Fic: You and Whose Army
Title: You and Whose Army
Genre: Char Study, Action
Pairings: None
Rating: PG 13
Words: 832
Summary: John's a BAMF because he's always had to fight for the ones he love. From first kiss to Sherlock, a brief look at John's fighting career.
Disclaimer: Not mine, no money earned.
AN: Written to the song You and Whose Army by Radiohead, but does not require the song for understanding. As requested by zeugmaqueen . Part of my Radiohead songfic project. Details after fic. BTW these fics are all one-shots/drabbles and you can read any of them in any order.
Songs done: 15 Step, Black Star, All I Need, Fitter Happier, Karma Police, The Amazing Sounds of Orgy, No Surprises, Subterranean Homesick Alien, Faust Arp, There There, Exit Music (for a film)
Songs queued: True Love Waits/Jigsaw Falling into Place, Up on the Ladder
John's first love was borne in blood and tears. Her tears, his blood.
She had a jealous and violent ex-boyfriend, a proper little hooligan at age fifteen.
He showed up with two of his 'friends' on their walk home from their first date. His buck teeth bared and ham fists raised, he snarled at John. “I'll teach you to touch what's mine.”
John stood his full unimpressive height and bit back. “Funny, that's what I was going to say.”
The sluggish beast didn't look like he understood. “She's my girlfriend and she's coming with me.”
John puffed up his thin chest. “I won't let you near her.”
“Oh yeah? You and what army?” And they laughed, great dumb roars of laughter, mocking him, grating him until he saw red.
John lunged.
Looking back, a scrawny thirteen year old was probably no match for three star rugby players.
Still, he'd like to think the heartfelt first kiss on the lips was worth a few cracked ribs and a broken nose, even if it was a bit wet.
---
Along the years he's had a few girlfriends, boyfriends, and had defended them against ex's, muggers, and bullies. He was beginning to think it was a pattern. He didn't mind. His mother always told him you've got to fight for the ones you love.
He expected fights in Afghanistan, but he didn't expect love.
It was a quiet affair, both of them determined to keep it so. They were due for discharge soon anyway.
They'd been on a routine clean up mission, searching for survivors. No one was prepared for a whole cell of insurgents hiding in a secret basement.
He heard the gunshots and came running. The insurgents were huddled around a supine form on the floor, lying in a spreading pool of blood. John's mind went blank.
“Drop your weapons.”
They turned around and saw him, a lone short soldier with a medical kit still in one hand. They laughed.
He lunged.
He got commendations for bravery, but he wanted to say he didn't feel very brave at all. He's never been so scared as he desperately tried to staunch the gun wound, as he watched the life go out of those smiling eyes, his lover's last breaths wasted telling John he's like a whole bloody army.
This time John's love ended in blood and tears. The blood on his hands and the tears in his eyes.
John thought he wouldn't love again, so he wouldn't have to fight anymore, kill anyone, until he found himself pointing his gun at the taxi driver.
Sherlock had a habit of getting in trouble. Luckily John had a long history of dealing with trouble.
Sherlock also had a habit of going off on his own and leaving John in the dark. He wasn't easy to protect.
This time Sherlock had told him to wait. Lestrade was on his way. He had sneaked in alone, gotten captured. All according to plan, he had told John with a wink.
John gritted his teeth. Back-up was coming, just a few more minutes. He tightened the grip on his gun but couldn't stop the light tremor in his hand. Lestrade was coming. Help was coming. Just five more minutes. Unease knotted his stomach. He wasn't sure he could wait a few minutes, because by then something might have happened to Sherlock, by then it might be-
Too late.
Afghanistan flashed through his mind's eye for an instant before he pushed it aside. He wouldn't, couldn't just stand by and do nothing. He had to try.
It was worse than he feared. The moment he stepped in the compound floodlights hit him. He squinted and looked around. The place seemed empty but he could make out outlines of men behind crates and pillars. Red dots danced on his chest and face. A suited form stepped out from the shadows.
“Hello, Doctor Watson.”
“Moriarty.” John muttered, raising his gun.
He leisurely strolled towards John, a half leer on his face.
“Put it down, John. There are twenty guns trained on you, ready to blow you apart, and the only reason they haven't is you might splatter my suit.”
John knew this was true. He counted twenty, maybe thirty snipers. Probably more. You can never be sure with Moriarty.
“You've got Sherlock.”
The man simply smiled.
“Let him go.”
“Let him go?” Moriarty looked scandalized, “Let him go? I'm taking him with me! I'm taking Sherlock on a very special trip to Reichenbach Falls,” his eyebrows rose, “to tip him over it.”
“No.” John's stated.
“Oh,” Moriarty's voice rose, “are you going to stop me?”
John cocked his gun, hand steady and eyes focused.
Moriarty chuckled, an unpleasant, keening sound. “You? You and whose army Johnny-boy?”
John's body tensed like a drawn bow, but he felt calm, poised.
“Me. Just me.” And he lunged.
--
AN:So this is part of the Radiohead songfic request project/thing I'm doing, because I just love them so much. As its been a while (an understatement), and it seems I've lost momentum, I'm closing the requests. Unless you really want it, in which case I'll oblige. I would make excuses but if I had time for those I should just write more fic instead. King of Limbs was exciting! But way too short. Kind of like Sherlock.
P.S. I hope this posts alright because LJ is acting more than a bit funky.
Genre: Char Study, Action
Pairings: None
Rating: PG 13
Words: 832
Summary: John's a BAMF because he's always had to fight for the ones he love. From first kiss to Sherlock, a brief look at John's fighting career.
Disclaimer: Not mine, no money earned.
AN: Written to the song You and Whose Army by Radiohead, but does not require the song for understanding. As requested by zeugmaqueen . Part of my Radiohead songfic project. Details after fic. BTW these fics are all one-shots/drabbles and you can read any of them in any order.
Songs done: 15 Step, Black Star, All I Need, Fitter Happier, Karma Police, The Amazing Sounds of Orgy, No Surprises, Subterranean Homesick Alien, Faust Arp, There There, Exit Music (for a film)
Songs queued: True Love Waits/Jigsaw Falling into Place, Up on the Ladder
John's first love was borne in blood and tears. Her tears, his blood.
She had a jealous and violent ex-boyfriend, a proper little hooligan at age fifteen.
He showed up with two of his 'friends' on their walk home from their first date. His buck teeth bared and ham fists raised, he snarled at John. “I'll teach you to touch what's mine.”
John stood his full unimpressive height and bit back. “Funny, that's what I was going to say.”
The sluggish beast didn't look like he understood. “She's my girlfriend and she's coming with me.”
John puffed up his thin chest. “I won't let you near her.”
“Oh yeah? You and what army?” And they laughed, great dumb roars of laughter, mocking him, grating him until he saw red.
John lunged.
Looking back, a scrawny thirteen year old was probably no match for three star rugby players.
Still, he'd like to think the heartfelt first kiss on the lips was worth a few cracked ribs and a broken nose, even if it was a bit wet.
---
Along the years he's had a few girlfriends, boyfriends, and had defended them against ex's, muggers, and bullies. He was beginning to think it was a pattern. He didn't mind. His mother always told him you've got to fight for the ones you love.
He expected fights in Afghanistan, but he didn't expect love.
It was a quiet affair, both of them determined to keep it so. They were due for discharge soon anyway.
They'd been on a routine clean up mission, searching for survivors. No one was prepared for a whole cell of insurgents hiding in a secret basement.
He heard the gunshots and came running. The insurgents were huddled around a supine form on the floor, lying in a spreading pool of blood. John's mind went blank.
“Drop your weapons.”
They turned around and saw him, a lone short soldier with a medical kit still in one hand. They laughed.
He lunged.
He got commendations for bravery, but he wanted to say he didn't feel very brave at all. He's never been so scared as he desperately tried to staunch the gun wound, as he watched the life go out of those smiling eyes, his lover's last breaths wasted telling John he's like a whole bloody army.
This time John's love ended in blood and tears. The blood on his hands and the tears in his eyes.
John thought he wouldn't love again, so he wouldn't have to fight anymore, kill anyone, until he found himself pointing his gun at the taxi driver.
Sherlock had a habit of getting in trouble. Luckily John had a long history of dealing with trouble.
Sherlock also had a habit of going off on his own and leaving John in the dark. He wasn't easy to protect.
This time Sherlock had told him to wait. Lestrade was on his way. He had sneaked in alone, gotten captured. All according to plan, he had told John with a wink.
John gritted his teeth. Back-up was coming, just a few more minutes. He tightened the grip on his gun but couldn't stop the light tremor in his hand. Lestrade was coming. Help was coming. Just five more minutes. Unease knotted his stomach. He wasn't sure he could wait a few minutes, because by then something might have happened to Sherlock, by then it might be-
Too late.
Afghanistan flashed through his mind's eye for an instant before he pushed it aside. He wouldn't, couldn't just stand by and do nothing. He had to try.
It was worse than he feared. The moment he stepped in the compound floodlights hit him. He squinted and looked around. The place seemed empty but he could make out outlines of men behind crates and pillars. Red dots danced on his chest and face. A suited form stepped out from the shadows.
“Hello, Doctor Watson.”
“Moriarty.” John muttered, raising his gun.
He leisurely strolled towards John, a half leer on his face.
“Put it down, John. There are twenty guns trained on you, ready to blow you apart, and the only reason they haven't is you might splatter my suit.”
John knew this was true. He counted twenty, maybe thirty snipers. Probably more. You can never be sure with Moriarty.
“You've got Sherlock.”
The man simply smiled.
“Let him go.”
“Let him go?” Moriarty looked scandalized, “Let him go? I'm taking him with me! I'm taking Sherlock on a very special trip to Reichenbach Falls,” his eyebrows rose, “to tip him over it.”
“No.” John's stated.
“Oh,” Moriarty's voice rose, “are you going to stop me?”
John cocked his gun, hand steady and eyes focused.
Moriarty chuckled, an unpleasant, keening sound. “You? You and whose army Johnny-boy?”
John's body tensed like a drawn bow, but he felt calm, poised.
“Me. Just me.” And he lunged.
--
AN:So this is part of the Radiohead songfic request project/thing I'm doing, because I just love them so much. As its been a while (an understatement), and it seems I've lost momentum, I'm closing the requests. Unless you really want it, in which case I'll oblige. I would make excuses but if I had time for those I should just write more fic instead. King of Limbs was exciting! But way too short. Kind of like Sherlock.
P.S. I hope this posts alright because LJ is acting more than a bit funky.