They stole us in the night, on a deserted street, of course or else he would have seen. His Big Brother. We were walking in silence, I was enjoyed the solitude that can only be comfortably appreciated when walking with your oldest and greatest friend. Gazing at the sky I could only guess he was enjoying my company as much as I was. Occasionally our hands brushed against each other. It was an unusually quiet night on the London streets in terms of human presence; instead there was a blustering wind that whipped around the corners of the buildings and the corners of our minds. I am unsure whether this whipping wind impeded our escape and helped the kidnappers. I'm sure this is what Sherlock would like everyone to believe.

They grabbed us from behind, noiselessly. Eight men for each of us, of course we could not fight them. They bound our mouths, our hands and our eyes. In the back of a van we lay against each other, I could hear the murmuring voices of the kidnappers and Sherlock's breath, shuddering from his nose. This breath rang with the movement of the van, round corners, up hills. It rang with his mind working out the turns and twists of our journey. He was thinking of our escape, I was thinking about his breath, and how I wished, no prayed that I would hear it forever. They threw us in a damp cell. For a moment we were free with no bounds around our throat. We stood in the darkness, the only light from beneath the door. A bare thin strip, but more hopeful than the darkness around us. I could see my friends shape standing near the door.

'Where are we Sherlock?'

'Somewhere east of Finchley, as far as I can tell'

'Who are they? The kidnappers?'

'I don't know.'

He was lying. I door flew open it's light blinding us. This light was no longer hopeful, it was dastic, it was evil. They grabbed Sherlock without a noise. They dragged him out and left me alone.

I cannot rightly say how long I was alone in that cell. With no sunlight, I tracked the time with my hunger, a growing burning, dulling force that rested in my chest. But it was not easy; I could not think of food, I could not think of escape. Hope was far too tiring. I could not think of my loneliness, it made me think of myself too much. My body it ached, my old wounds came to my side like old worms to a corpse. No I could not think of much. All I could think of was his breath, his clever, harsh breath that had resonated so loudly in that van. Yes, all I thought about in those timeless hours was his breath.

That thin strip of light was all I looked at, waiting for the shadows that would signify either my captures return and so my violent fate at their hands or the return of my friend. Both of which I waited for with baited breath.

Then is came, the door was flung open and Sherlock was pushed inside. In the time the before the door was closed I saw his ghostly form. He was battered, he was skinnier than before, he was completely naked, he was alive. I heard him fall to the floor and rushed towards him on my knees he shuffled towards me, we crashed in the middle. We clawed at each other, as if we would drown.

'You're alive!' was the chorus of our muddled hug. Not for long though, he began to lag, he fell forward on to me and began to paw at my jumper. I pulled it off myself and delicately moved his thin wrists and arms into it. But he continued to paw at me. 'John, John' he murmured over and over. 'It's ok' I murmured in response. 'You're breathing'. But his breath was no longer strong or harsh. As I encircled him with my arms, his torso vibrated with small swallow gulps.

'I wouldn't tell them, but they said… you… they said they would… no, I couldn't'

He was deranged, ill and cold. I hugged him tighter. He crawled up my chest, in the darkness his face was above mine. 'My dear Watson' and he pressed a kiss to my lips, and then he slumped down. Passed into unconscious exhaustion. His breathing became swallower. I let out a shuddering, animal roar, for one moment and then began to stroke his hair and coo into his ear. Because I could not lose him, not after he gave me that light. He was the hope that made me lighter; he was the best of me. I couldn't lose him. I too was so tried, so hungry, and now tears fell from my eyes, blurring my vision. And as I rocked him I slipped in and out of dreams and sleep. On the cusp of one dream, the door opened again and a man came in. Instinctively I pulled Sherlock away from his grasp, curling my body to protect him. A hand came down on my shoulder and I began to shake.

'it's ok John, I'm here to save you'. For once Mycroft's face looked like an angel, I began to laugh and cry in a blurt of emotion. Then someone tried to pull Sherlock from me, I tightened my grip.

'He won't let him go, Mycroft, we need to get to him' a strange man's voice, I couldn't see, I couldn't think.

'John' Lestrade, I think, his arms began to pull at mine. 'You need to let him go, just for a moment'

'I can't… I'm his Doctor'

'I know, John, just let him go'


'Take them together' Mycroft's voice, authoritative and clever.

Arms grabbed me from the side, and then I passed out.

Darkness, always darkness. Sherlock's breath, no my breath? A beeping, rhythmic, like a heartbeat. Voices.

'You lost a lot of blood, but they feed you, gave you water, sanitation. He was alone in that room with no sustenance for six days. He should be dead'

'He's stronger than me' Sherlock's voice was deep, unsettled, and so comforting it filled my brain like whisky. 'Best not tell him that, though, it will give him an unfair advantage during our next domestic'

Mycroft snorted. There was a pause.

'He wouldn't let you go'

A pause

'It took four men to tear him away from you, a dying man'

'Yes' there was pride in Sherlock's voice.

'One should hold on to a man like that'

'Don't worry, Mycroft, he's not going anywhere.'

'Oh I know, but I believe you may be wandering into new experience and I don't think I ever gave you the 'birds and bees' talk'

'Shut up'

There was another pause; I began to flutter my eyelids open into the blistering light, the blistering future.

'I'm glad your ordeal hasn't diminished your deduction abilities. He's awake, I'll leave you two alone'

I heard his sharp footsteps leave the room, but I did not hear Sherlock move any closer. I opened my eyes now and winced, it was so very bright in this room. I testily moved my finger and toes, I felt the course plastic sheets beneath me, an IV in my arm was painful; life giving. A breath caught in my throat and I coughed. Distracted for a moment I turned by head back and Sherlock stood by my bed. I say by for he was hovering by the side. Looking at his face I almost started to laugh, his cold hard eyes now had the shadow of care in them, like a cat that had be scorned. To stifle my laugh I turned it into a cough. He still didn't say anything, he just looked. I opened to say something, but then he slowly lifted his hand and stoked a finger down my face. His eyes that for all our friendship had never had issue sticking to mine were now shyly hiding. He watched his finger on my face and then he leaned down and tucked his head on my shoulder and let out a harsh snort from his nose. Don't suppose that I had forgotten his breath. No, but that shocking noise told me who I was with. It was shocking because I had never imagined how much I had invested in him, how much in turn I had come to love him and now I suppose how I had become to be in love with him.

'Sherlock' I whispered.

'I'm sorry, John, for putting you through that ordeal. I should have known that that particular maniac was after me. I just never suspected that he would try and get to me through you.'

He had become rigid again and had shuffled away from me. He was intently looking out the window as he talked.

'Why did they try to get to you through me? Who am I?'

'You, John, are the single most important thing in my life. They said… they said that you were dead. All the facts said that you should be I had seen no one enter your chamber while they had me tortured, do not look at me like that, I can endure a multitude of physical pain, but them telling me that you were dead; that was the end, I told them everything they wanted to know. Luckily Mycroft has taken care of them and the information they gained will be of little use to them where they are now'.

I dared not ask where they were in fact now. Mostly because I already knew, but did not want an answer but mainly because of the way that Sherlock was looking at me now and how after hearing him speak I, myself, could not.

He nervously licked his lips with a dart of his tongue.

'I know that you do not care for men and that I have never really cared for any human touch, but…'

'You kissed me in the cell' I said, I had not forgotten, I had not forgotten how he had given me everything with that kiss. I would compare it to Sleeping Beauty or Snow White, but that seems rather archaic when considering whatever our future relationship could be.

'Yes' he said, whispered. I had never heard Sherlock whisper before, I'd heard him when he was acting, but not when he was Sherlock himself.

'You would like to do it again?'

He looked at me with shock, I do believe that for once he was speechless.

'I deduce this' I said and the corners of his mouth slowly lifted into a glorious smile the type he would wear whenever he was particularly proud of me and then he kissed me.

We live much the same way we did before except we share a bed and our separate entangled nightmares have been replaced with our blissful entangled limbs.