When John woke up next, Sherlock was leaning over him, eyes closed and his lips pressed gently against John's head.
John tilted his head up and nuzzled Sherlock's chin with the top of his head. He was so glad that he was with Sherlock again.
After John had been discharged from the hospital, they went straight home and Sherlock made John some edible food.
After he had finished eating, John settled back in his arm chair and watched Sherlock watch him.
"Sher, how long was I gone for?" This was the question that had been bugging him since he got out of the hospital.
Sherlock's face turned dark, and John thought he might not answer. "Three weeks," Sherlock said in a low, controlled voice.
John's mind reeled. How had he lasted three weeks on just two cups of water and a piece of bread every couple of days?
"Uh," John cleared his throat, "alright. How did you find me?"
"I was never going to stop until I found you, John," Sherlock said passionately, leaning forwards and fixing John with his piercing gaze.
"I called the police force and got them to help me scour London. It was the homeless network that found you, though."
Sherlock's eyes became distant, and John got up and sat next to Sherlock, leaning his head on the taller man's shoulder.
Sherlock turns to him. "What did they do to you, John?" he asks softly, eyes probing John's.
John flinches slightly from the question. "They… beat the crap out of me. Torture. Fed me a piece of bread every couple of days, two cups of water a day. They were trying to break my will, but that was never going to happen. I will never leave you, Sherlock, never!" John says forcefully, giving Sherlock a quick, hard kiss to emphasize his point, yet steering clear of why they were trying to break him.
Sherlock blinks, dazed slightly from the emotion behind John's kiss. Then he shook his head slightly to clear it. "And," Sherlock clears his throat," why were they trying to break your will, John?"
When John stays silent, thinking, Sherlock carefully places both of his long hands around John's face, careful to avoid his bruises and cuts. "Please, John! I need to know! I don't want you to go through that again!" he says urgently.
Staring into Sherlock's desperate eyes, John gives in with a short nod. He licked his lips, thinking.
"He- he told me that if I joined him, became his partner instead of yours, he would stop the beatings," John said, stammering slightly.
Sherlock completely froze, eyes flickering back and forth, multiple expressions flitting across his face; too fast for John to catch.
John didn't know what Sherlock made of that, but then again, John was distracted. He was having flashbacks of all the beatings. Shivering, he closed his eyes to try and disperse of the bad memories.
Still shuddering slightly, John opened his eyes and stared at Sherlock, memorising his face. Sherlock's eyes were slightly glossy from lack of focus, and John stifled the urge to jump backwards when Sherlock's eyes suddenly snapped into focus on him.
He leaned forward and kissed John possessively, his tongue demanding entry. Surprised, John leant back slightly before responding to Sherlock, eyes closing as he gave himself up to the pleasure that came with kissing Sherlock.
Sherlock's tongue tangled and tousled with John's before it started exploring John's mouth thoroughly. It felt to John as if Sherlock was… claiming him?
It sounded weird even to him but that was the best way to describe what Sherlock's kiss felt like.
When they both needed air, they drew back and Sherlock pressed his forehead to John's gently, eyes closed as they breathed heavily.
John was confused. What did Moriarty mean? He figured that Sherlock knew, but he had no idea.
"Sher?" John asked softly.
"You don't want to know, John. Please," Sherlock said without opening his eyes.
John was now extremely confused. What was so bad Sherlock didn't want him to know?
Figuring that Sherlock wasn't going to answer him anytime soon, John sighed and settled back against the couch.
Wincing slightly, John just wished his arm could stop being so… painful. He nearly laughed out loud. That would be the day. The day when his body actually listened to him.
A month of almost peace and quiet, and John could finally take his cast off. He was so ecstatic when they told him. No more awkward stares from the team, who didn't know how to act. No more fussy Sherlock!
John grinned happily, flexing his arm experimentally.
John had noticed though, even though Sherlock thought he hadn't, that Sherlock wouldn't let him out of his sight. He was always there, touching, peering over his shoulder, fussing in Sherlock's own way about his arm.
Whenever they went on cases, Sherlock would never let John stray more than two meters from his side. When he was telling Greg his deductions, and he was walking around, if he noticed John wasn't 'close enough' he was immediately go back to John, still talking, and stay close to John's side.
Anderson, the prick, thought it was disgusting. On multiple occasions, when Anderson would voice this, John would have willingly punched him if it wasn't for his arm.
Even now, Sherlock was standing a meter away from John, one eye on him as he talked to the doctor. John rolled his eyes, he was fine, no need to fuss.
Curious as to how much Sherlock was watching him, he shuffled sideways, and, as expected, Sherlock's eyes flashed over to him. Giving Sherlock a reassuring smile, John's phone vibrated (ever since Moriarty had changed his ringtone for himself, John had, just to be safe, kept his phone on silent to avoid embarrassing moments)
Frowning slightly, John pulled out his phone, licking his lips and glancing at Sherlock.
It was from an unknown number.
'How's your arm, John? I hope you feel better soon.
By the way, tell Sherlock to check his messages.
John stifled his snicker by covering his mouth with his hand. Mycroft was so desperate he was texting JOHN.
Hmm, how many times had Mycroft tried to contact Sherlock? Figuring that Sherlock wouldn't have deleted them as of yet, John walked over to Sherlock and stuck his hand in Sherlock's pocket. It was sort of normal, since Sherlock would ask for his phone and John would have to get it.
Sherlock cast a sideways glance at John, but didn't stop his sentence. The doctor gave John a weird look as John pulled out Sherlock's phone and looked up at Sherlock.
Receiving a slight nod, John figured that was the OK that he was allowed to go through Sherlock's messages.
Flicking to the unread messages, John frowned as he saw Mycroft had texted Sherlock 37 times and called him 10 times.
OK, so not a dental appointment. Why, then, was Sherlock ignoring them?
Mycroft was obviously desperate. Clicking open the newest one, John nearly dropped the phone in horror.
'Sherlock, please understand. I did this for your own safety! Irene Adler had to go! Sherlock, she was a danger to you. If she had stayed in London, she would have eventually gotten you killed.
I did this for you, Sherlock.
What did Mycroft do to Irene?
Though he held no love for the woman, the idea of harming another human or forcing them to do something was sickening.
The more he read, the more horror he felt. From what he could gather, Mycroft had told some people in London that Irene Adler was still alive and in London.
No wonder Sherlock was ignoring him. He was damn well tempted to ignore Mycroft as well.
Frowning, John closed the message and locked Sherlock's phone, slipping it into his pants pocket.
What on earth were they talking about that took so long? John wondered impatiently.
Listening in, he discovered they were STILL talking about his arm. Sighing, John tugged on Sherlock's coat, feeling slightly like a child and glared at Sherlock.
Taking a single glance at John and determining why he was glaring at him, Sherlock quickly ended his conversation with the doctor.
As they were walking out of the doctor's office, John smiled and slipped his hand into Sherlock's gloved ones.
Sherlock glanced down at him, smiled and leant down, giving him a quick kiss. John blushed slightly; he wasn't used to kissing Sherlock in public places yet.
Looking up at Sherlock, John saw a satisfied smirk on his lips. John tightened his hold on Sherlock's hand slightly, before giving up; nothing was ever going to change Sherlock completely, not even him.