Hey guys. This is just something I typed up late at night. Hope its still okay and makes sense. It is as ever unBETA'd (sorry I'm working on it) so apologies for any horrific errors, let me know and I'll fix them. also I couldn't decide whether phonecalls was one word or two, but I liked it better as one, but if it is two let me know and I will fix it.
Hope you enjoy!
The annoying chirp of John's ringtone stirred him from a dream he couldn't remember as soon as it was disturbed. He flung one arm over his eyes, and reached blindly for the phone, to shut it up if nothing else. Glancing at the display he noted that he wasn't sure of the number calling, but it was 4:06am, which meant the news was unlikely to be good.
"Hello?" John croaked, and then attempted to clear his throat.
"Mr Watson?" an unfamiliar voice questioned.
"Speaking, who is this?"
"Mr Watson, I'm Constable Hughes, we've apprehended a man who claims to be your fiancée. A Mr Sherlock Holmes?"
John sighed, readying himself to sit up.
"You've got to be kidding me? What did he do?" It was too early for this, or too late, depending on your life philosophy.
"Well, he broke into our building, and rooted through our classified files, claiming he 'needed a distraction.'" Constable Hughes did not sound impressed.
"Of course he did," John sighed, "right 'm on my way, where are you?"
He was given the address of the police station where Sherlock was being held, and as he went to hang up a thought occurred to him, "What should I expect?" he asked.
"Well, what sort of state is he in?"
"He is currently insisting that most of our officers are incompetent, sleeping with each other or in failing relationships."
"So he's acting normally then, not under the influence of anything?"
"I'm not sure I would call his behaviour normal, but we have no reason to suspect he is under the influence of any drugs or alcohol."
"Okay, thanks, I'm on my way, tell him to expect hell from me." John hung up and heaved himself out of his warm bed, placing his feet against the cold, bare floorboards. He really did need to put a carpet down, or at least get a rug.
He pulled out the first clothes he touched, not caring who they belonged to or whether they matched, whipped them on and headed downstairs and outside as quietly as he could, on the off chance Mrs Hudson could be woken.
He arrived at a small police station and took a deep breath before stepping inside. There were several police officers scattered around all looking exhausted and shell-shocked, a look he had become used to seeing on peoples after spending so much time around Sherlock.
"I'm looking for Sherlock." He directed the statement at the officer who looked least baffled.
"Yeah, he's in the third cell on the left."
"Oh he hates being in the ones on the left." John said, too tired to realise how mental he must sound.
"We're very sorry for any inconvenience we may have caused him." The officer replied icily, turning away to carry on with some paperwork.
John gave a small nod and headed towards the cells, bracing himself for however Sherlock might be behaving.
The door to Sherlock's cell was open, John assumed they must have locked it multiple times, only for Sherlock to wait for them to sit down before picking the locks again, before they gave up. He only did it through boredom, he would usually stay in his cell, if only to piss them off more.
John peered round the door and was greeted to the sight of his lover curled into himself, and squashed into the corner of his cell, his eyes peering over his knees.
John walked towards him, he hated seeing Sherlock look so lost, so vulnerable. He crouched down in front of him and looked into those grey eyes.
"Hey." John said, wanting to gauge the situation before he got into much else.
Sherlock simply averted his eyes.
"Come on, you've got to speak to me eventually, I'm the one who's busting you out of here." Keeping his tone light, John tried to get Sherlock to respond.
This worked and the Consulting Detective lifted his head slightly, letting his eyes meet with John's again.
"I couldn't take it. Lestrade hasn't given me a case in weeks. He won't let me near the cold cases after what happened last time. Stupid man."
"Okay, but why did you have to break into a police station, surely you could have taken some work from the public? A missing friend? A suspicious will?" John wanted to keep Sherlock talking.
"Dull. It's all so bloody dull." A faint flush spread across Sherlock's pale features.
John felt his heart clench, he hated seeing Sherlock like this. He hated seeing how much it hurt Sherlock when his brain couldn't be stimulated. He reached up and tangled his fingers in Sherlock's hair, tugging lightly to lift Sherlock's head more.
"We'll find you a case that isn't dull. Maybe Mycroft has something that requires 'legwork'," that got a quick smirk from Sherlock, "or I can try speaking to Lestrade? Please Sherlock, you don't have to struggle alone. You have me now, always."
Sherlock made a small sound in his throat and bobbed his head in a few short nods.
"Look at me." John insisted calmly.
Sherlock glanced up.
John looked into Sherlock's eyes and got lost as he so often did. He didn't know how long he was quiet for, but then he was whispering to Sherlock.
"You've got me. I'm always there, right next to you, holding your hand even when you can't feel it. I love you, I'm not going to let go."
He leaned forwards pressing his lips to Sherlock's forehead gently, Sherlock tilted his head up, encouraging John's lips to meet with his own. Their mouths met in a firm, tender kiss. John felt Sherlock loosen beneath him, letting go of his iron grasp around his knees and instead winding his arms around John's waist, pulling him closer.
John ran his fingers through Sherlock's hair, keeping one hand gripping it firmly, whilst the other slid down to inspect his neck and shoulders. Sliding further until it was pressed into the small of Sherlock's back.
Their mouths opened against one another with a practised synchrony. Sherlock's tongue delved into John's mouth, clearly need to be in charge, also needing to feel secure and safe. John was Sherlock's buoy, not an anchor, they both knew that, he didn't hold him back or pull him down, he just kept him steady, floating, with his head above water.
John pulled back gently, "we need to go home." He murmured.
"I have a feeling we may need Mycroft to pull a few strings so we can leave without too many questions." John hinted.
"Fine," Sherlock sighed, holding out his hand for John's phone, which John handed over. He typed in a text at a rate John could never in his wildest dream ever hope to achieve the speed of, and his phone was handed back before he could even ask what Sherlock was saying, "done." He added.
"Okay, are we free to go?"
"We should be, I have informed Mycroft of our situation."
"Okay, let's go home then." John stood, ignoring the loud cracking in his knees, before leaning down to hold Sherlock's hand and help pull him up. As he did he pulled Sherlock close to whisper in his ear.
"I meant it, I'm not letting go." John squeezed the hand he held, reaffirming his point, before leading Sherlock towards the door.