JohnLock

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"Right."
Truthfully, Sherlock would rather stay here. Because the deeper they get into the case, the more it will hurt.
The more he will hurt John.
He squeezes his, well, he supposed they were boyfriends now, hand, holding them back for just a few moments longer. The calm before a storm, though, nothing with them was ever really calm. Even right now, his heart is racing, pounding against his chest.
"John, if we ever...promise me that you won't do something stupid and get yourself killed? Because I couldn't-"
He chokes up, not able to imagine what hellish life awaited without John Hamish Watson by his side.
 
John looks up at Sherlock with surprise and concern. He hadn't even thought of that. He was so busy worrying about keeping Sherlock safe that he had never even given a thought to his own safety. But now that he thinks about it... well... he can't promise that. He can't. If sacrificing his life is what it takes to keep Sherlock safe, to take down Moriarty or to take his place should something go wrong... he'd do it. He'd do it in a heartbeat.

He's not as important as Sherlock is- not just to him, but to the world. John knows that. He's ordinary. But not Sherlock. Sherlock does great things, solves crimes, puts criminals behind bars. He saves people. The world needs someone like Sherlock more than it needs someone like John. And anyway, he would never be able to forgive himself if something were to happen to Sherlock and he hadn't stopped it just to save his own life.

He wouldn't be far behind Sherlock, anyway.

But he knows Sherlock doesn't want to hear any of that, so he simply gives Sherlock a strained smile. "I'll try," he says. "I really will try, Sherlock, I promise." That's as close to it as he can truthfully get. Because he will try, he won't just throw himself into harm's way for no reason. But if it comes down to it... his life isn't worth it without Sherlock. He would die either way, and, well... he'd rather die by saving Sherlock than losing him.

((THEIR LOVE IS LIKE MIRACLES AND CUPCAKES AND ANGST OMG))
 
He looks away, that disgruntled expression not able to be suppressed, because John...
God, John, John the soldier, the brave one, the one who underestimated himself. The one who was far too noble and loyal.
How is he supposed to live with this if he knows that it's going to get the one thing he cared about-
Sherlock has to stop that word from rising. He can see through that halfhearted smile, because John doesn't. John is too much of a human, too much of heart, he loves him for all of it but he remembers what happened.
The day they met Moriarty.
The day even Sherlock was sure they were going to die. And then John, strapped up in syntex, jumping around Moriarty, that look that told Sherlock to run and leave John behind. That look that said, It's okay because I won't let you die.
Suddenly, he's angry, so very furious.
"Your life isn't WORTHLESS!" he lets his voice explode, well, he doesn't let himself do anything, "You expect me to just run away and leave you behind? John, YOU are the most important person to me, dammit, so you better realize that. You matter, you matter the most, and I don't care if whatever happens to me, you don't sub in, you don't volunteer, because this relationship is a two-way road, so don't. Don't. You. Dare. "
"I love you, you idiot, and you can't expect me not to do the same, because I can see it in your eyes. Sherlock Holmes is special, I'd sacrifice myself for him. Stop and think about what you're doing! You'd be leaving me behind and I'm supposed to live without you, not see you toss out of the bed every morning or have you stand next to me and tell me that I'm not an automaton and tell me that you love me? If you ever died, life isn't anything anymore. So even if you tried to sacrifice yourself, I'd be right the hell behind you!"

(And Angst x Angst = More angst and cupcakes and GOD THIS RP MAKES ME EMOTIONAL)
 
John jerks back, startled by Sherlock's outburst. He's stunned into silence, struggling to find the words to react, to respond, to make Sherlock understand. But he can't move, can't think, can't even breathe in response to the intensity of Sherlock's tirade. The thought of Sherlock offing himself if John were to die...

The idea is immediately terrifying and the first thought in his head is NO NO NO NO NO! It makes him instantly glad that Sherlock doesn't know how John is thinking the same thing, because just the idea has got him in so much pain that it almost brings tears to his eyes. And now there's a war going on inside of him, knowing that if he were to die saving Sherlock, Sherlock would follow, but if he didn't Sherlock would die anyway. Knowing that there would be no way to save him.

NO!

His limbs are suddenly unfrozen and before he realizes what he's doing he's shaking Sherlock, shouting, "No! Promise me you won't do that, Sherlock, PROMISE ME! You think I'd want that? You think I'd want you to follow me if I died TRYING TO SAVE YOU? Don't you DARE, Sherlock Holmes, don't you DARE! PROMISE ME!"

He's clinging to the front of Sherlock's suit, hands crushing the fabric with the force of his emotion, and all of a sudden everything drains out of him and he falls against Sherlock's chest, hands still clutching at his suit.

"I can't let you die," he says helplessly, his voice hollow from the effort of holding back the tears he can just feel​ choking his throat.

((I KNOW SYD I KNOW SO MANY EMOTIONS I CAN'T))
 
He was going to yell back. Yell back how wrong John was, how he couldn't just stay there if anything ever happened.
But then there's John gripping him like some support beam, practically in tears. Sherlock can't take that. He can't allow this amount of distress over the what if.
"Look at me." He cradles John's face with one hand, forcing him to gaze up at Sherlock, "I'm not going to make a promise that I can't keep. Life was always nothing before you and I know it will be after. I'm sorry, that's not what you want to hear. But I won't lie about that to you, because I can't give you any false hope."
"What would you expect me to do, John? If I had to live without you. I couldn't find someone else, I already told you. You, John, are the only human I will ever love. If you were gone, the only thing that would be left of me is the transport. The parts that matter, this," he moves John's hand so that it's cupping his face and he overlaps that hand with his own, "Would be dead already. As soon as the heartbeat stopped."
"There is the obvious solution. Let's never die, alright?"


http://pennin-ink.livejournal.com/2108.html#cutid1
read it
its beautiful
AU, but beautiful
 
He twines his fingers with Sherlock's against Sherlock's face, hating his words but knowing that they are completely true. Every word applies to him as well. If Sherlock were to die... there would be nothing left for John. He would simply be alone again, alone forever, and he couldn't bear that. Not after loving the mad genius that is Sherlock Holmes. So he just takes a shuddering breath and nods, trying to smile up at Sherlock. "Yeah," he says. "Yeah, let's not."

He knows they're at an impasse. Because he's still determined to protect Sherlock, no matter what it takes, and he knows Sherlock is still determined not to let him. But this is enough, for now; a silent agreement that one cannot exist without the other, and that given that, one will do anything to keep the other alive, even at their own expense. It applies to them both, and they know it.

John leans up to kiss Sherlock, trying to be gentle, but it's the deep and slow kiss of the emotionally wrecked; not lustful, but needy in a way that communicates everything he can't say with words. When they finally break apart, his breathing is ragged. "We have to get back," he says, his voice almost a complaint. "We've kept them waiting long enough."

((I shall, when I get some time!))
 
"Right." He lets out a heavy breath, "Right, right..."
This time he doesn't just settle for holding John's hand, Sherlock keeps John next to him with an arm wrapped around his waist. He needs him close, especially after the talk they just had. He's not letting John any more than two feet away, he's more than allowed to be possessive right now.
Sherlock leads him around the corner, tightening his grip around his John as soon as they're in proximity to the Yard. He wonders what that look is on John's face. He also wonders if Scotland Yard did in fact hear him shouting out in his minutes of angst. God, only John could ever have that affect on him. He's never experienced this sort of...defensive side of himself. Actually, John made him feel a lot of new things. Things he wasn't ever going to delete.
They walk right back up to Lestrade, who has a sort of patient look on his face and Sherlock remembers why they're still here, why he's not on the couch with John, kissing him to utter content.
"How did Moriarty get this close?"
 
John is a bit on the defensive, just in case anyone heard their shouting, but no one seems to have heard it - or at least they have the good grace not to show it. He slips his arm around Sherlock's waist as well, not caring about the whispers. Not after that.

Lestrade sighs, disgruntled, and rubs the back of his neck. "Anderson left the body for a minute," he explains, "to get the body bag." He shrugs, looking about as irritated as John and Sherlock are at this development. "The rest you can probably guess."

John grits his teeth. Anderson. Good god, he's starting to hate the man as much as Sherlock does, and that's saying something. He puts it aside. "How did Moriarty even know he needed to look at the body?" he asks. "The details haven't been released to the press, have they? Just the general idea?"

Lestrade shakes his head. "It's just the basic press report," he explains. "But if Sherlock knew just from that, Moriarty probably did too."

John sighs. "Right. Is the body gone or did he just see it?"
 
Lestrade gives them both a questioning sort of look before he speaks, obviously taking note of the them clutching onto each other as if the tide was going to pull them away. God, Lestrade was trying to shield them. Sherlock guesses this has something to do with Lestrade's sudden affinity with his brother.
"Both. You'll see, and he left a sort of...message for you, Sherlock."
And then he's hit with that same impulse, to cover John's eyes so he doesn't have to see whatever sick words Moriarty's left him this time, shield John as if he's some child.
Well, you certainly have the overprotective boyfriend down pat.
They follow Lestrade behind the van Anderson had been driving and it's not a clean crime scene. There's ripped up electrical wiring surrounding the body-Well, what remains of the body. Haley's arm is gone. The one with the QR code, the cut so smooth as if the flesh was butter. It screams Moriarty, it screams consulted Moriarty. This wasn't done by his hands.
Most likely Sebastian.
He doesn't say anything about that, out of everyone here, Sherlock's the only one here who knows about Colonel Moran and for good reason. Sherlock doesn't really think it'll help John to know an old army buddy is the most highly respected freelance assassin and Moriarty's right hand gun.
Right now, he has to worry about John's reaction to the message, painted across the roof of the van in some red media.
Come and play, Sherly.
 
((Oh my god, you just made MORAN an army buddy of John's. YOU FLAWLESS HUMAN BEING. THE EPIC. I CAN'T HANDLE IT.))

His blood is ice. He can't breathe. The paint is still wet, dripping slightly, looking for all the world like blood, and here is the proof, the final proof that Moriarty is definitely involved here. Come and play, it taunts him, come and play, Sherly.

For all their talk about what would happen were Moriarty to get involved, for all their worry and fear, it's nothing like the terror that grips him as he looks at the evidence right in front of them. Because then, it was just a hypothetical situation, a maybe, a possibility, "He may not get involved, we may not even have to worry" but this, this is real. This is concrete. This is Moriarty laughing in their faces. This is Moriarty, threatening his Sherlock.

His arm tightens involuntarily around Sherlock's waist. Breathe, he thinks numbly. Breathe! He inhales dutifully, brave soldier face in place as quickly as he can summon it. He hopes Sherlock didn't see the panic that Moriarty's little message had caused. "Well," he says, and he's proud to hear that the tremor in his voice is very, very faint, "I'd say that's a pretty clear message, wouldn't you?"
 
He can feel John's fist dig into his side as the message starts to sink in for the doctor. He may have that stoic front but it takes a smidge too long, Sherlock can see the flash of terror set in every feature.
John's voice is relatively normal, not what Sherlock had expected. Coughing, vomiting was also a possibility. But no. No one else sees past that mask but Sherlock. He moves his hand up and down the his back, trying again to see what was comforting. He lets out another exasperated sigh, "He's challenging me."
Sherlock knows John knows everything unsaid, because Moriarty is here. Someone's going to get hurt.
"We're never going to die, alright?"
He doesn't even bother to whisper the words, Lestrade's alright with it, Anderson, well he's him. But even without that, Sherlock's not going to hide/
 
John's smile isn't entirely genuine. It sounds like something two children whisper to each other when they're afraid of the dark and determined not to show it. But he appreciates the gesture anyway. And the way Sherlock is rubbing his back soothingly does feel rather nice. "Yeah," he says. "All right."

He ignores the confused and slightly disbelieving look Lestrade is giving him and, despite the pleasant sensation of Sherlock rubbing his back, slips away from him to lean into the van, inspecting the crime scene. Really, he just doesn't want Sherlock to feel him shaking. That's the thing about how perceptive Sherlock can be: John can never hide how he's really feeling, at least not when Sherlock is paying attention, not when Sherlock wants to know. And right now, he's feeling afraid. He's more afraid than he wants to admit, to be honest, but he buries it beneath bluster and his soldier's stance. He holds his hands behind back. Contained. Sturdy. Maybe if he acts calm enough, he can fool Sherlock into thinking he is calm.

It's a long shot, but worth a try. He doesn't want Sherlock to see his weakness. His fear.

"How long ago did this happen?" he asks, not taking his eyes from the sight. He's not entirely sure he can. "And how long was Anderson away from the van?"
 
Back rubbing, not good.
At least, that's what he assumes when John slips away from Sherlock's grip. He frowns, he'd rather have John close enough to tell what's going on in that mind of his. Close enough to feel his chest rise and expand to gauge anxiety, or perhaps take his pulse as he reaches for John's hand. He hates not knowing.
Sherlock stays in place, looking at John's position with scrutiny, "Under five minutes, had to have happened while Lestrade was with us in the lab."
John has taken that stance that screams calmility a bit too much, his hands folded behind his back, his head bobbing slightly as he looks around. Perhaps it would do John better if Sherlock pretended not to notice the tremor of fear.
Okay...I can do that. If it helps John, why not? But it won't stop Sherlock from holding hands or grabbing him around the waist, especially when the fear rushes into John's visage. He can keep quiet, if only for a bit.
 
John takes a shaky breath. Well, the good thing is that Sherlock doesn't seem to have noticed his fear. He hopes. He could just be keeping quiet about it, but that would require an unusual amount of tact from Sherlock, so perhaps not.

"He's quick," he says softly, his voice betraying some of his revulsion at the sight. Hopefully it was pitched low enough to hide the way his mind is spinning out of control, at least. He can't help but picture Sherlock in her place, Sherlock sprawled empty and dead on the floor, Sherlock covered in blood and red paint, Sherlock with one of his graceful limbs sawed clean off-

He jerks back, then, and attempts to get his breathing under control. He immediately regrets the action. There was no way that Sherlock missed that. He closes his eyes, trying to refocus. Sometimes he wishes he could delete things from his mind as easily as Sherlock can.

"So," he says as calmly as he can manage, "if this is a challenge..." he turns to look at Sherlock, "what are we going to do about it?"

((I am SO SO SORRY that it took me this long to reply! I got stuck in The Hunger Games, you know how it is. Rereading before I see the movie this weekend. I'm absolutely dead to the world when I read, like, tap-me-on-the-shoulder-and-say-my-name-and-I-still-won't-register-that-you're-there oblivious. It's a bit not good. XD))
 
That is the question and it's laid out so plainly before him. What else is laid out is the fact that John can't compose himself, obviously he thought of something that scared him back into tremors. This is one of those especially cases...but John still tries to keep up that charade of nonchalance, so he restrains himself.
There is still the problem of the challenge. The, well, argument he had with John across the corner is still fresh in his mind and he can't think straight like this-
Sherlock takes a hesitant step towards John, "I don't-We need to think about this, John. We can, I mean, he hasn't left anything for us really. He's making us wait, and there isn't any point in waiting here."
So let's go back to the flat. So you don't have to hide anything.

(I know the feeling. I'm currently in line for the midnight premiere)

 
John studies Sherlock, trying to make out his meaning. It's obvious he doesn't want to stick around - but why? He had thought Sherlock would be clambering right into the van by now. But maybe he didn't need to. Maybe he had already gotten everything he needed from the crime scene. Whatever the reason, he decides, it's good enough for me.

"Right," he says slowly, his gaze still on Sherlock's face. "So... back to the flat?"

Lestrade sighs audibly and rubs his neck as John looks over. "Oh, just go, you two," he relents. "You've been here long enough, we can take care of this for now." The DI glances over at Sherlock. "I'll get Molly to do an autopsy and phone you if there's any developments," he says, and turns to leave, but stops, turning back. "You two going to be all right?" he asks, looking from one to the other.

John swallows. "Yeah," he manages. Looks at Sherlock. "Yeah, we'll be fine."

The DI studies them for a moment before nodding. "Well, be careful," he advises, and as he walks away John can't help but think that Lestrade is worried for them too.

((JEALOUSY. INTENSE JEALOUSY.))
 
Sherlock is scared.
Sherlock is scared because of the hesitance in John's voice as he responds to Lestrade and it hurts, god, it hurts. Fine? Everything was just fine?
He doesn't think his heart has ever beat this fast from anxiety. Everything felt dizzy and out of control and his thoughts are swimming. It doesn't help the fact that John strides ahead of him, he would have thought he'd at least take Sherlock's hand.
Or he's reading to much into it. Or he's reading exactly enough into it, god, why can't he know about these things? What if Sherlock's actually ruined it? What if John can't deal with him, what if Moriarty is too much and-
It's a pit in his stomach, one acid like thought after another. The look that John and Lestrade shared, what the hell? What was it supposed to mean, what was going on?
So it's no surprise that the first words Sherlock blurts out as they get into the cab is, "I'm sorry. I'm so sorry."

(Speaking of, entering theatre now. I'll might be on later, might also pass out. So yeah...I'll still reply in the morning though)
 
John frowns, his brow furrowed. "Sorry? For what?" He's so confused that it temporarily drives his worry over Moriarty out of his mind. What does Sherlock have to be sorry for? For his fear? Could Sherlock tell? If he could, it's not like what happened with the van and the body was his fault. His fear at the sight of that has nothing to do with Sherlock. (Well, it has everything to do with Sherlock, really, but it's not Sherlock's fault.) And yet Sherlock looks so completely anxious that it's obvious that something's very wrong here.

He takes Sherlock's hand, aiming for reassuring. "What's wrong, love?" he asks worriedly. It takes him a moment, yet again, to realize he just called Sherlock "love" entirely on accident, but he doesn't retract it or stammer apologies like before. This time he doesn't have to. And he's trying to make Sherlock feel better, anyway; he seemed to like it the last time John called him that.

But now Sherlock is the one looking utterly confused. What was that all about? John thinks back, trying to suss it out. Did he do something wrong? Or was Sherlock just blaming himself for John's fear? Maybe he wasn't as good at hiding it as he had hoped. Come to think of it, that was probably the case. "Look, Sherlock," he begins with a sigh, "I'm sorry, I didn't mean to freak out like that back there. I'm all right now, I promise." That's a lie. Of course that's a lie. But it's what Sherlock needs to hear right now, right? That it's not his fault? That he's okay?

Isn't that what Sherlock wants?

((Oh right. Time change. Totally temporarily forgot we're in different time zones. I was like "Wow, they're letting people in at ten? That's pretty early for a midnight showing." I'M SUCH A SMARTYPANTS.))
 
"No, it's not that. Well, not just that, at least."
He looks down at the way John takes his hand, his skin so warm against Sherlock's icy transport. John's fear was only half of it, and Sherlock could see through that mask easily, even with the distraction of that honorfic.
John calling him "love". It wasn't the first time, and god, he hoped it wouldn't be the last.
"I keep doing everything wrong. And I have no idea what to expect because I've never done anything like this before and you are just fantastic and amazing...Here I am, letting you get afraid. Doing the exact oppisite of what I should be. And it hurts you, I can see it in your eyes, it hurts you. And I can't ever stop hurting you because it's what I am. So don't go pretending anything for my sake, please. Because I deserve it. You shouldn't have to deal with it though. My idiotic decisions and what they entail. Not the pain. Not this pain."

(Sorry I kept you waiting, love. But I can stay up as long as you want for the 9 days cause I'm on spring break! Which basically means eat, sleep, tumble, sherlock, rp.You should see the movie though, it was pretty good. )
 
Oh. John's expression softens. No wonder Sherlock is acting so strangely. He takes Sherlock's other hand gently, forcing the man to turn to face him. "You're not doing anything wrong," he reassures him. "Look, this is something we need to do, right? We can't just let Moriarty go, not like this. I think we've agreed that it puts us both in danger."

He releases one of Sherlock's hands to place his own on Sherlock's cheek. "But the only reason that I'm in pain is because I'm worried about you," he lies. Of course, there's that other reason, that raging jealousy he still can't quell, that ache of not good enough, but that's not Sherlock's fault. Sherlock doesn't need to know about that. It's just something he'll have to get used to.

He buries that down and continues, determined not to let Sherlock see. He focuses on the truth of his words to help him hide it. "I can't stop imagining something happening to you, and yes, that scares me. But this is something we need to do." He lets the hand on Sherlock's cheek drift down to the back of his neck and places the other directly over Sherlock's heart, abandoning the detective's hands in favor of the warm security of his pulse underneath John's palm. "That fear is a small price to pay for keeping you safe," he says, determined, "and I'll pay it. I'd pay it a thousand times over. Because you're worth everything to me, Sherlock." He shrugs. "Compared to that, a little pain is nothing."

((It's perfectly all right, dear; I wasn't at home for most of the day because our school's talent show was tonight. And lucky! My spring break isn't for another few weeks. But I totally am going to see the movie tomorrow - my dad decided to treat me to go see it, even though I'm also going to see it in a couple weeks for a cinema class field trip. Very excited. XD))
 
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