JohnLock

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It's like some infectious disease, John's laughter, and then Sherlock's shaking with laughter as well.
Yes, we did get quite a bit done. All that kissing was very productive. Just not to the case.

Then Lestrade is just standing there with an expression of my-god-those-two-are-idiots. He doesn't exactly disagree, but god, he loves the exasperated look on John's face. That expression is just...gorgeous. Sherlock looks down at John, ignoring Lestrade's lack of patience, because that man in front of him just radiates perfection. He loves this because it means all that spontaneous laughter, all those fantastic moments while they were on cases don't go away with this relationship.

"Sorry, sorry. Well, not really." Did I say that aloud? Oh, well, Sherlock thinks as he put a hand through his disheveled curls.

(zOMG. Have fun cosplaying!)
 
He loves hearing Sherlock laugh like that - that uncontrollable, uncontainable laughter. His whole face lights up, his thin frame shaking with it, his eyes flashing with his amusement. It's breathtaking. John could watch Sherlock laugh like that forever. He so rarely laughs that it's a privilege to witness it.

John looks away from Sherlock - if he hadn't, he could have laughed forever, Sherlock's good mood buoying his - and slowly calms down, glancing over at Lestrade as his laughter fades to chuckles. The detective looks impatient, and exasperated, but when he catches John's eye there's a certain softness to them. It's almost as if his eyes are saying, I'm glad that you can make him so happy.

"Can we get back to the case, boys?" Lestrade asks, giving them a stern look. John nods, getting his expression back under control, and mumbles an apology. Lestrade rolls his eyes and gestures to the woman still on the table. "What'd you get from her, then?"

((Well, we haven't quite found my Sherlie stuff yet, other than The Scarf. We're probably going to have to go into actual stores next time instead of, like, Goodwills and vintage stores and stuff. But my best friend who's going with me has her entire fem!John costume, and I found almost the entirety of my OTHER costume for the con, which is a steampunk airship pirate. :D Luckily we've still got quite a bit of time, as the con isn't until May.))
 
"Right then." he clears his throat as he strides over to the right side of the body, pulling out his magnifying glass. He would have had John do it, but he expects his Army Doctor wouldn't be able to contain himself again.
Sherlock can't rid himself of that ghost of a smile still etched across his face as he continues on, "Sylvia Downing, somewhere in her late fifties, unmarried though she has had a string of lovers. Younger men, presumably in their early thirties. Not important however, this is."
He uses the magnifying glass to point to the tattoo on her right forearm.
"It's a QR code, you scan it in your phone it takes you to a website or a video. This one, though, takes you to a countdown. She's trying to mimick Moriarty again, except more straightforward. Or she doesn't know how he used a countdown. A hole in her information. Not that clever, no, she thinks she is though. Showing off. That's what they do."
"And Haley, she has a code on her left wrist which will probably show us an image, the second half of a puzzle that Moriarty, under every circumstance-"
He gives Lestrade a piercing look, "Must not see."

(Coolio! I have a femLock outfit that i wear, my friend and I do this thing called casual cosplay wednesdays,where we cosplay at school somewhat discreetly. Perhaps I'll send you a pic this week. OH, and I haven't told you, my name's Syd)
 
John frowns, the last traces of his amusement fading away as they get down to business. "You don't think he's been able to access these codes yet, do you?" he asks. "So it's still contained as far as Moriarty goes?"

Sherlock's right about keeping it from Moriarty. John wants to minimize the chance of Moriarty getting involved until it's absolutely zero. He wants to keep Moriarty as far away from this, from his Sherlock, as humanly possible. Because so far he's been completely unable to protect Sherlock whenever Moriarty decides that he wants to "play" with him, and that is completely unacceptable. He cannot lose Sherlock now, not when he just got him, not when Sherlock is finally his. Better that Moriarty comes nowhere near Sherlock. Period. He straightens his stance, a new determination burning in his heart. He will keep Moriarty away from Sherlock for as long as possible. And when he can't, John will kill him. No matter what it takes.

He'd rather die than see Sherlock hurt.

((Awesome! I'd love pics. And good to know! :D))
 
Sherlock looks back at John, seeing that military like stature and fearful flicker in his eyes. The only thing he can think is how he can't let John be afraid. Not even for him. He needs to protect his John and if that means keeping Moriarty at bay, so be it.
They could go on holiday if need be, because the fact that man can twist his heart, can kidnap John and stop that heart from beating just to play a little game...
It is not allowed to happen.
"Right. We'll need the bodies cremated as soon as possible, preferably right after we're done here. We can't take a chance that-" he glances back to his army doctor, "We can't take any chances with a man like Moriarty. And don't bother calling Mycroft, he won't be of much use, Lestrade. He'll let devils loose from their cages and we're already ankle deep in blood. Bring in the Haley, I'll be needing my phone again, John, where did you put it?"
 
John notices the looks Sherlock is throwing him and realizes that Sherlock already saw through him. Briefly, he wonders how Sherlock does that, but as usual when he doesn't understand how Sherlock figured something out, he puts it out of his mind. That in conjunction with Sherlock's words makes him think that Sherlock is as keen to keep Moriarty away as he is. The thought oddly makes him feel slightly better. He would have thought Sherlock would be running for Moriarty headfirst.

John does roll his eyes at the phone thing, though. Even with Sherlock's flawless memory, he really can be forgetful sometimes. "You had it last, Sherlock," he says with an exasperated look. His lips twitch slightly with amusement, but he quickly hides that. Not the time. "I don't know where you put it." It occurs to him that he really doesn't know what happened to it, considering that he got rather distracted by the "date with Sherlock" idea at the time. Maybe Sherlock put it in his pocket? That was probably the case, but god knows he is not pulling that again. Not in front of Lestrade, who seems smug enough that the two of them are together.
 
He rolls his eyes, feigning an air of drama. He pats down his coat, feeling the slight bump in breast pocket.
Sherlock ignores it. Turning around, he pretends to the scan the area and begins to slowly walk around.
"Well, then we'll have to find it, won't we? The countdown's on there and we can't risk having it on more than one phone."
Lestrade eyes him, as if he can call a bluff in the air, but Sherlock just does that quip of a smile, the ones reserved for forced lies.
"Greg, "he holds back a laugh at the name, "why don't you go bring in the body round while John and I look for it?"
The inspector bites his lip, but nods anyways, he's use to Sherlock's antics by now. Probably assumes it's just another part of the process. As soon as he leaves however, Sherlock strides over to John.
"I'm not going to let Him anywhere near us, alright? Not if I can help it."
He takes hold of John's hand once more, he wonders if his doctor can tell it's more for Sherlock's comfort than his own.

-Off to bed now, night <3
 
John is surprised by Sherlock's sudden intensity, but appreciates his words. For once, he's actually grateful that Sherlock can read him so well. He squeezes Sherlock's hand and gives him a small smile. "I know," he says quietly. "I was just thinking about what happens if we can't help it." He looks away from Sherlock's eyes for a moment. Swallows. "Because if we can't avoid him, I'm going to kill him," he says, voice firm.

He wonders what Sherlock will think of that. Of John's declaration to murder Moriarty. It's true; it's the complete truth. John will do anything to keep Sherlock safe, no matter what the cost. Killing Moriarty is nothing to him. But to Sherlock? Would Sherlock disapprove of John taking out the only mind worthy of engaging with his? Would he be angry about it? John hopes not. It wouldn't stop him from killing Moriarty, nothing would, but it would make it much harder for him. He avoids Sherlock's eyes, but he can feel them boring into his head.

((Kay! Night!))
 
He exhales, knitting his brow. He wants Moriarty away, of course he does. Sherlock isn't going to risk John's life by igniting that fire...
But. 
That one word of hesitance flares in his mind. For all the love he feels for John, how he'd do anything to keep him, John still lives that life. He goes to a job, gets in rows with bosses and coworkers, buys groceries, goes out for a pint when an army buddy comes to town.
But...that's not Sherlock. Sherlock gets bored, he cures that boredom with a case, with a risk, with those perfect kisses,but the cure that has a drug life effect is Jim and his games.
So the thought of Jim forever going away, now that is something he hadn't considered. Going away to a new country, yes, but not, well, dead. 
He can't say this to John, because he knows it will hurt. Sherlock knows that the sting will make John angry, he doesn't want that. He just wants his John to be safe. He just doesn't want to be bored.
"Well, let's try the avoiding first. Skip the court case?" he says, pressing his lips softly onto John's forehead.
 
His heart sinks a little bit. He doesn't want him dead, he thinks. Of course he doesn't. Of course he wants to keep him around. He's so interesting.

The thought bothers him more than it should.

But doesn't Sherlock see how keeping Moriarty alive puts them both in danger? Puts Sherlock in danger? He'll never stop, Moriarty. He has people all over the world; if he's imprisoned, he'll break out; if he's injured, he'll heal; no matter what they do to him, he will find a way to haunt them. In John's eyes, Sherlock is not safe unless Moriarty is dead. And the fact that Sherlock wants him alive, wants him to play with... it doesn't make him angry. It makes him scared.

He closes his eyes as Sherlock kisses his forehead and nods slowly, exhaling. "Yeah," he says. "Yeah, you're right."

He doesn't really believe that.
 
Why are those eyes so sad?
But he knows that it's because John can hear it in Sherlock's voice, that he doesn't want Moriarty to die. And he can feel those broad shoulders shake slightly because of it, virtually undetectable, but he can tell.
Sherlock scares John. It may be Moriarty making him dance, but Sherlock is letting it happen over and over. Because he's bored.
And then those eyes again, those goddamned eyes that he knows he isn't worthy of looking at. He is so lowly, so much less than a man, so much worse. Why doesn't John just leave him? Sherlock isn't worth pity.
He doesn't have much of a choice though. Not when Lestrade bursts through the door, breathing heavily.
"The body, Anderson left it alone for just a moment and-"
In this instant, Sherlock sees the options laid out infront of him like some map.
Was he really going to do this again? Risk John, risk his everything just for a game? Because he knows it will hurt, whatever Moriarty does, Sherlock's heart breaking is what he wants. Because its fun. Because in Sherlock's world, Moriarty is the dictator, trying to build that empire.
Or...they can leave. He can go tell Lestrade that this is that one case he can't be a part of. Sherlock can just take John by the hand and walk him out. They will sit at home, he'll make the coffee. John will lean against him on the couch as they watch Telly, an expression of content on that adoring face.He'll even pack, they'll go on their first holiday as a couple. Wait out The Game. Not even stay to see who wins. He should do this. It's not just playing with Sherlock's transport anymore. It never was.
They should go.
He should protect John.
Keep Moriarty away.
Stop walking into the fire knowing you're going to get him burned.
The heat rises to his face, those little drops of liquid in the corner of his eyes start to blurry his vision.
Why the hell can't he chose? Wasn't it supposed to be easy?
He looks back at John, at scared John, a man whose hand doesn't even quiver when the trigger is pulled, and Sherlock is so sorry. He wants to say it. But then he would be admitting it.
"Right then. Let's go see if he left anything behind."
Moriarty is the worst drug Sherlock's ever had. It grips him up and plays tricks on his mind and it kills everything. This drug doesn't kill Sherlock's body, no, it kills John. It will kill John, and then Sherlock will lose everything that matters and he will give up. Because a life without John isn't one worth living, he KNOWS that. But this is one addiction he hasn't gotten over yet.

(Alright, I'm crying while I write this and I can't stop rereading this and your last one together. God, the feelings.)
 
((Oh, but Syd, it's SO worth it, because that post was... god, that was beautiful. I've been going mad wanting to reply all morning but I was in classes. I've FINALLY got a free period to write back!))

It's the Game. It's always been the Game. More than John, more than anything he can offer. Sherlock looks guilty about that, looks agonizingly guilty, but that's his choice. It's not his fault. He's not doing it on purpose. But it'll always be Moriarty, no matter what John does. John knew that, he always knew that. And that hurts, not like a sharp cut or a stab, but like a slow, bone-deep ache. To know he's not good enough for Sherlock, just not enough for Sherlock... It confirms everything he's always thought about being too ordinary for him. It makes a hot wave of jealousy and shame course through him, makes him want to curl into a corner and hide there until he can bring himself to face the fact that Sherlock needs his Game - probably more than he needs John.

So instead, John straightens his shoulders almost imperceptibly, widening his stance, tilting his chin up ever so slightly, and with those small movements he's a soldier again. Because with this choice, he is a soldier again, back in the war, only this time, it's a war for Sherlock's life, for his attention, for his heart. And that makes it so much more dangerous than any other war he's been in, because there's so much more to lose. Now he has to kill Moriarty, no matter what it takes, and not even Sherlock can stop him, because he's doing it to save Sherlock's life. What tears at him, though, is that he'll have to do it against Sherlock's wishes. This could cause him to lose Sherlock forever- but at least Sherlock would be safe.

He lets this stance, this soldier's stance, hide his fear, his pain, his sorrow that he's not enough of a distraction for Sherlock, and his jealousy that Moriarty is; he buries it all down until he's standing straight and tall. It may not fool Sherlock (although god he hopes it will) but it'll definitely fool Lestrade.

"Right," he says gruffly, echoing Sherlock's words. "Let's go."

((God, that was hard to write. It's a miracle I'm not turning into a blubbering mess in the middle of study hall. X.X))
 

He can't-He just can't. He holds it in because of that love he has for John.
God, that guilt it just eats at him, but he can't pull away because it's too late. The words are out and he has to live with it. Sherlock closes his eyes for half a second and then consolidates himself.
Composure.
He follows behind Lestrade, unable to shake that ghastly feeling within him. He can't even look at John, because deep down, he knows this is wrong. But it's an...addiction. And Sherlock absolutely despises himself for it. He wishes he could give John that life. Where they could come home to the flat and just fall in each others arms. Where he can walk into the grocery shop and Sherlock won't get them kicked out for some insensitive remark. Where there isn't a chance of death at every turn.
But he's not domestic. And John, he is the only reason Sherlock would ever want to be.
He pushes those thoughts away, all he can do now is focus on the case.
Outside, it's eerie and quite, this vacant world has no idea of the war. The battlefield within London. Anderson steps out of the car and Sherlock just ignores him, that insignificant ant. He is so...small. Compared to the things rupturing in his thoughts.
Again, Sherlock just can't. He puts a hand up to Lestrade, "Give me a moment."
Sherlock walks around the corner, sure that no one can see him in the shadows.
And he lets himself hurt.

(Oh, god, the angst. So much emotional turmoil, I feel like Sherlock's thoughts are all just mangled. And I try to empathize and just....)
 
((Tell me about it. I completely empathize with John here; I was actually in a similar-but-different situation at one point, so I tried to recall those feelings and that hurt for John. SO MUCH ANGST OH GOD.))

John waits for a moment, unsure about whether or not Sherlock wants to be followed. He swiftly decides that it doesn't matter in the slightest. Even if he isn't wanted, he will follow Sherlock anyway; he always will. So he waves off the questioning looks Lestrade is giving him and just ignores Anderson entirely (that wanker, he still wants to destroy him for what he said and now what he's done) and follows Sherlock around the corner.

The detective is facing away from him, shoulders shaking, and John's heart flies into his mouth as he realizes just how much this is hurting Sherlock, too. How much guilt he's harboring. So he shoves down his own hurt, his own fears and sorrows, because now it's about Sherlock and he can't stand to see him in this much pain.

Never mind how much pain it's causing him.

"Sherlock," John says softly, putting his hand on Sherlock's shoulder gently. "It's okay. I understand." And he does. He knows that Sherlock can't help it. It's just his nature. He needs someone who challenges him, intellectually. That someone has just never been John.

Seeing Sherlock hurt this much breaks John's heart. He decides he has to be much more careful of how much of his emotions he lets Sherlock see. He'll hide them away, if he has to, keep them locked inside, to himself, where they can't destroy Sherlock like this.

Or, at least, he'll try.
 
"Stop that. Just..." Words catch in his throat, and he makes an attempt to hide the grimace contorting his face.
He hurt John. That's what kills, because he will always hurt his John. And he's just supposed to sit there and let him feel pain. Sherlock doesn't want John to understand, because with that comes the pity and the acceptance.
He knows his doctor deserves better than that. He slips away from John's hand because those words, that comforting touch, just make it all the worse.
"Molly was right, you know. Four ruddy hours in, and I've already spoiled it."
I've already disappointed you.


(ANGST)
 
A sudden bolt of alarm goes through John at those words, so he grabs Sherlock's arm and spins him around. The look on Sherlock's face makes him drop his arm like he's been burned by it. It's so devastated, so full of self-loathing, that it makes John just want to wrap him in his arms, but the words Stop that are ringing through his head and so he doesn't move. He doesn't want to scare Sherlock off.

"You haven't spoiled anything," he says roughly. "Do you understand? Don't say things like that." Damn it, his voice has too much fear in it, though this is a different kind of fear than the fear of Moriarty.

"You're right, this is what we have to do; we can't just hide from him forever," he begins. "But..." he hesitates, not wanting to say the next part, but he has to, this has to be said. "If we do catch him... I'm going to kill him." His voice shakes. He hates it. "I'm going to kill him, because that's the only way you can be safe and I will be okay no matter what as long as you're safe, but if something were to happen to you-" his voice chokes off, and he grits his teeth. He can't be emotional. That's not going to help Sherlock now.

"He's different from the others," he continues, determined. "He's different, because he won't stop; no matter what he is going to come after you, Sherlock, and I cannot let him take you from me. You can take all the risks you want with anybody else, and you know I won't stop you, but not him, Sherlock. Not him." He doesn't like the edge of desperation his voice takes on at the end, but Sherlock has to understand, he has to know why John wants Moriarty dead so much. He takes a deep breath to compose himself. "I'm not going to leave you just for wanting to keep him alive. You wouldn't be you if you didn't. I know you get bored and I know he's the perfect distraction." He has to stop for a moment, and there's a pause, but he pushes through. "I'm not disappointed in you, and I'm not asking you to change your mind. I'm just asking you to understand why I'm doing this."

He takes Sherlock's hand, slowly, afraid that the gesture will be not what Sherlock wants, but it's something he needs to do to get his point across. "Just... don't let him tear us apart before we've even begun," he begs. "Please."
 
All those things...
All those things and suddenly Sherlock can't breathe because that man is just too much. How did he ever get John, determined and stubborn and brave and perfect. And Sherlock can't even begin to conceive that it is all for him.
Because, right now, John is the most...he can't even describe it. There isn't one word to sum up the man that he loves irrevocably. John just..cares. Loves him. Loves him when Sherlock is this shell of a life and John just won't let go until he has the tightest hold on him. John will fight for him.
"Don't you dare," He growls, yanking John to him, "Don't you dare ever think I would let him pull me away."
It's as much of a statement to himself as it is to John. Sherlock is mad, is this sociopath, and he's driven people away for so long, he can't do the same to John.
Because even if John can't see it, Sherlock is nothing and always was until he came along. John is so much more, and he knows he doesn't deserve that doctor's love.
He's not about to let it slip away.
 
Some, though not all, of the tension drains out of John's shoulders as he wraps his arms around Sherlock's waist and lays his head on Sherlock's shoulder. His safe spot. And for all his talk about keeping Sherlock safe, John needs to feel safe right now. He needs to feel like Sherlock would hold him and never let go. He needs to feel like he could hold on to Sherlock, and like nothing could tear them apart.

He's afraid. He's so afraid of Moriarty. For all his talk about killing him if they catch him... well, that's a pretty big if. And the alternative terrifies him. Because Moriarty will take Sherlock away from him, will destroy them both, and he won't be able to do anything to stop him.

It's kill or be killed, in his mind.

"I'm just trying to protect you," he mumbles. "You know that, right?"
 
He can't be like that, not when John needs him. Not when everything that matters to him hangs in the balance.
And when he pulls in, wrapping his arms around Sherlock, it's so quick how everything else ceases to matter. The self-hatred, the guilt. All that matters is John's fear and assuaging that. Keeping him warm and safe.
Sherlock pulls John closer by the low point of his waist, grabbing him under the jacket. Exhaling, he presses his lips against John's cheek, muttering the words in his ear.
"I know that. Now, anyways. But I've got to keep you safe as well, alright?"
Because everywhere Sherlock takes him, John will never be safe. Not as long as there is cases and murders and Westwood. And Sherlock would take that bullet.
 
John nods slowly. That makes sense. he can hardly expect Sherlock to do what he won't and stop trying to protect him. As long as he can still be by Sherlock's side, he'll be all right. But if Sherlock were to send him away... (and he tightens his arms around the detective at the thought) well, he'd go kicking and screaming.

He hopes it never comes to that.

He closes his eyes for a moment, just letting himself relax into Sherlock's embrace, before sighing and leaning back. "They're expecting us," he says ruefully. "Look, we can figure out what to do about Moriarty later, but what's important is that we're together, all right?" He takes Sherlock's right hand off his waist and twines it together with his own left. Their dominant hands. "We're together," he repeats, firmly.
 
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