Fic: Homeless (prompt fill) - 3/3
Last part of the prompt fill for morganstuart. It still doesn't really have a title because I suck at titles. :)
Title: Homeless
Words: 2037
Rating: PG
Warnings: none
Pairings : Sherlock/John
Disclaimer: Sadly the characters are not mine and no money is made (that would be sooo cool!).
Summary: Fill for this Make Me A Monday prompt:
To help Sherlock get the information he needs to solve a case, John and Lestrade spend a long, cold, and unexpectedly dangerous weekend undercover on the streets posing as part of Sherlock's "homeless network." No pairing, any pairing, whatever.
Make it as dark, dangerous, and/or angsty as you like.
Previous part here
Sunday
John was slowly losing hope. It was already Sunday and nothing had happened so far. They hadn’t contacted Cai again in order not to endanger him further, so all John could do was hope that the boy was fine.
John had woken up early, because it was getting colder every day and his scar ached terribly. Greg was still sleeping beside him. John moved closer to share some of his warmth and watch his silent, relaxed face.
He had realised how much he missed sleeping beside someone. There had been nobody serious since he had gone to Afghanistan and nobody at all since he had come back home. Of course, he missed sleeping with someone too, but he missed the easy companionship of sleeping beside someone even more. Just sleeping, hearing another person breathe, feeling warm skin and arms around him, and sharing warmth and safety.
The only time he felt safe now was when he was with Sherlock, which was ridiculous for several reasons. Amongst them the fact that he felt safe with a person most people would describe as a safety hazard, but more importantly because he and Sherlock would never be anything. Could never be anything. Could they?
John buried his nose in Sherlock’s scarf, breathing in the faint scent of its owner, and allowed himself a few minutes of fantasising about doing this whole undercover thing with Sherlock instead of Greg.
Walking the streets undercover with Sherlock, sleeping huddled together with Sherlock, kissing Sherlock... Then he told himself to stop and face reality again.
They needed to find that killer before Monday.
~°~
A few hours later John and Greg were walking up Victoria Embankment towards Waterloo Bridge. They stopped at a phone box to watch the London Eye and Big Ben in the distance, obscured by the sun shining in their eyes.
Suddenly, there was a high pitched scream, a screeching noise and then more screams. John spun around and saw a woman, who had apparently been hit by a car, lying on the road.
He sprinted over, only realising what he looked like when people started to shove him.
“I am a doctor. I can help. Stop that!”
Still, people kept trying to get him to move away, but John had a very stubborn streak in him (much to his parents’ regret) and when he saw a man reaching out to turn the woman over, his patience snapped.
“Oy! Don’t move her. Let me help. Get your hands off!”
He finally managed to kneel down beside her and started to check for serious bleeding, pulse and respiration before he pulled her into the lateral recumbent position and covered her with his coat.
He asked if someone had called for an ambulance and when he got a confirmation, he started to notice his surroundings again.
There were a lot of people around them, mainly tourists John assumed. He could hear at least three different languages. He couldn’t see Greg, but he was probably just trying not to get in the way.
Then he heard someone shout his name. Greg. He sounded distressed.
John’s head shot up and he stared around. There was some unusual movement at one side of the crowd. Somebody being pulled away?
He jumped to his feet and tried to push through the crowd, but the curious onlookers were everywhere and not willing to move, busy watching the woman on the ground.
When he finally had dug his way out of the bulk of people, Greg was nowhere to be seen. John looked around frantically until he noticed a little girl standing on the pavement with wide eyes.
He crouched down.
“Did you see someone drag another man away from here? He is my friend, I need to find him.”
She nodded and looked towards a small back alley.
“That way?”
Another nod.
John thanked her and dashed off. It was already getting dark and now it was also starting to rain. Marvellous.
He sprinted down the small street, came to a crossing and cursed loudly. There was no time to go into the wrong direction. He only had this one try when he wanted Greg to live. He felt his breathing go dangerously shallow.
Then he tried to calm down and recalled the street fights in Afghanistan. He pushed the panic back to a distant corner of his brain and ran on, this time relying on his instincts.
After a few minutes of running, he came to the next crossing where he heard a muffled shout, so he turned left and proceeded.
Quite suddenly the chase was over. John stormed into an alley to discover that it was a blind lane. On the far end stood a man, holding Greg in a choke at his side and pressing a knife to his stomach.
He felt relief and fear battle for the upper hand for a moment, before he shut down both feelings.
John decided what to do in seconds, without ever stopping to run. Instead he heightened his pace and saw the confusion on the murderer’s face before he crashed into him with a full-body impact.
They all went to the ground in a tangle of limps, but John and the attacker jumped up again immediately. John took a defensive stance and observed the other man, who was still holding the knife. Its grind was not bloodied, which meant that Greg was not hurt. Much.
John instantly dismissed Greg from his thoughts, because he could see that the armed man was a professional. He needed every bit of concentration he could muster and he needed to disarm him fast.
Without any warning, the knife flashed through the air.
John leaped aside, but it cut his chest through all his clothing nonetheless. At the same time, something hit against his temple and for a second everything went white. He managed not to drop to his knees and used his momentum to follow the murderer’s movement and therefore seemed to run into his knife directly.
He turned his upper body in the last second, grabbed the hand holding the knife and pulled it towards him, exposing the other’s collarbone. Then he raised his free hand and in one smooth move shattered the bone with an aimed blow.
The man screamed and John used his brief distraction to bring his knee up and slam it into the attacker’s groin. He went to the ground and John suddenly heard Sally Donovan’s voice shouting, “Scotland Yard, stay down!”
John’s surroundings came crashing back to his attention, there were police men swarming into the alley, he saw Greg grinning at him in relief and then he felt his knees give in. Everything went black.
Monday
John woke up in the hospital.
Greg was there and explained that they had arrested the murderer and that John was fine, except for some bruises, a mild concussion and a minor cut on his chest.
The doctor came to check on him around noon and then he was free to go home.
Sherlock had not come. Nor called. Or texted.
When John got home, Sherlock was pacing the living room. He looked like he hadn’t slept in days, his hair was all over the place and his eyes? Well, emitting sparks might have been a nice way to put it. John was pretty sure he could have killed with that gaze.
“Do you think at all before acting?”
“Excuse me?”
John felt like he unexpectedly walked into a wall. Then his pain about the fact that Sherlock didn’t even bother to show up at the hospital turned into anger. But Sherlock was not finished.
“That was reckless and stupid.”
“What the fuck are you talking about? I just caught you a serial killer.”
“I am not talking about you attacking the murderer. You had that well under control.”
“Then what? What did I not have under control?”
“You know exactly what I’m talking about.”
“I am not a genius, as you tell me often enough, so no, I don’t know what you are talking about. Why are you so fucking angry? I solved your case for you, prevented another murder - without getting your scarf into any danger by the way - and I thought you'd be thrilled to have me home again. Instead you rant like a bloody teenager. What is going on?”
Sherlock was standing at the other end of the room and they probably looked ridiculous shouting at each other from the distance. When John mentioned the scarf all anger seemed to dissolve from Sherlock’s body and he suddenly looked very young and small.
“I told you to be careful.”
“And I was.”
“You were? Jumping a married man the first chance you get is being careful?”
“I… What?”
John felt the need to shake his head, hoping the words might rearrange themselves and make more sense.
“You heard me.”
“Yeah, but you lost me here.”
“Lestrade is married. What were you thinking?”
Sherlock started to get angry again while John felt mostly confused by now.
“You are angry because I kissed Greg? Or because he is married?”
“No.”
“No? Sherlock, you aren’t making any sense... So this is not about me kissing Greg?”
“No.”
“Then what?”
“This is about you not kissing ME! Apparently you are happy to kiss everybody else.”
John took a step back, because he felt like someone had just hit him in the chest really, really hard.
The two men stared at each other for a few moments. Then John took a deep breath and felt his anger disappear completely.
“What happened to 'Married to my work'? Remember that?”
“God, John, that was ages ago, I barely knew you and I was trying to get you to shut up so I could concentrate on the case! And I didn’t want you to kiss me then.”
Silence.
John walked closer to where Sherlock stood, hands clenched, looking more lost than angry again.
“But you do want me to kiss you now?”
“Yes. And I don't want you to kiss other people.”
“I don't want to kiss other people.”
John raised his hands, pulled off the scarf and - without ever leaving the other man’s eyes - wrapped it around Sherlock’s neck. Then he tucked softly until the taller man bent down and pressed his lips to John’s.
They shared a tender kiss until John suddenly felt all the tension leave Sherlock’s body and he feared for a moment that he might fall. He put his arms around him and looked up into his face.
“You are exhausted.”
“I haven’t slept in a while. But more importantly, I think I have never experienced so many intense emotions in that short a time.”
John smiled at that and pressed his face to Sherlock’s chest, feeling his heartbeat against his cheek.
“You should lie down.”
“Will you... come to bed with me? Just for sleeping, I mean. I think I’d sleep better if I were holding you.”
John felt his throat close with emotions, so he just nodded and followed Sherlock to his room.
If anybody had peeked into that room a few minutes later, he would’ve seen two men, sleeping so close together that it seemed almost impossible to breathe, both with a soft smile on their lips.
____________________________________-
AN: Dear morganstuart, I sincerely apologise for taking that long! I hope you can forgive me and I hope that you like the solution! :)
Kisses and cookies to my fight instructor ellie_hell for all her ideas and input and the rambling in the mail and for being awesome! And to verityburns for everything (and the quick spell check).
Also, I need everybody's help!
I am writing a 221B about John contemplating his crazy living situation. So if you have any ideas for crazy/funny/dangerous/brilliant/mad/impossible things Sherlock might have done, please tell me! :)
.