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“Take my card,” said Sherlock nonchalantly after John had complained about his argument with a chip and pin machine. He came back home looking adorably grumpy and the look melted something inside Sherlock.
John accepted the offer of the card as he was very susceptible to Sherlock’s suggestions. He had been adamant about refusing Mycroft’s money to spy on Sherlock way back when, but had jumped on the opportunity of chasing a murderer without question.
Right now, Sherlock needed John by his side in order to solve the case of a murderer who was able to scale the walls of buildings. However, John had announced he was going on a date.
With someone else.
According to John, a date was: “where two people who like each other go out and have fun.” It was completely illogical, then, why John wouldn’t go out with Sherlock, as he blatantly refused to do so when asked. Apparently, John was unable to take an obvious hint when it smacked him in the face.
There was no other way to make sure that John was there when Sherlock would need his help to dismantle the Chinese smuggling organisation other than to plant a little suggestion.
Sherlock had become an expert in sabotaging John’s dates in the most inventive ways after the “I’m sick, I need my doctor” line had stopped working after the third time. There seemed to be something about the number three...
Many times before, John’s susceptibility to suggestion had proven very fortunate and this time was no exception. All it took was for Sherlock to wave a leaflet with a frankly ridiculous idea for a date under his nose and John was caught like a fish on a hook.
After John ordered the tickets for him and his date , Sherlock had to phone back and get a third ticket in the name of Sherlock Holmes. He paid with his card, just as John had, and the game was on. It was shaping up to be a crowded date but a date nonetheless; with exciting, criminally charged prospects on top of it all. Sherlock smiled to himself; so far everything was going according to plan. He needed John to have his back and everything would be fine. He just needed John.
When Sherlock appeared at the circus, John looked a tad annoyed, but he would get over it, he always did.
The show was quite impressive. Even Sarah was enjoying it. The level of skill of the performers only confirmed Sherlock’s previous suspicions of their involvement with the murders. He sneaked to the changing rooms to investigate. There, he found a can of paint that must have been used to mark the numbers connected with the victims’ deaths. Despite Sherlock’s ability for lithe and quiet movements, he was quickly found out. The moment John saw that Sherlock was in danger, he reacted, jumping feet first into a puddle of danger. Just like that, the doctor was back in case-solving mode, proving that Sherlock’s plan had worked.
They managed to come home unscathed. Sherlock proceeded to try to crack the code that was used to mark the places connected with the victims, while John, to Sherlock’s utter frustration, entertained his guest.
By the time Sherlock figured out what the code meant by the handy use of an A-Z map, John had been kidnapped. Sherlock’s priorities shifted immediately from solving the case to saving John Watson. With his heart in his throat and his muscles ready for action, Sherlock acted quickly. He found John bound to a chair and bleeding in a series of underground tunnels.
John was in danger .
“I am not Sherlock Holmes!” John yelled, frustration overtaking the fear for his life. John was in danger and it was Sherlock’s fault. It had all started with John accepting Sherlock's credit card, which was still in his wallet and pointed to him as being Sherlock Holmes. The pain in Sherlock’s chest urged his heart to pump the blood faster, making him act quickly.
“I don’t believe you!” General Shan, the leader of the criminal circus troupe, had the nerve to yell at John.
“You should, you know.” Sherlock chose that moment to reveal his presence. “Sherlock Holmes is nothing at all like him.” He continued, sneaking, using the darkness of the tunnels to his advantage. “How would you describe me, John?” John’s audible sigh of relief was a clear indication of his trust that Sherlock would succeed in saving him. However, there was no time to revel in the trust John put in him now, he had to keep talking to distract their opponent. “Resourceful? Dynamic? Enigmatic?”
“Late?” That was John Watson, the sass pouring out of his mouth, even while looking danger in the face.
Sherlock kept talking, silently inching closer to his destination. In the meantime, he found a piece of pipe and, as he was attacked, greeted the thug with it. He was a shadow in the dark, moving quickly and staying out of the light. The intense emotion inside him, a clear guide of who was his priority.
John’s date was bound to a chair, facing a classic Chinese escapology act that she was not trained to escape before the crossbow would fire at her chest. The sandbag had already been pierced and the sand was pouring out, lowering the suspended weight ball into the bowl.
Similarly to Sarah, John was bound to a chair with rope, but he was far from idle. No, not his John. Even restrained, he acted, moving himself with the chair to change the trajectory of the dart that would have killed Sarah. The heroic action resulted in John’s chair tilting to the ground.
Sherlock incapacitated one of Chan’s henchmen who tried to choke him with a long piece of fabric and ran straight to John, still bound on the ground. His heart pounded but the relief that John was finally safe was palpable.
“Are you okay?” Sherlock didn’t hide his concern as he approached.
“Sherlock!” John said sternly, but with clear relief in his voice, indirectly answering the question.
“How was that for a date?” Sherlock smirked kneeling besides his friend. “We went out and I had fun. Did you enjoy yourself as well?” Sherlock twisted the words John had said to him before, mirth dripping from his tone despite the near fatal experiences of the evening.
“You arse!” John chided good-humouredly.
“John?!” Sherlock heard Sarah’s voice vaguely as background noise over the loud humming in his body. He felt the stress of John’s life being threatened lift from his body to give way to another kind of rush. He was elated that John was safe, that John was with him, that he was within his reach. Sherlock was still kneeling beside John who lay on his side, still tied to the chair. He wouldn’t be able to move until Sherlock untied him. He had found that thought strangely fascinating. The timing, however, might be a bit not good.
Sherlock reached behind the chair to work the knots loose. His face ended up being mere centimetres from John’s, so close he felt John’s exhale on his cheek. Sherlock’s body responded as a heated wave went through him and settled in his abdomen. His heart picked up the pace, in a way not dissimilar to how it had previously reacted to danger and... excitement.
Not for the first time that day, Sherlock took a risk. He closed his eyes and tentatively touched his lips to John’s. Dry, yet soft; John Watson’s mouth set his insides on fire.
He had made a mistake.
Now that he knew the taste of John’s lips, he wouldn’t be able to stay away for long. He needed to taste them again. Sherlock pulled away but didn’t open his eyes for fear of letting go of the moment that may never come back. The bindings from John’s wrists loosened in Sherlock’s hand as he waited for John’s scolding remark for what he had just done. Instead, he felt John’s palm on his nape a moment before John’s lips were linked with his again. John treated his lips as if they were a peach to be savoured, gently placing open-mouth kisses, making Sherlock melt under the ministrations.
Sherlock inhaled sharply, waking up from the dream-like state. His eyes flew open, meeting John’s gaze.
They hadn’t uttered a word, but John’s expressive eyes were soft, accepting...aroused.
Sherlock pushed the chair John’s legs were still tied to onto its back and loosened the ropes before he straddled John. He dove back into the most amazing feeling of John’s lips on his, John’s tongue in his mouth and John’s hands in his hair. He’d dreamt of a moment like this for so long, it felt surreal now. Hopefully for John it was not just the adrenaline talking but real feelings he had for Sherlock. The very idea that the heat Sherlock felt for John might be reciprocated, made Sherlock’s body grind harder onto John’s.
Their needy kiss was rudely interrupted by a female voice yelling.
“John!” Sarah’s outrage was bouncing off the tunnel’s walls. Sherlock decided to ignore her but she kept yelling John’s name, thrashing about on the chair she was still bound to.
“Shut up!” John and Sherlock yelled back in tandem. Sherlock felt his annoyance at her breaking the moment he shared with John. There was time to help her, she was no longer in danger. However, they were in danger of setting the world on fire if they didn’t finish the kiss they had started.
Sherlock looked at John’s expression and, not surprisingly, saw a pointed look that said the doctor wouldn’t let Sarah suffer her bindings longer than necessary. With a huff of exasperation, Sherlock walked over to untie the woman. John took her hands and massaged her wrists where the bindings were. Jealousy flared in Sherlock but he knew what John was doing, he was being Doctor Watson. He apologized to her, several times in fact, and she seemed to calm down, nodding with understanding.
With lips swollen from snogging like a teenager, Sherlock texted Lestrade. Sarah walked behind them as they left the tunnels to meet with the police outside. She huffed under her breath, something about how she should have known by the way John talked about Sherlock all the time.
After explaining the surreal turn the case took to Lestrade, they were let go, but forced to promise to fill out the paperwork the following day.
John parted with Sarah, who seemed less surprised by the kiss than she had been by the initial circus act. It was hard to admit for Sherlock, even to himself, but the woman had been quite observant during the course of the case and out of it. The things she had to say about John’s infatuation with Sherlock, made John turn several gorgeous shades of red.
John’s hand in Sherlock’s was warm, strong and sure as they walked to their home at 221B Baker Street.
