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A Bit Not Good	By : VulpineBeesKnees Category: S through Z > Sherlock (BBC) > Sherlock (BBC) Views: 2924 -:- Recommendations : 2 -:- Currently Reading : 3
Disclaimer: We do not own or make any profit on BBC's Sherlock or any of their characters. It's all for fun.

Chapter List
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After what seemed like far too long, Sherlock's cab pulled up to the address Lestrade had given him. Across the street, He could see john emerging from his own cab and met up with the doctor, his eyes searching for the DI. The lights were on, but Sherlock couldn't see anyone moving about inside. Lestrade's police cruiser came around the corner, and he tumbled out in a whirlwind, nodding to the both of them and taking pointe, leading them all to the front door, where it gave to his knock. The lock had been broken. Greg pulled his gun and headed into the house, the two civilians following. Greg cleared the hallway as they heard the ambulance sirens pulling up outside.
When the trio turned around a corner, into the sitting room, they found Josiah and Sheldon. They looked very much like John and Sherlock, save for the new red hair of course, and the fact that the blonde was in a wheelchair, but that wasn’t what was on everyone’s minds. The couple was positioned in the center of the room, facing each other. Their foreheads were pressed together and they were gagged and bound so that they couldn't move or speak. There was a fair amount of blood around them and Sherlock could see thick droplets where it had coagulated as it dripped down their chests. They were both were shaking profusely as their bodies fought to... What?
Lestrade barreled forward trying to go to their aid just as Sherlock saw the wire connecting the two men together from gaping chest wounds. His arm shot out and grabbed John by the back of the shirt hauling him back behind himself as he tried to call out to stop the Detective Inspector, but he was too late.
Time seemed to slow as Greg reached forward and grabbed the blonde. Sherlock saw tears running down the men's face as they shared one frightened, loving last look. The moment Lestrade touched the two the wire was tripped, and an explosion ripped from the blonde's chest.
A loud boom and shockwave knocked John and Sherlock both back. Managing to find his bearings, Sherlock stood to assess the situation. No one else had made it into the house yet. The dark haired man was sobbing and screaming through his gag, Greg was crumpled on the ground in front of him. The other man however, the one that had looked like John, that could have been John, had been destroyed by the blast, his body mutilated beyond recognition. Both men that were still alive had pieces of metal and bone stuck in their skin, and a large piece of bone had lodged itself in Lestrade's arm, he wasn’t moving and blood was pooling around him faster than it should have.
"John! Go get the medical team quick, tell them to call the bomb squad!!" He said shakily, stopping long enough to help John back on to his feet and push him toward the door before rushing to Lestrade’s side.
Ears ringing from the explosion, John stumbled along the hallway toward the door. He was unscathed, but thoroughly shaken, the blast bothering him quite a bit more than it had Sherlock for obvious reasons. It took him longer than it should to make it outside, and by the time he had the backup was already running up to the building. Sally caught him by the arm as he stumbled forward.
"John what happened?" Somewhere in the back of his mind he noted how her sneer disappeared when it really mattered.
Shaking his head and leaning on the officer a bit he told her what he could.
"I don't know. There was an explosion, Sherlock saw something and tried to stop us. Leatrades injured, one of the vics is dead, the other needs medical assistance." Giving her a small push toward the commotion John urged her, "Go. Go! They need a bomb squad in there."
Cataloging himself quickly, something he'd picked up in military training, John made sure he had no serious injuries. Everything was moving, no gushing blood, that was good enough.
When the EMT’s rushed into the room after the bomb squad Sherlock backed off of Lestrade. He’d kept a watchful eye on them as they checked him over and prepared him for transport. From where he stood, he could see that the bone protruding from Lestrade’s arm had also pierced his side. That accounted for all the blood. With nothing more for him to do to help the DI he moved to the man still taped to the chair, and started examining him ignoring the odd looks he got from the bomb squad. He could see that the wire had been hooked up to look like there was a bomb in both chests, but this man did not house any explosives. He slowly reached forward and took the tape off of the man’s mouth.
“He told us it was in one of us.... He didn’t tell us which one... Oh god... Josiah...” The man broke down into sobs, not even realizing that he was still taped to smoking body parts of his lover. Sherlock was not a doctor or a therapist, but even he could see two things were evident. One was that this man would live, despite his substantial injuries, and two, that he would never recover from the events that had passed this night.
---
John was about to head back inside the house when he saw a familiar black car skid in behind the line of squad cars. Mycroft slid out of the back seat and hurried across the yard to the front door faster than John had ever seen the elder Holmes move. Without even a side glance at John he hurried inside, a sort of frantic determined look painted across his features.
Following in Mycroft's wake John frantically pushed past the hoard of people inside the room. His eyes scoured the scene for Sherlock.
Mycroft had already found Lestrade being evaluated by the medical team, dropping to his knees beside the DI he placed a protective hand against the small of his back.
"I told you not to get hurt." He had leaned forward, his forehead almost pressing against Lestrade's temple. His normal stoic appearance barely rippled, but his eyes fell shut for a moment as he swallowed hard against the rising tide of emotions.
John was surprised to see the affection coming from Mycroft, not to mention the fact that he seemed to have come from nowhere. Almost in a daze Sherlock moved away from the victims as he watched his brother bustle in and go to Lestrade’s side. Just then an EMT came up and tried to check him out. Apparently when the blast had knocked him back, a piece of shrapnel had nicked his forehead and it had bled quite a bit, but he was fine. He’d rather the EMT help Lestrade. He was the one hurt. The woman smelled of too much perfume anyway and as her fingertips touched his face, he smacked her hand away. The revulsion he felt from the unwanted contact made him feel like retching, and he gave her a stern stare that warned he couldn’t be held responsible if she touched him again.
Seeing Sherlock batting at one of the responders attempts to check his vitals John hurried to his side. The room was overwhelmed with people, the bomb squad and medical team essentially blocking the victims from Johns view.
"God Sherlock. Are you alright?" On his third attempt to shoo the girl away the responder gave up, moving to help with the others, only to be replaced by John who quickly began assessing the injury.
“I’m fine...” Sherlock said in a daze John’s touch more than welcome and calming his roiling stomach. His eyes rose to John’s face and a million possibilities and visions lept to the forefront of his mind. John with the bomb planted in his chest, Sherlock weeping over the loss, John dead... John murdered... John in pieces. His arms shot out, wrapping around the smaller man, pulling him close and hugging him tight. It could have been John, so easily this situation could have ended with John.
“That could have been us...” he said softly, his voice barely a whisper. Something about seeing his brother so emotional over the injuries of his lover, and the striking resemblance of the men to themselves heightened his nerves. His long fingers gripped tightly around John, he couldn’t get the man close enough to convince himself that the doctor was safe. “It could have been you, and it’s my fault...”
Johns breath caught in his chest as the detective enveloped him in the crushing embrace. His hands found hold, one against the back of Sherlock's neck, the other wrapped tightly around his back. Closing his eyes John saw the image of the two men before Sherlock had pulled him back.
"It's okay Sherlock, it's okay." John assured him, his hand rubbing at the back of his neck softly on instinct. "This isn't your fault. None of it is. I'm here and I'm fine. We're fine." His voice was barely above a whisper by the end. "It's okay."
It was as if the rest of the world was moving silently around them. The moment Sherlock had wrapped his arms around John the rest of existence had faded and all that mattered was keeping each other tethered to each other and this moment.
Sherlock pulled back, looking down into John’s eyes. Being mixed up with this murderer, being in constant danger, this could easily be his last chance. One hand slid up to the side of John’s neck, fingers curling back around the back, his thumb gently pressing against his jaw to tilt it back slightly. John froze, his heart felt like it was beating wildly out of his chest.
Never in his life had Sherlock wanted to do something more than to kiss the fire out of John Watson, pouring all his revelries, all his feeling into that one action. His other hand came up, both sliding to the sides of his face, thumbs brushing over dirty cheeks, and fingers cradling his head. He wanted to prove to that part of his mind that was careening out of control that they were both alive, and John wasn’t going anywhere. Not right now. The detective’s brain started swimming and his eyes were focused on the blonde’s lips when he heard Donovan calling his name from across the room.
Blinking he looked up into John’s eyes and realized that he was not ready, not yet. His pupils were blown, his pulse beating out of control, but his arms had fallen from around the detective. Johns chest was rising and falling rapidly, and he couldn't decide what he wanted. John wanted it, yes that much was obvious to Sherlock, but he wasn’t ready to admit it.
Sherlock decided then and there that he would rather never have the chance than to mess things up so royally. So instead, he pressed his forehead to John’s and closed his eyes tight. “Thank you.” he whispered softly before turning to see Sally walking up, dodging people that were milling around, working on the evidence. He released the doctor before she could notice the intimacy they had just shared, his hands falling from their position on his face. He’d have to settle for close proximity to reassure his anxious mind.
“They’re taking Lestrade to Bart’s. I can take you two back with me, but if you want a lift you’ll need to come now.” She said, her usual frown in place, but noticeably lacking in the snark department.
“Right away, John will go with you.” he said, pushing at the man’s shoulder to follow her, “I’m going to take a few minutes just to look over the crime scene before we leave. While the photos are good, my mind is better.” She started to protest, but he gave her a no nonsense look before turning back to the mess before him.
John wanted to argue, but his mind was buzzing as he was shoved toward Sally who took Sherlock’s word and wrapped an arm around the doctor leading him away. He knew Sherlock was right anyways, they'd waste a lot less time if he had the chance to properly look around. Maybe they would be able to stop the next attack before it happened.
The other thing that kept John from arguing was the moment before Donovan had interrupted, when Sherlock’s gaze had dropped to Johns lips and he had been so sure he was about to kiss him. John wondered, as he was led out to Donovan's squad car, what would have happened had she not spoke up. As he leaned against the window, avoiding any dialogue with the woman beside him, John realized he was a both unimaginably thankful and disappointed that he may never know that answer.
Once they’d left he began searching around the room. No clues that he could see, but he took mental snapshots and filed them away in his mind palace. As he strode towards the exit, he felt his phone buzz in a reminder that he had an unread text. Pulling it out, he saw the most recent text demanding that he be nice to Molly, but as he read on he stopped at the door, leaning against the wall in reaction to what he saw.
There was his last text to John,
Your faith in me is astounding John Watson. I'm not sure what I've done to warrant it... -SH
and then there was John’s response that he hadn’t thought was worth reading.
Everything - JW
Sherlock felt strangely immature as he clutched the phone to his chest, as if the warmth in that word could seep through the device. He blinked quickly and shoved the phone back in his pocket before anyone saw him acting like an idiot. However, when he climbed into the back of Sally’s squad car, he wrapped his arms around himself, trying to keep the warmth he had felt from leaving his body.
John kept quiet as he heard the door slam shut, he could see Sherlock wrapped up in himself in the back seat. The ride to the hospital was deathly silent, but thankfully quick due to their flagrant use of sirens and lights. Donovan couldn't even throw an insult as the men silently stepped out of the car. The two walked up and through the doors into the emergency room with a word. John stole a look as Sherlock held open the door, but could find nothing in his expression.
They were barely in the waiting room when Mycroft stepped out of the swinging doors, motioning for Sherlock and John to follow him. The young woman behind the counter looked as though she might argue, but after a pointed look from a rather ruffled Mycroft, she nodded them through, obviously intimidated. Once the doors had swung shut he was hurrying down a series of halls, the other two on his heels.
"Sherlock, I assume you can best explain what happened to Greg? The nurse needs an accurate explanation so they will leave him alone." His voice was strained, a hint of emotion bleeding through.
Mycroft glared at the nurse, still badgering Lestrade for information, as he entered the room. Taking up the seat already pulled close to the hospital bed he shooed her away. "He's given you enough, if you need to know anything else they'll help you." He finished with a nod toward John and Sherlock.
Shaking her head the woman swept from the room, muttering that the doctor would be in soon. She had obviously had enough of the first Holmes to decide she didn’t need any more experience with the family.
Sherlock didn't go into the room, and he caught John by raising a hand. In the room Mycroft was sitting with a bandaged Lestrade, and despite the horrible circumstances, the Detective Inspector was awake and smiling. Sherlock watched him laugh tiredly to reassure his lover and grip onto Mycroft’s hand with a fervor he was jealous of. Greg glanced at the window, and saw the two watching. He raised his free hand in greeting and gave them the ‘ok’ sign. Sherlock nodded, but didn’t leave as Greg turned back to the elder Holmes.
Mycroft looked worried, but Greg pulled him forward with a tug on his tie and gave him a chaste kiss on the lips. Neither of them looked around or worried about who saw them, and that fact made Sherlock even more jealous. How delightful it must be to feel so easy in a relationship. But he knew he wouldn’t give up what he had for all the tea in England. The two men in the room were looking at each other intently when he finally sighed, releasing some of the tension he felt, but not nearly enough.
“I never would have thought when I was younger that I would ever envy my brother, let alone a relationship like theirs...” his voice was soft, and he wasn’t even really sure he’d said it at first, but rerunning his internal videotape, he realized he had. He turned, allowing himself to fix John with a meaningful look, a slight flush coloring his sharp cheekbones. The stare caused John’s mouth to go dry, his mind tried desperately to understand Sherlock’s motives, he had been so sure that was the last thing Sherlock wanted. What did this say about them?
The desire to show John exactly how much he cared, to kiss him once more resurfaced, roaring like a wildfire through his veins and across his face, but he grit his teeth and refused to let it get the better of him. Instead he turned away as Sally bustled down the hallway, and poked his head around the door.
“Sorry to interrupt, but it sounds like the nurse is going to leave him alone, and it seems he has more visitors....” he caught his brothers eye as Sally pushed her way around the detective, “We’ll bid you adieu and let Greg recover. You know where to find us.” Greg nodded, and Sherlock was out the door. No doubt if he’d had his old coat on, it would be swirling around him dramatically.
“Coming John?”
Still working through the new information John nodded absentmindedly, “Yeah, coming.” He followed behind the detective quickly. He hadn’t been surprised by the exchange between Mycroft and Greg, not really anyways. If anything he had been relieved. Greg was his friend, and he knew the Holmes, almost better than anyone, so it was good to know that Mycroft was capable of such emotions.
What John had not expected was Sherlocks response. He supposed it made sense, Mycroft had always been the one to remind his younger brother that sentiment was a weakness. So perhaps seeing the man he'd secretly admired his entire life so openly in love had broadened Sherlock's mind to the idea.
That left John with one thing to think about. If Sherlock did want a relationship, and want one with him; was John ready for that? It was something John would have to seriously consider when they weren't chasing a vicious and gruesome murderer.
"What now?" John tried to bury the emotions piling up, something that was normally Sherlocks role. "Any clues at the crime scene?"
“None that I could see, but then again that was what I thought about the last one. I’ll take some photos home and look over them until the other victim wakes up, they’ve heavily sedated him from what I understand.” The detective was scanning through the text messages he’d been ignoring the entire car ride over, “I don’t know how willing he will be to talk, but we will see whether Moriarty gave him a clue for us. For now, I think the best thing we can do is go home, let me search the photographs, and prepare. You need rest, I can see the exhaustion in the way you’re carrying yourself, and you’re favoring your leg heavily again. We’ll stop by the yard on the way home for the photos. I’m sure you’re hungry too.” His tone called for no argument as they exited the hospital.
True to his word they only made a quick stop at Scotland Yard where Anderson had grudgingly made him copies of the photos, and before long they were making their way up the stairs in 221B. Sherlock immediately headed for the wall above where the two chairs were now, and began tacking the photos up. John on the other hand went for the kitchen. After preparing tea for the both of them he was back at Sherlock’s side, pushing a cup into the detectives hands. The two of them stared at the puzzle that had laid before them.
“There has to be something right?” The only thing worse than Moriarty taking more victims was him not giving them the clues they needed to stop him.
Stroking a hand over his slightly scratchy chin, his eyes were traveling back and forth over the photos quickly, taking in information and comparing them to the mental snapshots he'd taken earlier Sherlock responded almost absently. "John if you're to assist me with this case you'll need food and rest. I may go without it but I'm the intellect. If we're to take down Moriarty together, we'll need your physique as well..." He trailed off taking a step forward and tracing his finger across something that obviously didn't pan out by the mumbled curse under his breath before taking a sip of the tea that had been forced upon him.
John shook his head and walked back to the kitchen, settling on the leftover chinese he pulled a bar stool to the edge of the kitchen and watched as Sherlock meticulously ran his eyes over every inch of paper, desperate for new information. Finishing the food John pushed the chair back to it’s intended spot and walked back over to Sherlock. He was lost, somewhere between his mind palace and the scene plastered over their walls. Realizing he wasn’t needed, John let one hand come to rest on Sherlock’s shoulder before turning away.
“I’ll be in bed then. Try and get some sleep too.” And he left the detective to his work, heading for the bed they apparently now shared, John slipped between the covers and closed his eyes.
Sleep did not come easy, not after the excitement of the day, and when it did it wasn’t peaceful. It was nothing like the terror he’d had a few nights before, but all the same, images flashed through his mind painfully. They rotated, from the war, to Barts, to the two men sharing one last look before the bomb went off. It was enough to cover John, writhing and crying out softly into his pillow, in a sheen of cold sweat.
Sherlock had felt the loss of John's presence deeply, but he knew the other man needed his sleep. He wasn't sure how long he'd been staring at the photos, or how long it had been since John went to bed, but when the soft cries began to ring out, he bolted to his room, crime scene forgotten.
John was having another nightmare, and Sherlock stripped off his coat and shoes quickly, sliding in beside his doctor and pulling the man into his chest, whispering and shushing softly. He was still asleep, and slowly the man’s body began to relax as it registered Sherlock's presence. Although he hated that John had these nightmares, the detective was flattered that he was the one that could calm him like this.
He swore to himself then and there that as long as it was within his power, John would never sleep by himself again. Even though he didn't sleep more than an hour or so, he lay there, holding the man in his slumber until the morning roused them both.
A/N: Okay guys.. one more chapter.. it will be up on Friday. Send us any questions you have about the story or us, we will be doing a youtube video during our hiatus =)
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A Bit Not Good