**sorry, I've had a hard couple of weeks. So writing has been... not my top priority. Plus the iPad is acting really screwy so that discourages me even further. But here is more Prisonlock. Enjoy.**


"Hey! You're the one slippin' it to that freak, right?" A tall muscular prisoner called out to John, who was seated by himself on the bleachers. Three guys in jumpsuits with the sleeves tied around their waist were walking toward John in a poor attempt at a swagger. John rolled his eyes and turned back to the football players on the scraggly field. "Hey! I'm talkin' to you!"

"Piss off," John spat at them.

"You know what man, fuck you!" The front guy who spoke before jumped onto the uppermost of the bleachers "You don't talk to me like that you little shit!"

John stood up slowly, and backed his way out of the man's space. The two others were climbing up the bleachers to join the first guy.

"Kick his arse, Rich!" the fatter of the two yelled, and Rich swung a punch at john's head. Before Rich knew what hit him John had him flat on the bleachers, with his nose crushed into the aluminum seat. The two guys rushed at John, the smaller pulled Rich up and the other knocked John senseless, where he then fell off the back of the bleachers and landed with a thud in the dirt.

"Jump him Tony!" Rich yelled at the bigger guy who knocked him down. John felt a heavy force squeeze the air from his lungs, and a dull throbbing spreading through his chest. He got a good look at Tony before a fist blacked out his vision in his left eye. John tried to resist but the bigger man shifted his knees onto John's wrists and went full force onto his face again. He felt a knuckle connect with his right cheek and could feel something wet and warm trickle down to his ear.

John's vision was blurry but he could hear Tony yelling, "Get the fucker off!" then finally the weight shifted off John and he rolled to the left. John could see Sherlock wrestling Tony under the metal frame of the bleachers, and could hear faint shouting coming from the other side of the yard. The shouts got closer and closer, and then John could finally make out three guards rushing in to halt the commotion. Two guards pulled Sherlock from the larger man's wriggling form; the third guard holding off Rich and his other crony just as a fourth and fifth guard come in from the opposite end. The two guards holding Sherlock dragged him back to the prison gates, and a pair of large hands clasped onto John's biceps just as his vision went black.


John's head bobbed down to his chest, snapping him awake. He took in his unfamiliar surroundings; a dank, metal room with a sweaty mattress and a flickering light bulb.

"Sherlock?" he croaked out, his throat like sandpaper. It was completely silent except for the faint buzzing of electricity. John's face hurt with an immeasurable amount of pain, and his left eye was almost completely swollen shut. He let his body slide down the damp, though it may have just been cold, wall until he was in a laying position.

John wasn't sure how long he lay in the cold room, it could have been minutes, or it could've been days, but eventually he heard the loud slamming of metal doors and heavy footsteps through an empty hallway. The large rectangle door opened slowly revealing a very battered Sherlock, being lugged about by the same two guards from before. Both guards released their grip on Sherlock's arms and let him fall mercilessly to his knees with a sickening thud. The larger guard kicked Sherlock out of the way of the door and slammed the metal closed. John crawled to Sherlock and held his bloody face in his hands. The dark haired man had a split lip and a bloody nose, with a large fist shaped bruise decorating his right cheek.

"Jesus, Sherlock. What happened to you? I thought you had the big guy," John lifted Sherlock's shirt to inspect his ribs and stomach.

"Hmm, it wasn't Tony," Sherlock said, a little blood dribbled out of his mouth and down his chin "The guards got a little rough."

"What?" John could feel anger welling up in his chest.

"You heard. I'm not repeating myself,"

John sighed and ripped off a large piece of his shirt to dab at Sherlock's cuts.

After John had mostly gotten Sherlock cleaned up as best he could, though he was sure he had a broken nose, he got the taller man to do the same to him. When they were, for the most part, free of blood and both lacking bits of their shirt, they curled up on the dingy mattress together.