armed and irritatingly willing to die for whomever they worked for. Empty factories were quickly becoming John's least favorite places to visit right after the Diogenes Club.
“Just bloody fantastic,” John mumbled to himself. Mycroft had texted earlier with more intel for the Hamilton case and a possible name for the head of operations, but somewhere someone leaked the information. There was no other explanation for how these men knew where Sherlock and him would be and at what exact time. John's mobile vibrated in his pocket and for one breathless moment he thought he would be discovered. In the heat of battle every noise seemed magnified but no one came for him.
“Retreat!” John heard a man yell before the bullets abruptly stopped. In the chaos that followed he heard the boot falls of the other soldiers and Sherlock's deep voice calling for him before it was silenced by a gunshot. Oh god.
“SHERLOCK!” he yelled and ran from his protected position. A body that looked like the detective's was sprawled out on the floor, a puddle of blood beginning to form near his upper body. For all John knew, it could be a fatal shot or just a very bad head wound from when Sherlock fell. Not far from him rested another body, probably the unfortunate man to shoot Sherlock.
“He's not the brightest is he?” John whipped around only to see a blonde man dressed in a suit. A very expensive looking grey suit to be exact. The doctor pointed his own gun toward the new comer and contemplated shooting first and questioning later because Sherlock was bleeding out.
“You better answer me very quickly if you don't want to be shot between the eyes because my friend is dying and you are in my way,” John growled. “Who are you?” The man smirked before placing his Walther PPK/S on the ground and motioning for John to approach the detective.
“A friend. I have already called for backup, so if Mycroft was listening at all there will already be an ambulance on the way.” John didn't need to be told twice before his legs were carrying him toward Sherlock. The young man was deathly pale and so still that for one horrifying moment the doctor thought he was dead.
“When he get home Sherlock we are going to have a long nice chat about what to do in situations like these because lord knows it's going to happen,” John brushed his hands through the detective's curls only to discover that the blood was not from a head wound, as he had hoped, but from a gunshot wound to the chest. He took of his jacket and jumper so he could use the soft material to staunch the blood flow. Part of his mind was thankful it hadn't been the blue one because anything Sherlock gave him was precious.
“ETA three minutes,” the blonde man informed him. “He should be fine.” John wanted to shout at the stranger, but it wouldn't do any good. Instead he kept pressure on Sherlock's chest and thought of the most vilest names to call Mycroft when he next saw the wanker because this shouldn't have happened at all.
“Courage,” he whispered to Sherlock. “We'll get through this as we always do.” In the distance John could finally hear the sirens and took his first deep breath since the shooting had started.