A/N: Okay, so I don't know if anyone noticed but I changed the summary. I realised that the story was far too dark and suggestive and a little gory to be crack (which most of mine are) so if you were looking forward to crack, hard luck. You're stuck with this.
It's INTENSE. Get it? Coz its called TOO INTENSE, huh? Huh? Oh forget it...
"How could I have been so stupid?" John muttered to himself when the valet drove away with the car. Everyone who'd greeted them so far had assumed that they were a couple and Sherlock never put them right. John just laughed nervously and assured them they were mistaken. It got him very annoyed whenever the quest would just give a knowing smile and a wink as if they thought they knew. John didn't even know. Everything that was happening this evening was strange and foreign. John didn't particularly take kindly to not understanding things. Sherlock would keep giving him weird looks whenever he'd start chatting with some random person to pass the time. He didn't understand it all.
When he'd got back, Sherlock hadn't mentioned the incident over the phone. He never mentioned it, which made John nervous. It meant that it was coming. He was saving his frustration for something and John was anxious about what he was planning. Of course Sherlock would have a plan. He always did and with the stupid pranks he often played on John as revenge for the most trivial things, Sherlock was bound to have something big in store. It made John uneasy.
Once about half an hour of niceties and conversations past by John was abruptly pulled away from the crowd and into an alcove between to pillars. The space was smaller than John appreciated but at least he got a good look at Sherlock's meaningful grey eyes before he got a lecture. This was bound to come.
Sherlock took a deep breath and glanced down at me before quickly looking away. Odd, John thought as he glanced at the detective's nervous hands clutching the sides of his coat. John raised a quizzical brow, very odd indeed.
Sherlock closed his eyes briefly and almost glared down at John. Both John's eyebrows rose simultaneously, "what have I done now?"
Sherlock's angry gaze got colder and John cursed himself mentally for being so stupid. This was obviously something difficult for Sherlock no matter what it was. He couldn't seem to put it into words. "I," Sherlock stared swallowing, it seemed, whatever had been stopping him from speaking before, "I was really… worried about you."
"Worried?" He asked in shock. "You were worried about me? Why?"
Sherlock's glare turned deathly and John realised that perhaps he should just keep his mouth shut from now on, "The other day… when I called you. You where… irritatingly cryptic."
"Cryptic?" So, obviously, John had to open his big mouth again, "what was I cryptic about? I told you everything."
Sherlock almost snarled. His lip curled and his nose crinkled as if he'd just smelled something disgusting. John did not like that look being directed at him. "You… kept things from me. You didn't tell me about that Logan Peters and you…" He closed his eyes and looked down, "withheld the information about your relationship with him."
"Oh," John said quietly when Sherlock didn't raise his head. "You weren't just worried, were you?"
Sherlock lifted his head to pin John with another of his intense, meaningful silver stares, "not… entirely."
John nodded slowly, understanding dawning on him. He'd been jealous. He could see that now. Obviously the realisation had come reluctantly to John but the look in Sherlock's eyes when he looked away couldn't have been mistaken. "We were good friends. I covered for him when he did something terrible because I thought it was an accident. It really wasn't."
Sherlock's expression was unreadable but he moved a little closer and held onto John's wrists, trying to be comforting. John realised this and let him. "What did he do?" Sherlock asked quietly.
John could feel Sherlock's warm breath on his cheeks and he closed his eyes. Sherlock's presence was a lot more comforting than he'd imagined possible. "He," John had to swallow around the lump in his throat before he could continue without breaking, "he killed someone in our regiment. He told me the guy had attacked him first and he'd fallen off the roof after trying to push him off it. I defended him… it was only afterward that I realised that the evidence was all against him. I went back to the sergeant at the time and tried to take back my statement but they weren't interested. He'd already gotten his 'friends' to help him out. I couldn't do anything."
Sherlock hesitantly pressed his forehead against John's and John opened his eyes in surprise. Liquid silver met clear blue.
"It wasn't your fault." He murmured in his deep bass. John swallowed down the sickeningly fluttering butterflies that suddenly erupted in his stomach. How light could Sherlock's eyes be anyway? He thought in wonder. It shouldn't even be possible.
Without realising John's hands had fisted themselves in the upper arms of Sherlock's trench coat and Sherlock's hands seemed to have drifted down to slide underneath John's suit jacket. The hands on John's waist were warm and large and as Sherlock's eye lids slid down over his crystal silver eyes he felt those hands pull him closer. John's whole body was at war with itself. The hands, the breath on his cheek that smelt like peppermint and spices and the warm, toe-curling feeling that was slowly spreading as Sherlock leaned down enough so their lips just barely ghosted over each others; they were all reasons why John should not be doing this. This was Sherlock! His flat-mate and increasingly annoying best friend, he couldn't possibly enter into a romantic relationship with him! That would be too absurd! He was married to his work anyway. I hope Sherlock stops soon, John thought in dismay, because I don't think I could do it.
But right then he knew what was coming. It would take someone with serious brain damage not to realise the comprising position they'd let themselves get into. And it was hardly comforting to realise that they were having such an intimate experience with hundreds of high-up government officials possibly tut'ing at them from the ball room.
John's eyes slid closed when Sherlock pressed the softest and briefest kiss to the corner of his mouth before a loud, booming voice ruined the moment.
As quick as lightening Sherlock had jerked back and John was left with empty hands and a cold sting in his heart before Sherlock pulled him by the wrist into the throng of people. Sherlock didn't say anything, he didn't even look at John but John noticed the way his cheeks where a little pink and his hand twitched around John's wrist. He hadn't been impervious to that little encounter and they both knew it. What was more concerning was the fact that they'd have to talk about it when they got back to the flat. Or… what if Sherlock didn't want to talk about it? What if he just dismissed it as a momentary lapse of judgement? That sounded like something Sherlock would do.
John frowned, disturbed. He didn't want Sherlock to brush this under the carpet. No matter what had happened or what will happen John resolved himself to talk to Sherlock about this when they got back. No matter it Sherlock went into a sulk and shut himself in his room, he'd just break down the door and tie him to a chair. It shouldn't be too hard, thought John distractedly; Sherlock is a real girl when fighting anyway. Smiling to himself John directed his attention back to the man at the front of the group all the while acutely aware that Sherlock still had a firm grip of his wrist.
With a jolt John recognised the person addressing the crowd. Logan Peters. That son of a bitch.
"Ladies and gentlemen I'm sure you are all eagerly awaiting the topic of this… gathering." Logan stared directly at John when he said his next words, "and perhaps we should start the auction now."
Suddenly Sherlock's grip on his wrist tightened and he pulled them both to the side of the room. Logan's eyes never left his face, "we should go. Now." Sherlock murmured urgently.
Confused John yanked his wrist from Sherlock's grip, "wait."
"No, that's really not a good idea –" Sherlock whispered frantically.
John rounded on him angrily, "why?" He hissed, "why is it not a good idea?"
Sherlock didn't answer, he didn't even look like he was going to before Logan began bellowing once more, "and so the first item is Little Guy. This atomic bomb is almost identical to Little Boy which destroyed Hiroshima all those years ago." A disgusting smile curled at Logan's lips. "And quite some damage it did too. Shall we started the bidding at $100 000?"
John's world went red. Atomic bomb similar to Hiroshima? This wasn't a government party it was a black market auction. "Fuck." John hissed through clenched teeth glaring daggers at Peters. He was still smirking down at him from his small stage.
A man from within the crowd raised an inquiring hand and John turned with a stiff neck toward him. "How powerful is this bomb?" The Russian lilt was unmistakable, "I'm sure all of us would like to know of its… possibilities, ourselves. We weren't all there when Hiroshima went up."
John lurched forward to clobber the guy as a ripple of laughter spread through the masses. Sherlock held him back with an arm securely around his waist. "Don't. Be patient." Sherlock murmured against his hair reassuringly. John was done with being patient. Peters was a dead man walking even if he didn't know it yet.
"Of course," Logan said with another sly smirk, "Little Guy explodes with the same energy as 13 – 19 kiltons of TNT which is equivalent to 54 and 75 TJ. We have a demonstration of TNT to give you an idea of the damage it could cause. We also have a 3D demonstration with Little Guy in action."
John couldn't listen anymore. He ripped himself from Sherlock's strange embrace and almost sprinted for the entrance hall. It was fairly the same as the ball room except it had a deep burgundy runner that curved around with the corridor on each side. He strode to the door but the doorman were securely placed so he couldn't get near the door. John glared at the tall men with all he had. "You don't want to get messed up in this. I'm really pissed." He growled at them.
They didn't make any move, if anything they looked amused. Well, John'd give them something to laugh at!
When Sherlock arrived on the scene one of the doormen were sprawled out on the floor in a dazed heap and John had the other in a firm headlock. Sherlock took a second to admire the scene and be a little… what was the word…. proud? No, that couldn't be it.
John didn't miss the look and after the doorman was safely unconscious he let him drop to the floor along with his colleague. The rage still boiled inside him and he didn't think he could deal with Sherlock's dismissive attitude.
Sherlock just looked concerned though and John felt the need to reassure him in the only way he could at the moment; tell him the plan. "Logan Peters is going to die."
Sherlock didn't say anything. He looked down at the runner, then back at the open doors to the hall. He opened his mouth to say something but his mouth suddenly turned into a passive line when a loud voice boomed across the hall.
"Dr John Watson! How I've missed you old friend!"
John moved slightly and stared with horror at Logan Peters standing directly behind Sherlock with a gun pressed firmly into the back of his neck. Sherlock was still staring directly ahead of himself with his passive look. John plastered on his poker face and his eyes flickered from Sherlock back to Peters.
"What do you want Peters?" John snarled between his gritted teeth.
"To tie up some loose ends." Peters said with a sinister smirk. "Come on, boys." He said placing a large hand on Sherlock's thin shoulder and gripping it tightly, "let's go somewhere more private."
Peters pushed Sherlock forward down the right corridor. Sherlock's expression never changed and John was sure he was coming up with a plan. He has to be, otherwise we're dead. John thought desperately.
"So, little John," Peters drawled moving his hand further up Sherlock's shoulder until it gripped the crook of his neck tightly. "Turned cock sucker now, have we?"
John tasted bile and was about to answer with something very unsavoury when Peters pushed the neck of the gun into the back of Sherlock's head where his skull met his neck. "Take care with your answer, Dr Watson." Peters drawled, "My finger might just slip." His waggled his finger on the trigger and John winced.
The corridor was narrowing. John made a snap decision. "Yes." John said with a determined expression. John noticed Sherlock glanced briefly in his direction, probably out of surprise. "And you would know." John said. The comment was heavy with suggestion.
Without warning Sherlock was thrown into a guards waiting arms and John was abruptly pounded around the head three times with the butt of Peters' pistol.
"You useless little faggot!" Peters shouted bringing the butt of the gun down on John's head again.
The world went black for John Watson.
Sherlock gritted his teeth but his expression didn't change. How could he give away his position in the game so easily? Exactly, he couldn't. That wouldn't help him and it certainly wouldn't help the now unconscious John.
Peters stood over John who was slumped against the wall lifelessly. Everything about Peters' gait, stance and expression screamed emotionally unstable and it made Sherlock uneasy. He fidgeted in the guards grip and it tightened around his arms on his back. Sherlock hissed in pain and Peters turned his sharp eyes on him.
"And then there was one." Peters said with another sinister smirk. Sherlock had deduced far earlier the whole reason John was invited. Plus the startlingly obvious admission that Peters was going to 'tie up loose ends'; they all pointed toward one solid conclusion, Peters wanted to kill John tonight. But, being the curious genius he was, he didn't take advantage of the guards' bad back or Peters obvious balancing issues.
Peters stalked toward him with a predatory smile and Sherlock was beginning to wonder if his deduction about their murder was, in fact, true. After all John had been right, most of the time he guessed, unpredictability was something that always got in his way.
When Peters was close enough to be able to smell the stale cigarette smoke on his breath he smiled wide and motioned for the guard to grab John off the floor. "Follow me." He said to the guard with the gun now firmly pressed into Sherlock's stomach. Sherlock was irritated, knowing that the gun would leave a bruise on his pale skin but didn't make any indication it bothered him. He just needed to play this out and see where it went, and more importantly find a way out without endangering John.
"So," Peters began, almost conversationally, "how long have you been fucking the good doctor?"
Sherlock wouldn't give in that easily. "What do you plan on doing with John before you kill him?" The guard carrying John open double doors at the end of the corridor into a dimly lit study. The study was decorated in deep burgundy and woody brown colours and there were many paintings and statues around the room with one, solitary desk squarely in the centre of the room facing the door.
Peters pushed Sherlock to stand beside the chair in front of the desk, the guard threw John into the chair beside Sherlock and Peters rounded the desk to stand with his palms firmly against the wood and leaning menacingly toward them.
"I may choose not to answer your question if you choose not to answer mine." He said with another menacing smirk.
"That sounds fair." Sherlock said. "So, why are we still alive?"
Peters smirk widened, "Now I see why Watson likes you so much. It's almost refreshing to meet someone as disobedient as you."
"I'm accustomed to my own way." Sherlock answered with a shrug followed by the tensing of the guards' shoulders. "That was a major part of my childhood upbringing."
"I can tell." Peters said, his gaze raking over Sherlock's lithe form. "You look like you were born with a silver spoon in your mouth."
Sherlock refused to retort. Peters continued, "Oh, I'm bored now." He said with a deranged grin which made Sherlock feel uneasy again. Apparently stalling him wasn't going to work anymore. Peters lifted the gun to point directly at Sherlock's brow, "goodbye, Sherlock Holmes."
Sherlock didn't close his eyes. Didn't even blink. He knew what was coming. He'd felt John stir.
Something whipped through the air in front of his face and smashed into the side of the gun. Peters eyes widened as the gun went spiralling out of his hands. John had already jumped onto the table and was about to attack him when Sherlock turned on the guard. The guard was still a little confused about what was going on and so didn't expect the attack as Sherlock kneed him in the back with all his might. The guard screamed and dropped to the floor curling into the foetal position clutching at his injured back. Sherlock didn't even glance down at his handy work, knowing that the guard was down for the count. He hadn't mistaken the man's odd gait.
Sherlock turned back to John quickly and just in time to see John and Peters wrestling ferociously on the floor. Sherlock ran toward them but wasn't quick enough.
Peters punched John hard in the face and John tasted the tang of blood on his tongue. Still dazed from the blow he glanced around with glassy eyes to locate Peters only to see him nearing the wall where the pistol had rebounded off. John rolled onto his stomach and stood ready to face Peters again but as Peters reached for the gun John felt his confidence die. He leaned back slightly against a bookcase on the wall as Peters straightened and pointed the gun directly at John's heart.
Sherlock had hesitated as he'd watched Peters grab the gun. His heart was doing a frantic dance in his chest and his panic seemed to have frozen his muscles. Without realising it he'd become so emotionally involved in the situation that he couldn't think logically. That would not bode well for his and John's survival. He had to think clearly but he couldn't get past the fog in his brain screaming that he needed to save John and nothing else mattered. The fact was, he kept telling himself, he couldn't save John if he couldn't think clearly.
Suddenly he felt the floor vibrate around his feet and he turned just in time to see the fist collide with his left eye. He hit the floor hard and leaving no time the guard rolled him over and pounded him again. Sherlock stared up at him, shocked. Could I have been – before he could finish the thought a loud groan came from the direction of the guard he'd finished and almost smiled. No, he hadn't been wrong. Of course he hadn't. He was never wrong.
With new found conviction he blocked the guards' punch with his arm, bucked wildly and threw the guard to the floor beside him. He grabbed a book end that had fallen to the floor during the fight and hit the guard in the temple, successfully silencing him.
Meanwhile Peters had pushed John against a nearby pillar with the gun mere inches from his heart.
"I bet you're regretting rejecting my offer now." Peters snarled with a smirk.
"Nope." John said with a smile making his bruised lips hurt. "I don't think I'll ever regret walking away from you."
Peters sighed and rubbed his brow, "You know I used to really respect and admire you, John." Then his face broke out into the most happy, deranged, child-like smile John had ever seen on the man. "Now all I want to do is shoot you."
John was really starting to debate whether Peters was sane at all when the lunatic turned the gun on him quickly. John leapt out of the way but stumbled over a fallen guard. Oh great, he thought rolling over to face Peters, this is the end, isn't it?
The ground was cold and hard, his head and body hurt in so many places he felt like he was just one big bruise and he really wanted to talk to Sherlock. Right then he wanted to tell him how much Sherlock meant to him. How much the kiss had meant to him. But it was too late for that now.
Peters raised the gun with a hearty laugh. "You don't know how long I've been waiting to do this."
Suddenly in a blur of motion Peters was no longer in front of John. John blinked and turned to where he'd seen the ball of clothes and limbs fall. There he saw Sherlock wrestling to get the gun out of Peters' hands and from what John could see, not winning. John rolled into a crouch quickly and ran over to where they were. Peters spotted him and with a grunt of exertion he pulled the gun to point at John. Before John could do anything Sherlock had moved swiftly between him and Peters effectively blocking the bullets path with his body. The crack of the pistol left the room in deathly silence. John stood still, frozen, waiting to wake up from this horrifying nightmare. But this wasn't a nightmare and Sherlock was falling.
John hurried to him and caught him which just barely gave him some cushioning when he hit the hard-wood flooring. He saw the torn clothing and Sherlock's pained face set in a grimace and saw red. Peters was still laying where he had been before. He'd hardly moved. With one swift jab John punched up at his jaw and Peters head snapped back with a crunch. Peters was dazed by the blow and tried to stand but John was too quick for him. John kicked him in the stomach and as he doubled over on all fours, John grabbed the gun from his hand, wrapped a hand around his throat and slammed him into the floor. With tears in his eyes John pressed the gun between Peters' eyes.
"I trusted you!" John shouted into the quiet of the room. "I trusted you and you betrayed me! You betrayed Tod!"
Logan's eyes flashed, "I did what I had to!"
"You killed him because he rejected you!" John screamed. "Why did you have to do that?" John tightened his grip around Logan's throat and he grimaced.
Then Logan laughed. It was deranged, insane it truly showed just how lost this man was. Then he leaned against John's hand and hissed, "if I can't have him, nobody can."
John's tears splattered onto Logan's face as he shook his head, "That's sick. You're sick. And I don't think you can be helped." Without waiting for another crazy remark John pulled the trigger and released Logan's limp neck.
Without stopping to look at his work he ran to Sherlock's side, tears still fresh on his face. Sherlock hadn't moved and John took that as a very bad sign. He noticed blood on his stomach around the torn clothing and he closed his eyes and looked away.
"Shit, Sherlock don't die!" He cried croakily. "I couldn't cope if you died."
Sherlock turned his head and squinted up at John from where he lay. "John." He said softly reaching up to grab the lapel of his suit jacket. "John."
So blinded by grief and pain John didn't check the wound. Tears freely feel down onto Sherlock's once white shirt.
Sherlock sat up slowly with a pained grunt and took John's face into his hands. John started pulling away, "what are you–" Through John's glassy eyes he saw silver and then a soft pressure on his lips. Without meaning to, he closed his eyes and savoured the gentle contact for as long as possible. When it ended John was tingling from head to toe. Sherlock's gentle fingers brushed away his tears and John sniffled loudly.
"You're not really dying, are you?" John asked with a sigh.
Sherlock smirked back at him and pulled apart his open shirt revealing a very safe and protective looking bullet-proof vest. John had been in the army, he'd know and bullet-proof vest miles off.
John glared at Sherlock, "You just took advantage of me."
Sherlock's smirk didn't waver, "It was worth it."
John punched Sherlock in the face.
John slumped down in the seat of the cab and closed his eyes. Sherlock was rubbing his injured cheek and staring out the window.
Suddenly John remembered something very trivial. "So, where did you go for that case? You never told me."
Sherlock shrugged nonchalantly. "I was in Germany."
John sat up in surprised and stared at Sherlock with wide eyes, "Germany?" He asked confused, "I thought I heard you talking to someone in Korean over the phone before the trip and then I heard something about Australia..."
Sherlock looked at John sceptically, "Australia?"
John nodded and waited for him to say something else. Sherlock stared back at John with a conflicted looking frown. "I was in Germany." He repeated.
John was still confused, "Did you not take the case in Australia?"
Sherlock turned away from John to stare out of the window of the cab with a distant expression, "No, I didn't."
"Why didn't you?" John asked. Sherlock had been getting quite worked up over the phone. It sounded like it might've been a good case.
Sherlock didn't answer for the longest time. He just sat and stared out of the window.
John was going to ask another question before he heard the quiet answer from the detective. "It was…" John noticed him swallow inconspicuously, "It was too far away from…" Sherlock closed his eyes and grimaced as though in pain, "from…"
Realising what he was going to say John reached over the detective's lap and brought his hand in between their seats to hold. Sherlock started at the sudden touch but didn't pull away. John was glad for that. "It's okay." John said. "You can shut up now."
Sherlock flashed him a nervous smirk and tightened his hold on John's fingers.
And right then… right at that moment… John felt like everything was falling into place.
Ah, yes. This is quite sexually suggestive and... yeah. It's my first kissing fic! I've never made 'em kiss before! Well there you have it! All passionate and intense... ooooooh I luuuuuuurve Sherlock!
Logan Peters is pretty grotesque. And he's also pretty hypocrytically considering he's gay. Well, he's gay for Tod... I totally just made that name up on the spot but maybe I'll make a short fic about them... I like Peters in a weird he's-my-own-character-and-I-sort-of-like-how-deranged-he-his-and-he's-also-really-like-moriarty-and-i-just-realised-that-whoa-whoops-shit kind of way.
Anyway! I hoped you liked the second chapter! That's all folks! It was a TWO-SHOT! It's over now!
BUT rest assured I am TOTALLY going to be writing a sequel! Sort of...
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Danke shon xx