DISCLAIMER: I do not own
A/N: So this came about when I watched the hound of the Baskerville for the billionth time. (I'm kind of obsessed with Sherlock) and when Stapleton said " Listen: if you can imagine it, someone is probably doing it somewhere. Of course they are." I then saw a tumblr post with Sherlock actually eating so the entire Sherlock fandom went about thinking he was pregnant. The two ideas clicked and hey presto – this is what you get. I really am sorry about the results.
Warning : Mpreg.
Pairings: Eventual Johnlock and Mystrade
The Beast was closing in on him. His breath came out in short, sharp spurts, mingling with the nerve breaking snarls of the gigantic hound that he was trapped in a room with.
John Watson was a soldier.
Even soldiers get scared.
And currently John Watson was petrified.
His heart was pounding so hard it was threatening to leap from out of his chest. His palms were sweaty and his entire body was trembling as he pressed himself against the wall in a small terrified ball.
When his phone began to ring his heart quite literally stopped but when he saw that the caller ID was Sherlock he felt himself calm down slightly. The deep baritone voice pulled him under a blanket of safety from the moment he heard it. His breathing was still shallow but now with the world's only consulting detective on the other end of the line he felt himself slide into a more rational way of thinking. Sherlock would be able to help him. He would know what to do. He wouldn't let the beast hurt him. Sherlock kept him talking, kept him sane when he was quite certain his sanity was starting to slip with each passing second.
Then with a sudden flash the lights flickered back on and something started moving towards him. It's not a hound or a beast of any sort. It's Sherlock. John had never found himself so glad to see the man in his entire time of knowing him.
The detective is staring at him curiously with his alien cobalt eyes. It looks as though he's studying John which is probably most likely. Sherlock is constantly studying the world around him. He's like a small child who is constantly asking questions about the universe.. The army doctor wondered what Sherlock saw when he gazed upon him: An old, retired and beaten down man who was far past his prime was the most likely option as that was what he saw himself as when he looked in a mirror.
"Are you alright?" The question is so soft it takes a few seconds for John to realize what the question was. The younger man is bending down now and placing a hand on John's shoulder gently. He felt his eyes widen dramatically as he was taken over by his bewilderment. Where was the beast … how? What? … "John-"Sherlock said his name, anxiety dripping from his tongue.
"Jesus Christ –"John muttered, grabbing the bars and pulling himself to his feet. He quickly pocketed his phone away and hurried out of the cage that he'd been forced to hide in. He turned back around to face Sherlock, still panic stricken and breathless from his ordeal. His eyes surveyed the entire lab that they were in but they found no signs of a creature. "It must –" He felt his throat tighten as his voice became unnaturally high pitched. "Did – D - did you see it?" He questioned. "You must have!"
Sherlock seemed unnerved and for some reason he looked like he was feeling guilty, but that was ridiculous. John had known Sherlock long enough to know that the detective was incapable of feeling most things and guilt fell under the category of most things. When Sherlock reached out a hand in an attempt to calm him he immediately flinched away. "It's alright. It's ok now." Sherlock reassured him but it did nothing to stop John's terror. In fact it just simply increased it.
"No it's not! It's not okay! I saw it! I was wrong!" He practically screamed at Sherlock. By now John was becoming frantic and on the very cusp of becoming hysterical. He found it ironic that Sherlock had been in the exact same position only hours before and John had dismissed it as an illusion. God how wrong he had been.
Sherlock stood there, looking on at John with interest. "Well let's not jump to conclusions."
"What?" John asked his breathing beginning to level out.
"What did you see?" Sherlock's lips are twitching at the corners and he's wearing the face that John positively hates: the face that screams I know something that you don't and you're going to have to drag it out of me so I can show off to the world like the amazing genius I am.
John scrunched his eyes shut tightly. What had he seen? A hound, a beast, but was there more to it? There had to be, didn't there? "I told you. I saw the hound." He muttered.
"Huge red eyes?" Sherlock questioned.
"Yes." John shuddered. The blood red eyes still sank like daggers into his mind.
"Glowing?" His flatmate raised an eyebrow.
John nodded, "Yeah."
That reply had been a little unexpected to say the last. John knew what he had seen. The hound had been glowing , sticking out like a sore thumb in the pitch black darkness.
"I made up the bit about the glowing. You saw what you expected to see because I told you. You have been drugged. We have all been drugged."
"Drugged?" John wasn't sure if he should feel relieved because there wasn't a gigantic, man eating hound on the loose or whether he should feel even more scared than before. "Drugged by who?" He scratched his head.
"Drugged by whom." Sherlock corrected him, rolling his eyes.
"Right yes, sorry." John mumbled.
At that exact moment the lights turned off and the two baker street boys were lost to the darkness once again. John jumped out of his skin and a small yelp came from his throat. He grabbed onto something warm and solid and closed his eyes, trying to rid himself of the image of a beast waiting to jump them and rip them to shreds. What was wrong with him? Why was it that the bravery that he had carried out in Afghanistan was suddenly lost on him?
' You're a coward John Watson. A coward. Open your eyes. NOW! '
"Erm – John." Sherlock's voice startled him.
Opening his eyes he gazed up the younger man. Even in the darkness he could still see the awkwardness plastered on Sherlock's face and it took him far too long to realize the source of Sherlock's awkwardness. "Oh god, I'm sorry." He apologized as he peeled himself off of Sherlock. "What's wrong with me?" He asked the question again but this time the words found their way out into the open.
Sherlock reached out and gripped his shoulder tightly. "Listen to me John. Nothing is wrong with you. Someone is messing with your mind. Someone is messing with both our minds. Now take a deep breath. Everything is going to be ok."
John did as Sherlock told him, taking a deep and staggering breath. "Now what do we do?" He murmured under his breath.
"Hang on. I'm thinking." Sherlock took a step back and held up a hand.
John was jumpy and nervous, and then there were the sounds. He strained his ears to try and depict what they were. It sounded like footsteps, not of a beast but of a man.
"Sherlock – "The other man's name came out distorted on the tip of John's tongue.
"Not now John. I'm thinking." Sherlock replied, clearly trapped in the vast place that was his 'mind palace.'
The footsteps were becoming louder and louder but John didn't have much time to contemplate them as he felt something sharp prick at his neck. He gasped and reached a hand upwards, pulling out the needle that had pricked his skin. " Sher –" He groaned as his legs gave way beneath him. He tried to fight it, he really did, but the darkness closed in on him and he was taken from reality into unconsciousness.
The last thing he was conscious of seeing was Sherlock slumping besides him, his eyes wild with terror and his pupils blown by whatever drug had been administered into their systems.
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