Interruptions (John/Sherlock)

((Better, much better, thank you for editing :)))

Sherlock was surrounded by darkness. He could see nothing. Absolutely nothing. In other situations, he might have been scared now he could not use his deduction skills, but with John's seductive voice rumbling orders in his ear, it was not a hardship. On the contrary. The helplessness of his situation, John in charge, it was all turning Sherlock on.

All those grips and tugs at his clothes... they all immensely surprised Sherlock because he literally didn't see them coming.

And then John's voice. His voice! Oh God, that was just pure sin. He hoped he would say more and more and never stop talking and making obscene noises.

Suddenly, Sherlock felt nips and licks at his jaw and neck. Sherlock gasped of pleasure and surprise. It was good to hear John had had so much trouble holding back today, it only made Sherlock want John more.

"Gruaah-" Sherlock groaned loudly when John rubbed his groin. He was already hard and the heat of John's hand through the fabric, rubbing on him was just the incentive he needed. He bowed over, not in control of his body and groaned again.

John was so fast in unclothing him, unbelievable. It was very exciting, because Sherlock didn't know and couldn't see what John was going to tear off him next. Sherlock let out soft groans at every tug John did at his clothes. The belt snap made Sherlock jump and cry out of surprise. Goosebumps appeared on his arms and neck.

Once Sherlock flipped over, he was uncertain what came next, because John had fully let go of him for a moment. Then, he felt a hard thrust at his buttocks, feeling John's hard member through the rough fabric rubbing at him. He moaned again. He couldn't get anything smart out of his mouth because he was reduced to the senses of feeling. It was very different, yet rather pleasant. Sherlock moaned every time John writhed onto him, his softening thrusts accompanied by hard pinches at his erect nipples. That got straight to his groin. Good, gracious God. It so much did.

Sherlock was panting high breaths as he got up. His bare back scraping over the hard metal buttons of John's outfit. hey were in a standing spooning position now, that's all Sherlock knew. John's hands were going down so tortuously slow. Sherlock wanted more and more and he hoped that it would never stop. He would always be wanting more. Sherlock let his head fall back next to John's head with a sigh. John's breath was warm on his ear and driving him mad. John's hands hadn't done anything yet, it was driving him mad. The anticipation was building up in his abdomen very quickly.

Sherlock wriggled randomly with his fingers and felt the fly of John's trousers. Aha. Sherlock smiled. A new plan formed in his head.

He wriggled with his fingers again, but now more in control. Then, before John could turn away, he cupped John in both palms. A sinful moan escaped John's lips, right in Sherlock's ear, which made Sherlock moan too.

"S-stop that, civilian. How dare you take control?"

Sherlock chuckled.

"What are you going to do about it, Captain? Please, enlighten me."

((Cheeky Sherlock :D))

((Oh, what is John going to do?? That comment can't just go ignored :) ))

"Perhaps I'll sit here and jerk myself off? I could take your blindfold off and tie you to a chair, but all you could do is watch. Maybe I would sit on your lap at the very end while I came."

Sherlock makes a sound between a whine and a growl, "You wouldn't dare."

John chuckles darkly.

"Oh you underestimate me, my dear detective. However, I won't, not now at least."

John flipped Sherlock back over and knelt down. He started lightly licking at Sherlock's cock and kissing at his thighs. For a few seconds he gently sucked at Sherlock's tip.

"Instead I'll do this, licking and kissing at you but never actually taking you in fully until the very-- last-- second."

John punctuated his words with small nips along Sherlock's hips, getting closer and closer to his crotch.

Sherlock was panting and struggling with his bonds. John blew air softly on Sherlock's cock, then licked all the way up and down the length.

"Today is my day to tease, you knew that. Now stay still."

John pressed Sherlock's hips back into the table and continued his torture of licking and kissing for a few moments. Then, without warning, he stood up and pulled Sherlock forward into a searing kiss. As he was kissing, he reached behind Sherlock and untied his hands. he held them together and spoke softly into Sherlock's ear.

"Listen closely, if your hands go anywhere near your face, you will be tied back up before you can say 'Vatican Cameos'. However, I love the feeling of your hands on my body more than anything, and I want you to undress me. So, I'm going to give you a puzzle- can you undress me blindfolded? You can take as long as you want."

John takes Sherlock's hands and guides them to his shoulders, then drops his arms to the side.

(Figured it was time John finally lost some of the clothes, seemed like Sherlock would like the puzzle.))

My. Dear. Detective. Goodness, he had never thought he would long for hearing that, yet now he heard it being said so seductively in John's dark voice, he never thought he wanted something so bad.

Torture. Sheer bloody torture, that was. He knew he was hard, he felt the clinging familiar feeling building up in his lower abdomen. That pressing feeling was boosted immensely by John giving in just the smallest of licks, nips and kisses, but never truly doing something big, which was even more maddening. Sherlock closed his eyes, let his head fall back and sought support from the kitchen table. He tried to free himself from his bonds, but in vain.

"Graa-aah" Sherlock thrust forward in the air when John decided to do the exact thing what made Sherlock squirm every time: blowing air. Shivers ran down Sherlock's spine. He threw his head forward again and rolled his shoulders of the chills. His knees felt weak, he feared he might fall on the ground, not able to catch himself in his fall because of those damn bounds!

More minutes of senseless teasing, more minutes of moans, short and long, powerful and faint. He couldn't help it. What John was doing just felt so freaking good, he couldn't think much more coherent than a few words. A factor that magnified this experience was that he couldn't see John. He was anxious to see what he was doing and where he was in the gaps that their skin weren't united.

God, that kiss. Good gracious Lord. It was so heated Sherlock leaned into it and tried bucking up John, who sometimes backed and sometimes not.

He was free! John released him in one sense of the word. He wanted to grab his head, but was stopped by John's forcing tone. His hands were guided to John's shoulders and then the game could begin.

"Well, puzzle..." Sherlock pouted. "Not that much of a mystery." He remembered something and leant forward, in the hope of ending up somewhere near John's ear. "Captain."

Sherlock explored John's shoulder area and gripped the lapels. He traced them down, just after popping it up, just to make John look cool.

"Oh, I wish I could see you now." There was a hidden question in this sentence, but John was not buying it.

"Oh, no-ho Sherlock, I'm not that easy."

Sherlock tugged at the lapels and found John's cheek by luck. He traced his lips down to his jawline and neck while letting go of the lapels. He traced them down and found a first button. The button was of metal, cold and hard. He fiddled the one after the other open until there were just two left. Sherlock slipped his hands between John's soft skin and the rough texture of the shirt. That was when Sherlock found John's lips again. He groaned into John's mouth of sudden lust. God, he wanted to fasten things up a bit and he knew John wanted that too, but he wasn't in a position to do that, fictionally.

Very fast and very eager to get John naked, Sherlock opened the other two buttons, belt and fly of the trousers. He yanked them down, eager to go further, but then remembered.

"Boots." Sherlock murmured. Shit.

He knelt down, passing John's bulge with his cheek. He was just holding his balance when he was down (holding balance was much more difficult when blindfolded) and started fumbling at the bootlaces. Shit, they were very tightly knotted and it took Sherlock some time to get one open. He almost lost his patience, because that exciting feeling in his groin faded away just a tiny bit by those fucking boots. Apparently, John shared his frustration and helped with the other one.

Now, John was only in his pants. Sherlock got up and lay his hands on John's hips. he felt the warm skin, smooth and soft under his fingertips. Bondage was a kink he kind of liked, but he liked this much better. He rounded his arms around John's waist and sought after John's lips, still unsure where he had to be exactly. Eventually after a few attempts, he found them and kissed them hungrily. He ground his hips into John's while slowly teasing the waistband down. He was his old, teasing self again.

((Sherlock falls back into teasing, even if he is blindfolded, completely naked and following orders. *sigh* oh Sherlock...))

John had to admit, as much as he liked having Sherlock bound- the control that gave and the position it put him in, being wholly responsible for providing Sherlock with pleasure, with no interference from his dear detective- he really did prefer to have sex with equal participation.

John will admit that it was slightly distracting to watch Sherlock fumble around trying to orient himself without his sight. John knew it was wrong, but he couldn't help being a little amused by it. Still though, the man had a very good idea of the proportions of John's body and easily found John's ear to whisper into. Captain.

"That word never sounded so sexy when my army mates used it," John observed a bit breathlessly, "All those years of having the title, all those years of having the title and you're the only one who can make it sound like that."

Then Sherlock started undressing him, his long dexterous hands quickly undoing the fastenings, barely struggling even with the handicap of the blindfold. Soon his mouth- after wandering around John's neck and cheeks- finally found John's and they were kissing and John was getting ready to move on with this whole game because really, there was only so long a man could hold out and--

Why the bloody hell had he worn boots?

Also, did Sherlock purposely brush against his crotch like that? John couldn't stop his hips from jerking forward a bit as Sherlock knelt down. Damn, those knots. He hadn't been thinking, automatically tying them in complex army knots because they were his army boots. He was actually amazed that Sherlock even got one of them undone.

"Hold on Lock, I'll get this one," John says, hoping Sherlock would understand that his impatience was with the boots, not him.

Then Sherlock came back up, and he found John's lips and was kissing him impatiently. John returned the kiss with equal fervor, teasingly moving along the edges of the blindfold with his lips as Sherlock slowly slid down his pants.

John started to tug Sherlock down to the floor, "Come on, I want a better angle."

John lay Sherlock down under him, then took a moment just sitting on his thighs, looking at Sherlock. He then starts kissing down Sherlock's arms.

"My favorite sight when you're playing your violin, seeing them moving so gracefully with the music."

He moves over to Sherlock's chest.

"Laying against mine, seeing the contrast in our skin tones."

He kisses Sherlock's neck.

"Taking off your scarf, or maybe with your purple shirt on."

He picks up Sherlock's hands and kisses each one of the individual fingers.

"Working on experiments, or waving around when you talk."

He kisses down one of Sherlock's legs and up the other.

"Pacing while you deduce, and curled up when you're sleeping on the couch."

He ends kissing along the span of Sherlock's hips.

"Most definitely when draped in a sheet that's about to fall off."

At this point Sherlock was panting from all of the gentle kisses- John could tell he needed to finish this now, neither of them could take any more.

"I want to try something new- give me a second to work this out."

John gently moved Sherlock's legs apart and slid himself so his cock was nestled between Sherlock's legs, just under his ass. He did the same with Sherlock. He started to move back and forth- Sherlock's thighs providing an amazing friction and pressure. John felt Sherlock's legs lock around him somehow, they moved faster and faster, gasping and moaning.

John felt Sherlock start to tremble, he reached forward and tugged the tie off of Sherlock's eyes quickly, then leaned down and caught up Sherlock's lips in a passionate kiss.

((So yeah, turned more fluffy than rough at the end, but I just loved the idea to much to leave it out, and I needed to do something that would get Sherlock turned on again after the shoe fiasco. Stupid army boots x) ))

((Fluff! <3. I agree with John. Equal participation is just best ))

Sherlock was heated with lust, but he felt his heart melting with endearment when John named the favourite sights of Sherlock and kissed him on that particular spot. This was what he had never experienced before, that someone loved him like this just for who he was and not for just sex. It all magnified his feelings in this particular moment.

He couldn't see what John was doing with their hips, thighs and cocks, but Sherlock felt like in heaven when they started moving. Sherlock eagerly thrust and bucked up, going faster and faster while panting and moaning louder and louder.

Too soon, Sherlock felt his orgasm coming. It had build up and up in his groin and the pressure was becoming too much. He began shuddering on the cold floor when suddenly his blindfold was tugged away. He gasped in surprise and was caught in a passionate, searing kiss that was the push that he needed to get him over the edge.

"Ah- John! John... Oh, John, John.. John-" He cried out and later muttered as he rid out his orgasm between John's thighs. Finally, FINALLY the pressure behind his cock was released with such force and in the most perfect way. He irregularly met John's lips between pants and sighs. Fir the first time in quite a while, he opened his eyes very wide in response to the orgasm.

His head felt light. Very light. Gee. He didn't think this was the purpose of an orgasm. For the first time, his sight faded too, but he wasn't sure if that was to blame on the fact that he was blindfolded so long, or that he was having weird side-effects of the climax. Anyway, he had never felt so good and weird in his life. He was so wound up in his experience that he didn't noticed John coming too.

Everything got blurry before his eyes and everything faded in his mind for a beat, which made him just a bit worried. It felt like he was on drugs, but it was in some way different. The emotions cut deeper, yet his senses were edgeless, a great big mass of blur.

"John.. m-my head. Is-is it suppooosed to, to feel this way?" He stuttered and slurred his words. Everything was just failing him, except the feeling of utter bliss that stayed in his chest.

Oh dear, John had never seen Sherlock's eyes glaze over like that before, not during sex. His breathing went extremely shallow, and he was still shaking, despite finishing coming.

"It happens sometimes, now you know how I felt yesterday," John answers distractedly, watching to make sure Sherlock kept breathing.

John looks over at the couch and sees the blanket still there from the other night, it might help Sherlock stop shivering. Also, this floor was getting uncomfortable.

"Hold still, kay?"

John lifts Sherlock up- glad both for his army training and that the couch was close- he could not believe how bloody heavy the man was compared to how he looked. Not to mention the hassle of trying to keep track of all those long limbs, really they were just ridiculous.

"Ufh," he unceremoniously drops Sherlock on the couch, and tugs around his limp limbs so he can lay down as well. Once there both cuddled up together, John pulls the blanket over both of them.

"From now on we are making sure that any sex that causes one of use to go limp only happens on comfortable surfaces, okay?"

"So, are you satisfied, Mr. Holmes?" John leans up and presses a sweet, teasing kiss to just the edge of Sherlock's jaw, "Was that a sufficient return of thanks for yesterday? I'd hate to leave you wanting."

John then chuckles and gives a playful grin, "That said, if you feel multiple trials of any of the aspects of this experiment need to be repeated for further testing of potential benefits towards better orgasms, I'd be more than willing to assist you in any way I could."

John then puts on his best serious expression, "For science, of course."

After a few moments of just laying together happily, John looks up at Sherlock.

"I forgot to ask last night, distracted as I was by how gorgeous you were, when is this fancy dress party we're going to?"

((Obviously, it's all for science :) ))

((Maybe very OOC, but I really wanted to write this kind of Sherlock. I think he just is a strange, strange man, who can react very strangely at things like this.))
((Of course, all of this is FOR SCIENCE! :D I think that should be Sherlock's motto :P))

Sherlock felt a giggle-fit coming up. He really felt like being high. Sometimes when he used to be on drugs, he could get a laughing-fit even when he was all on his own. He felt his body go limb and relaxed of the after-climax feeling and giggles.

“Ah, wow, this, heh, this feels amazing!”

He shuddered of laughter and the cold. The floor really wasn’t the most comfortable place to lie on.

Sherlock’s never-failing giggles got a boost when John lifted him up, which only made things harder for John. Somewhere in the sane part of Sherlock’s mind, he was very awed and blushing that John picked him up like that. But that part didn’t show now.

Sherlock only giggled harder when John dumped him on the couch. With still wary eyes, he saw John giving him an odd look.

“Don’t- Don’t worry John. I’ll soon be quite alright.”

Sherlock eased off when John got on the couch too and curled up against him. With deep sighs, Sherlock calmed down. Suddenly, the wary-after-effect hit him and he felt his eyelids go heavy. Normally, Sherlock wasn’t so sensible for the after-orgasm-effects, but this session had been a very intensive one.

“Oh, it was most satisfying. Most satisfying indeed. But next time, I want to see you.” Sherlock halfly turned to face John. “I like to watch you. It’s a pity I didn’t get to see you in your military outfit. I think that would be orgasmic itself.”

Sherlock almost fell back in his laughter-fit, but tried to look stern and failed. “For science.”

“Thank you, I am flattered. It is Wednesday in three weeks. I’d be very happy if you’d come with me because: first of all: you’d look gorgeous too. Secondly: I wouldn’t be able to survive Mycroft all night if I’d have to go alone and thirdly…”

Sherlock let his voice drop and grinned. He stroked up an down John's sides and spoke sofyly just in front of John's lips. He didn't want to take this further, though he was enjoying the contact.

“We could finally play out some of your darkest fantasies at Buckingham Palace.”

John smiles at Sherlock's wish to see him in his army fatigues.

"I'm positive you'll be able to convince me to put them on again. Though wearing them unfortunately let me know just how much my muscle has gone since the war, they were much tighter than I remember. Maybe I should start up my exercises again. My legs are fine from running after you all the time, but my upper body's started to lose it's tone."

John giggles along with Sherlock about science, then blushes when Sherlock tells him he would look gorgeous in a suit.

"You don't have to thank me, I'm flattered you asked," he mutters.

John gives a responsive smile to Sherlock's flirting and leans over for a soft kiss, letting Sherlock know that he gets the message that this is purely flirting for fun, no real requests for anything more than cuddling at the moment.

"Well, I may have to come up with a few new fantasies in that case," John murmurs, "As currently all the ones I have about Buckingham Palace are of you in your bedsheet. Now I am quite fond of you in just a sheet, but I would hate to miss the chance to see you in your tux again. That said, I'm sure I'll be quite capable of coming up with some satisfactory fantasies between now and then."

John strokes Sherlock's face, "Actually, I think that day in the Palace that I was really struck with the fact that I was sexually attracted to you. Before I'd noticed you were handsome, and I knew I cared about you more than anyone else I knew, but...well that was the first time I'd ever had trouble thinking straight because you were so close, and I could so easily picture tugging that sheet aside. Actually, I'm fairly sure Mycroft knew exactly what was going on in my head, because he gave me such a repelled look when you left to get changed. Both repelled and smirking, not sure how he managed it."

John then gets a look on his face that shows both horror with himself and an devilishly mischievous grin.

"I fell awful for even thinking this, but...I almost want to prompt that face again at the party. See how long it takes him to lose his calm if we're obviously eyeing each other up in our tuxes."

((Ok, confession- if they do this, I do have evil plans to have Mycroft dance with John just to mess with Sherlock- maybe even dance with John before Sherlock gets up the nerve to ask him? I can be an evil older sibling myself at times, so I thought of it. That and the idea of John's face when Mycroft asks him for a dance.))

(( great post and great plan! I won't write anything today, cause its laste and I am terribly busy and stuff, well, the usual :p Another thing: which direction should my next post be? If we check the time in the story, it is mid-day, too early to go off to sleep, but we could also just ignore that and jump to the fancy dress party. I prefer the last, to be honest. Sorry to dissapoint you with a post like this. ))

((No, it's fine. Thank you for the compliments, and that is an excellent question. I think it would probably be best to just skip to the dance, seems like writing out the time in between would bog the story down. Maybe just a line or two of summary of the time in between, if it feels needed? Or just jump right in.))
((Do we want to start with them in the flat about to leave so Sherlock can finally get to see John in his tux? He's probably been refusing to put it on with Sherlock around, so this will be a surprise.))

((Gah, I hate to post somethig like his, because yoi expect a storuly post (well I would) but I have to tell you hat I can't and won't be able to post every day for yhe following 2 days, tthen, a ehole 5 workdays because of a testweek and its preparations. I have much joy in wriying (rps/generally speaking) and I have given this rp anf other stories too much attention/time than is healthy.. But I wouldn't do something elsr if I could choose! Wriying is what 8 loce, what I want to do every day... But it's a bad combinatiom with school because with onluly a pen and paper, I am distracted. Plus the fat that what I have to learn doesn't interest me at all, so I am easily distracted. Worst thing: I've got to study SO MUCH my goodneas. So, I won't be able to post in the days coming. I should say sorry, but I can't otherwise. It is partly my decision, partly my parent's. Writing a decent post takes me an hour or so (distractions like tumblr and facebook included) and I really need that hour now. I hate it, but I can't change it. I'll probably dream away anyway, even if I had to study.))
((sorry, got to let someone know about this, had a row with my mom not long ago))
((Please exxus me for my typos. I wrote this on my phone, which keyboard I hate wirh a passion.))

((Don't worry about it!!! I totally know what you mean, I always have lots of trouble balancing writing and schoolwork myself, and it's really hard this time of year with midterm tests and such. Good luck with everything. Sorry to hear you had a row, but happy to serve as a place to vent out the frustration. Trust me, I know how helpful venting can be!))
((Yeah, phone keyboards suck.))
((Looking forward to more writing in a week or so. Who knows, maybe I'll be better at getting my work done too!))

((Test week is OVER! YUSSSSS))
((Working on the post right now, will edit below here shortly ;))

Sherlock grinned and pulled John a little tighter. He nuzzled his nose in John’s neck. John’s naughty plans was like music in Sherlock’s ears. He didn’t care for the Queen, if he only could make Mycroft’s life a little bit sourer and get a bit more than a good look of John in (and out) a tux, his evening would be made.

“Ha, that would be brilliant.” He murmured while tilting his head. He stroked John’s fringe out of the way before kissing him sweetly. He was perfectly happy.

---

“John, are you ready?”

It was the evening of the fancy party at Buckingham Palace and Sherlock was nervous. He wasn’t nervous for the queen or the small talk he’d have to go through, oh no. He desperately wanted to see John in the suit Mycroft provided for the occasion.

John had made sure Sherlock had not been able to catch even a glimpse of it. It was maddening. And now the chance of wearing it arrived, John took a tortuously long time about clothing himself.

Sherlock and John had agreed that they’d dress separately. That would make the impact bigger and more fun.

But now Sherlock regretted that decision.

“John! One can’t take so long dressing yourself. I will come through the door if you don’t-“

“Yes, Sherlock, almost done.”

“But-“

“Honestly. I’m almost done.”

Sherlock sighed. He waited in the living room, gloves in hand, but figeting on his place. He let his head fall back and turned to the window. Gah, this was taking far too long.

“Sherlock?”
Sherlock turned at the soft call of his name. He had not heard John coming in and was glad because now the surprise really was a surprise.

Holy cow, John looked gorgeous.

John was wearing a creamy grey suit. It was very well tailored, John’s muscles were visible underneath the fabric. He was wearing a tiny bit lighter coloured waistcoat and white shirt underneath it, decorated with a bow tie. It suited his figure so very damn well.

Sherlock could only gape at him open mouthed. He took a step forward to study John closer.
John had very neatly combed his sandy hair back. He looked up expectantly at Sherlock. John smelled differently. Delicate, but spicy and musky. Sherlock reached out to touch John’s sleeve. It was soft, as soft as his own.

“And...? What do you think?”

“You- you look gorgeous.”

Sherlock looked John in the eye. He meant what he had said. He thought John always looked gorgeous, so this was no exception. But the formality, the formal suit that just screamed very delicately ‘LOOK AT ME I’M SO DAMN HOT, JUST KISS ME ALREADY’ was exceptional.

Sherlock slowly leaned forward and kissed John’s lips very softly, holding himself back. He grumbled over the fact that they couldn't mess their suits up, otherwise Sherlock had known exactly what to do with John.

((I'll leave the Mycroft thing to you as I have no siblings ;))

((YAAAY!!! Me too!!!))

John was so nervous about tonight. He had never gone to a party that was even close to this formal before. While he was confident in his social skills, he was bad with etiquette, and normally felt a bit blundering at fancy parties. The suit was nice, more than nice actually, it was gorgeous, but John felt like it was wasted on him- he didn’t have the right type of body for a tux like this, not like Sherlock. However, Sherlock was impatiently yelling at him from the living room, so his time to panic was over. John took one last deep breath, smoothed his hands over the grey suit, and walked out to the living room.

Sherlock was facing away from him when he walked out, so John took a moment to appreciatively run his eyes over Sherlock’s back in the tux, admiring the perfect cut of the shoulders and how delectable Sherlock’s ass looked in the pants. Finally done devouring his boyfriend with his eyes, John softly called Sherlock’s name, his voice a bit lower than normal.

Sherlock turned, and (John could hardly believe it) his mouth actually opened a bit when he took in the sight of John. John felt his face heating up, especially when Sherlock came over and stroked his hand down one of John’s arms. The clear look of lust in Sherlock’s eyes melted away all of John’s negative feelings about his appearance and his nerves for this evening. When Sherlock kissed him softly, John could feel all the restrained passion in the kiss, and he came very close to deciding to just skip the party, but decided that holding off for the evening would make things even better when they finally came home.

“You look amazing as well, I’ll be the envy of every person there, showing up with such a gorgeous date.”

John goes up on tips toes to place a soft kiss on Sherlock’s cheek, breathing in the smell of Sherlock’s formal cologne.

“Mmm, I love your cologne.”

John closes his eyes for a moment to pull his mind away from his baser instincts.

“Alright, come on- if we don’t leave now, I’ll lose all my good intentions for the night, and we won’t be able to embarrass your brother.”

----------------------

They arrive at the palace, and John does his best not to appear terrified or to gawk at the other guests. He fidgets a bit with the sleeve of his suit, nerves from earlier returning a bit. He suddenly feels a familiar pair of lips briefly touch his hair, and his hand pressed in a light squeeze. He smiles up at Sherlock, who looks totally normal- it’s clear that no one else around them would have noticed the quick exchange. John squeezes Sherlock’s hand back.

“Thanks. Alright, lets go do this.”

The first hour at the palace is spent just standing around mingling with guests. Sherlock is obviously going insane within ten minutes (well, obvious to John, to anyone else he appears completely calm and relaxed).

John gently touches his arm.

“So, I want to know all the deep dark secrets of the rich and famous. Tell me what you know. I’m actually not even sure who half these people are...”

Sherlock smiles, probably knowing that John is trying to distract him, but apparently appreciating the effort. John is glad his plan worked- though he nearly chokes on his champagne when Sherlock points across the room to David Beckham. John does his best not to stammer when Mycroft pulls Sherlock and himself up to meet the Queen, and is even more determined to embarrass Mycroft when he catches the man concealing a smirk at his blush.

After that hour, there is dinner, where John nearly has a heart attack at how much fancy silverware he has to navigate using. He ends up managing by simply waiting to see what fork or spoon Sherlock uses before picking up his own. He is pleased that Sherlock eats at least a bite or two of every course- meaning that by the end of the meal, he’s eaten about the equivalent of a whole course. Throughout the dinner, John had occasionally brushed Sherlock’s hand with his own, and once stroked up Sherlock’s calf with the top of his foot- which Mycroft had noticed, but not reacted too. John now decided to up his game, so he leans over to Sherlock.

“I’m glad you’re eating,” John whispers softly, but with just enough volume that Mycroft (who is sitting on the other side of Sherlock) will hear, “You’ll need the calories later tonight. I have plans for you that will require quite a bit of physical activity.”

John lets his hand dip under the table for a second and rests it on Sherlock’s knee- after all, he wanted to tease Mycroft, not torture Sherlock. He would wait until later to do that. He then looked over at Mycroft, who was giving John a subtle, but deadly, glare.

A bell rang somewhere, and everyone stood. Mycroft walked up to John.

“The remainder of the evening will be devoted to dancing. I was wondering, Dr. Watson, if I might have the pleasure of the first dance with you?”

“Ah-wha-” was all John got out of his mouth before Mycroft had firmly taken his arm and started guiding him over to the dance floor.

John shot a panicked look back at Sherlock, but somehow found himself being stiffly led around the floor in a waltz...with Mycroft. It was probably the most awkward thing that had ever happened to John. He was glad that, at least, they were not the only same-sex pair dancing. Mycroft was a good dancer, in that he had talent, but he was very stiff and it ruined some of the grace of the dance.

“Dr. Watson, as much as I am overjoyed at your relationship with my brother, I would request that you both keep your public behavior within the realm of common decency. That stunt you pulled at the table was completely unacceptable, and I am shocked at your actions. I thought you had more respect for the Queen than that.”

John’s instinct is to duck his head and apologise, but he finds himself instead staring Mycroft firmly in the eye, “I do not believe my behavior offended the Queen. In fact, I am positive that no one at the table other than yourself was even paying attention to Sherlock and me, so my ‘stunt’ didn’t affect them at all. Also, I would like to point out that, even if you are made uncomfortable by my methods, since we started dating I have been able to get Sherlock to eat 16, 000 calories in a week, which is 4,000 more than he was eating when I first moved in, and is only 800 calories under the normal weekly amount recommended for a man of his age.”

Mycroft has no reply.

((So this is getting a bit long. I’m going to end it here for now, and you can either just add in Sherlock’s action through what’s written, or continue on later into the evening.))
((So happy to be writing again!))

((Indeed it is! It takes terribly long with me though, mostly because I'm doing ten other things besides writing :P))

They were just getting up from dinner, which Sherlock had actually enjoyed. Partly because the food was very good, mostly because of the semi-secret touches they shared. They were so small, but made Sherlock feel blissful.

That happiness was broken when Mycroft had John in an iron grip and went off dancing.

Sherlock stiffened at the side and saw in horror how the couple swayed stiffly over the dance floor. The shock faded just a little when he saw John replying and Mycroft getting very irritated. But Sherlock was still very cross at Mycroft for stealing away his handsome date for the first dance. To imagine that John had first danced with Mycroft than with Sherlock, was just agonising.

At just the right moment, they got near the place Sherlock was standing and John was slowing, clearly not wanting to dance with Mycroft anymore. When they had been dancing, Sherlock had received swift glances in his direction, calling for help. Sherlock had looked back as if he wanted to say: 'I'm gonna get you, don't worry. I'll be there soon.'

Sherlock stopped Mycroft with an angry grip at his arm and stared at him with wide, furious eyes.

"That is my boyfriend. Leave him alone. He's mine."

Mycroft loosened his grip on John and before he could answer, Sherlock stepped before him, so that John was only facing him. He normally didn't prefer the term 'boyfriend' because it didn't covered his feelings, but now it was enough to maybe embarrass Mycroft a little.

"Dr Watson, would you me the honour of dancing with me?"

Sherlock held one hand out for an invitation. John took it.

"But of course, Mr Sherlock Holmes."

Sherlock rested his hand on the small of John's back and began leading John in an elegant, supple waltz. John hadn't need to worry. A good leader was everything a couple needed. He gave a last teasing glance at Mycroft before entirely focussing on John.

He was greeted with one of John's most beaming smiles. His eyes twinkled and his lips curled into a perfect kissable shape. The smell of his cologne was present, but not overwhelming and then the suit, which made John look even more gorgeous and just everything about this, made Sherlock incredibly happy. John's smile worked as an anchor in the dancing mass. The rest of the dance floor disappeared into a blur. John was the only thing that mattered at that moment.

Sherlock tightened his grip on John's back and pulled him closer into the waltz. The soft suit felt perfect under his fingers. Soft cloth against soft cloth shifted between them. He saw John blush a little, partly because of the crowd that could see them, partly because of their pelvises rubbing against one another during their dance.

But Sherlock had no problem with that. In fact, Sherlock already had plans to solve that little problem.

They kept a steady pace in dancing, in which Sherlock never let go of John's gaze. Their eye-contact was so intense that it could be called eye-fucking. But it was more than that. They shared a feeling of deep affection for each other, eventually presenting itself in lust. Sherlock could almost hear an telepathic dialogue.

S:What was Mycroft mocking about?
J:My knee-touching. Said it wasn't respectful towards the Queen. huh. Gave him a fair reaction back.
S:Good man, that's how I like it.
J:I know you do. Have I mentioned that you look gorgeous?
S:Yes you have, but it is always nice to hear. You look gorgeous too, if you were interested in my opinion.
J: blushes I'm still not used to you saying that.
S:I'm only telling you the truth.
J:Thank you. Have I also mentioned that you are an amazing dance partner?
S: smiles No, but again: thank you.... It's getting rather hot isn't it?
J:What are you aiming at? He raises his brow with a knowing smile.
S:That I've got some plans that involve: you, me, cock, mouth and a locked room here, in Buckingham Palace.
J:OK. Come on, let's go.



((Note: the telepathic dialogue can also be spoken if you like, so you can add some if you think it is appropriate.))
((I've once danced a waltz with a perfect partner. I was a mess, but he lead me through and it was dead SEXY. I wanted to get that message across. The crowd saw Mycroft and John dance, but I thought it was important to let them know who really are in love.))

((God, almost forgot that we wanted Sherlock to be kidnapped... Gee, too late and too tired to do that now, just gave you some fluff here :P ))
((HA JUST HAD AN IDEA when they go off to the hallway or somewhere to get a little bit intimate, Sherlock gets kidnapped?))

((I'm jealous of your chance to waltz. I've done swing dancing with a decent partner, but at the time our relationship made it more awkward and frustrating than sexy- still wishing for that perfect dance someday, happy John gets one though))
((Oh, that sounds like a good idea. I'll get them somewhere private, put in some fluff, then see if we can get Sherlock kidnapped.))

John was relieved when Sherlock came in to save him from Mycroft, and then ecstatic when Sherlock asked John to dance.

John couldn't stop beaming, feeling Sherlock's arms around him as they spun around the floor in an elegant waltz- Sherlock's graceful leading even overcame John's normal clumsiness when dancing.

"I didn't expect you to dance," John said softly, smiling up at Sherlock.

"I only dance when I can find an acceptable partner. Luckily tonight, I have a partner who is more than acceptable. It was most aggravating of Mycroft to steal him," Sherlock pulls John a bit closer, so their hips touch as they dance.

John lays his cheek on Sherlock's shoulder for a moment, "I can't even put into words how happy I am right now. This evening is so wonderful, despite the annoyance of your brother. We should do this again sometime."

Then John was silent, and spent some time just enjoying the dance. He noticed Sherlock staring at him, and met his boyfriend's eyes-

They flickered to the side, over to where Mycroft was standing, with an eyebrow raise: What was Mycroft mocking about?
John flicked his eyes down at Sherlock's knees, smirked, then rolled his eyes at Mycroft: My knee-touching. Said it wasn't respectful towards the Queen. huh. Gave him a fair reaction back.
Sherlock smiled at John, affection and pride in his eyes: Good man, that's how I like it.
John smiles back, then lets his eyes scan obviously and appreciatively over Sherlock's body in the delectable black suit, more just admiring how handsome Sherlock is than feeling particularly turned on at the moment, though his feelings (helped by the brushing of their hips) are headed in that direction: I know you do. Have I mentioned that you look gorgeous?
Sherlock smirks at John's ogling, then returns the favor: Yes you have, but it is always nice to hear. You look gorgeous too, if you were interested in my opinion.
John blushes and looks away for a second: I'm still not used to you saying that.
Sherlock smiles softly and squeezes the hand holding John's: I'm only telling you the truth.
John smiles back, then squeezes Sherlock's shoulder. Sherlock leads them through a particularly complex set of steps, and John beams with admiration: Thank you. Have I also mentioned that you are an amazing dance partner?
Sherlock smiles, pulls John's hips impossibly closer to his for a second, before letting John back up to their original (still too close than is strictly necessary or proper) position. He gives John a devilish smirk: No, but again: thank you.... It's getting rather hot isn't it?
John raises his brow with a knowing smile, and lets his hand momentarily stray from Sherlock's shoulder to his chest, playing a bit with a shirt button: What are you aiming at?
Sherlock's eyes have turned ravenous, fixating on John's lips, before drifting down to both their hips. He then subtly, but meaningfully turns his head slightly and looks pointedly at a small side door on the right side of the ballroom: That I've got some plans that involve: you, me, cock, mouth and a locked room here, in Buckingham Palace.
John's breath catches, and after a moment he gives a tiny nod: OK. Come on, let's go.

John and Sherlock walk casually over to the door, trying not to appear as if they were both already going half-hard. They mercifully manage to make it through the door without attracting any attention. As soon as the door closes, Sherlock grabs John's hand and pulls him through a quick, maze-like series of corridors. Doors and hallways pass as a blur to John- he can't even begin to guess where they are- before he is suddenly pressed up against a door of some random parlor (he can't even remember Sherlock opening the door and pulling him into it, but it must have happened). He sighs into the familiar feeling of Sherlock's lips attacking his. It's strange, the kissing, because it is familiar at this point, but every kiss is as exciting and wonderful as the first- in some ways he was both used to it and convinced he would never be used to it.

"I cannot believe we're doing this," John gasps as he pulls away briefly to catch his breath, "You're so mad, and I can't help but adore you for it."

The grin Sherlock gives John at this statement is far too self-satisfied, John has to kiss it off his face.

"So, you were clearly implying that you had plans for me?"

((Decided that I liked the idea of them communicating with their eyes, but added details to the looks. So, do we want them to get part/ all the way through desecrating this random parlor in the Palace before the kidnapping, or are we having the kidnapper act as a literary cockblock out of our respect for the Crown?))

((So sorry for responding so late. Went to family in Germany on Tuesday (7 hours in a car really kills your brain cells =,= and on the other days: no time. Really. Saddest thing is: I won't be able to update this weekend, because I'm staying at a Sherlockian's for three days (YAAAAY)))
((Oh, and you'll see ;)))

The naughty undertone in John's voice was just inviting Sherlock to grope his hips and corner John against the wall.

"Oh, it's been far too long.""

His lips soon found John's neck and took full advantage of it. Somewhere in the back of his mind, he was aware of the consequences his actions would have later, but his mind was overwhelmed by John. He felt his fingers gripping his curls and his chest arched against his.

"Sh-Sherlock. Be careful with those goddamn lips. We have to be- be presentable- when we meet the sodding queen when we're done. We are in Buckingham Palace for God's sake!" John giggled, apparently very amused by the obvious facts.

He growled animal-like, not willing to listen to John's rational train of thought. He gripped his ass and cupped John through his pants in protest. That served him right, because he heard John immediately gasping and moaning.

"On a second thought: might be fun to show Mycroft what we have been up to-" John's voice raised in tone while Sherlock worked on his neck, ass and bulge. It was wonderful to hear him so needy for him, which gave him pleasure too. Sherlock himself had been turned on since the moment he had seen John in his suit, which had been a terribly long time.

He just wanted to take all of John in once. His lips, the soft skin of his neck, his hair, his chest, his ass, his sex, everything, which was impossible. But he tried anyway. Blinded by the searing kiss they were wound in and the way John rubbed himself against his palm, he didn't foresee the two men entering the room in silence.

--

Six dark men were creeping through the hallways of Buckingham Palace. They knew about the party where only important people were invited to, an easy prey for a kidnapping.

"What's over there?" someone whispered.

The sounds of ecstasy, moans and gasps escaped a

"The queen making out?" some chuckled.

"Shut up! You two, go and look inside. Silence them if you must. We can't need any unexpected circumstances, is that understood?"

"Yes, boss." Two of the henchmen opened silently the door to a parlour and entered.

---

Suddenly, he was gripped at both biceps and dragged away from John. Stunned and bewildered, he took 2 seconds to realise what was happening. Two men, dressed in black were dragging him away. They were obviously criminals, based on the fact that they were wearing pantyhoses over their heads. Sherlock tried throwing in trained kicks and baritsu-moves in order to free himself from the iron grip from behind. But these men were very well trained and dodged all his frantic moves.

"John!- Run, now! Joh-JOHN!!"

He was soon silenced by a cloth bound on him like a horse. With wide eyes, he stared into John's while shouting, screaming his name, muffled into the cloth. Sherlock feared with all his heart that they would get John too. He would kill anybody who dared vandalising John. Hís John.

((So, somehow the criminals entered Buckingham Palace. I don't really care how x) I didn't want to spend much thought into the part of the criminals, because I'm tired :') Hope this is decent :) ))

((Oh wow, that would be exhausting. Yay, have fun with the fellow Sherlockian))

"SHERLOCK!!!"

John hits one of the men holding Sherlock, and tries to pull Sherlock away. However, he gets shoved off of Sherlock. He fights the other man, landing a few hits to the ribs. He is wearing the other man down, gaining the advantage, when the second criminal lets go of Sherlock long enough to come up behind John and hit him in the back of the head with a pistol. John drops to the floor unconscious.

"Should we get both of them?" the first criminal asks, nursing his broken lip. He kicks John hard in the stomach, just out of spite.

"Nah, too much trouble to take them both out, and boss only said to grab one. Besides, judging from the way they acted, this one will be the man to pay up the ransom- no point kidnapping some ponce if we don't get paid for it. Come on, we need to get out before lover-boy here wakes up and makes more trouble."

----

John comes back to consciousness with a blinding pain throbbing through his head. He jumps up on his feet, looking around for Sherlock and the attackers, but sees nothing. His balance is off, and he falls back to his knees, nearly vomiting. He stands again slowly, taking his time to stay steady. Once he trusts himself to move without falling, he sets off at a run to return to the ballroom. Unfortunately, given how distracted he was when Sherlock took him to the parlour, finding his way back takes a while. John eventually gives up when he finds that he's somehow gone around in a circle and is back at the scene of the crime again.

He pulls out his phone and calls Mycroft, praying the man will pick up.

"Dr. Watson, I hope you are calling to--"

"Oh, SHUT UP Mycroft! I don't want to hear a behavior lecture! Sherlock's been kidnapped."

There is a beat of silence on the other end of the phone.

"Tell me where you are, I will be there as soon as possible. Fill me in on the details."

John describes his surroundings, and luckily Mycroft seems to know exactly where he is. As John waits for Mycroft to show up, he talks over how the kidnapping took place.

Mycroft walks into the parlour, "Is that all your remember? Very well, I'll have my people pull the security tapes from this room, and we can see if anything else shows up. Why do you look so surprised? Every parlour in the palace is under audiovisual security, obviously."

Mycroft looks over John critically.

"I think it would be best now if you were to return to Baker Street. You are clearly in no shape- physically or emotionally to return to the party. I have a team on their now to collect evidence, and your assistance is no longer needed."

"I'm going to stay," John says firmly.

"Dr. Watson, I assure you, you have done all you can--"

"I'm not leaving," John repeats, giving Mycroft a steely look, "You are not shutting me out of this, Mycroft. Sherlock is in danger, and I will be helping to get him back. I will be involved in every step of the process of bringing him home. I am willing to work with you, Mycroft, but if you shut me out of this, then I will work independently. I'm going to get him back, one way or another. Understood?"

"Very well. I see you are beyond reasoning with. You may stay, but keep out of the way."

John nods and goes over to a sofa and sits. He tries not to allow himself to think of what might be happening to Sherlock at the moment. Unfortunately, he was a man of action- he could keep himself calm and unemotional as long as he had something to do- the second he was at rest, all his emotions hit him. John felt his breathing speed up, his hands started shaking, his heart began pounding...then Mycroft's team came in, and John felt himself grow calm again. He watched the team collect evidence, and pointed out bits of dirt from one of the assailant's shoes, along with a scrap of cloth he had torn from one of the stocking masks. Really, these people were idiots, hardly better than Anderson, and John told them so, before being forced to go see someone with medical training for his injuries.

Eventually, Mycroft forced John to go home and get rest, promising to bring over the security recordings first thing in the morning. John went home, but he couldn't rest. Instead he spent the remainder of the night pacing the flat wearing Sherlock's robe, his mind filled with horrible terrors of what those men could do to his Sherlock.

((Ok, so not sure how long we want to drag this out. Maybe you can decide if our kidnappers call John or Mycroft with a ransom statement or something? Do you care how long Sherlock is held hostage for? I'm assuming that since Mycroft is looking for him, it will be a fairly short time and then we can have a wonderful rescue scene.))

((Bad/good news: I have to go daily to Amsterdam this week, which is two hours away from me, for extra acting lessons, so I think I will be too exhausted and busy with catching up with school (I miss every class this week) so I won't be updating very frequently this week.))

Sherlock's heart skipped a beat when he saw John falling unconscious on the carpet. Panic, rage and utter hatred flared up behind his wide-opened eyes. Sherlock got in a frenzy when the man kicked with his dirty shoes in John's stomach. It literally hurt Sherlock too. It hurt so bad. This was why he used to not care. It hurt so much.

He tried to hit the guy that was holding his hands in a tight grip with an impressive manroar through the cloth.

"GAWN! NO GAAAWN!!"

His words were muffled by the cloth in his mouth. He writhed in all impossible directions, bruising legs and forcing his lean muscles to their limit. He didn't care that it hurt, John was in much greater pain, lying on the floor. The sight of John, lying limpness on the carpet, just scared the hell out of Sherlock. John looked like he could be dead. Sherlock knew better, but he couldn't think rationally in this situation.

Sherlock got kicked painfully in his stomSherlock was that much in shock that he felt excessive liquid over-flooding his eyes, screaming John's name with a sore voice. He didn't want to do anything but go to John and check him, so he struggled, struggled as if his life depended on it, until he received a hefty blow at the back of his head and passed out too.

---

"Sir, we got one." The two henchmen arrived with a unconscious Sherlock hooked between their arms back at their boss.

"You secured the other one?"

"Yep."

"Then, who's this? If this is one of great-wealth, we don't even need to go on."

"The other one screamed 'Sherlock' at him. Dunno who tha' could be."

"Ah, the great Sherlock Holmes, innit? How convenient. Wealthy family and a disgusting poof, huh?" The boss stood before Sherlock and wanted to hit him in the head with his fist, but decided it was much more fun when he was conscious, so he held himself back.

"OK, let's get goin'."

---

Sherlock woke up with a painful head. When he wanted to raise his hand in an automatic move to feel it, he felt that his hands were bound. With a start, he opened his eyes wide. He saw only black. That was weird. He tried to become aware of his surroundings. He was tied, a sack was draped over his head, he had a restraint in his mouth, his legs were bound too. The situation as a prisoner wasn't unusual, nor terrifying.

Then the memories of the happenings dawned on him. Sherlock shivered and started to panic. John. John, where was he? Was he alright? He probably would be alright, Sherlock knew by experience. They were both kind of used to being imprisoned, taken hostage, whatever. But the terrifying part of all these happenings was that they were very rudely interrupted in their sheer lovemaking, an ode to each other. Plus the probability that John wasn't kidnapped with him, what they usually where. Sherlock felt lonely, hurt and a little bit anxious.

Sherlock shouted into the cloth for attention. He surely wouldn't be let alone as a prisoner. They might as well give him something to see.

His attempts paid off: someone pulled the sack off his head. Sherlock had to adjust his eyes to the sudden light that shone in his face. Still blinking and pressing his eyelids together, he saw a broad man coming into view. Sherlock couldn't really deduce much now, because of the blinding light, but one thing was certain: the man was holding a camera.

"Oh, please don't be obvious." Sherlock croaked, rolling his eyes. "You're taping me and sending it to my 'friends'?" Sherlock scoffed a little mocking laugh at 'friends'. "I don't have friends."

Which was true. He didn't regard John as merely a friend.

The big man stepped uncomfortably close, overshadowing Sherlock with his own great mass of meat. He was laughing, which was kind of creepy. Sherlock knew what he was going to say.

"And what about John Watson?"

Sherlock cast him an icy glance. His insides grew cold and he had suddenly very violent fantasies of debouching the man.

"You're american... interesting. And an internet porn addict too, left-handed and how's your wife? Is she happy with the policeman?"

Sherlock tried to evade the question with simple deductions, but got a sudden blow in his jaw as revenge. God, that hurt. He spit blood and looked up again.

"Don't use those deductions on me, you filthy queer." He emphasized his disgust by spitting in Sherlock's face. Sherlock tried to not whimper and show that he wouldn't be insulted that easily.

"Let's get a good shot of this. Nice picture for your boyfriend, innit?"

Sherlock stared intently into the lens. He hoped his eyes looked strong in contrast to his face and messy look.

"John. I- Just-. Eh. Russian monk. Do you hear me? Russian monk."

He was going to say it, but thought against it. He wanted to say it in person. He did use a codeword though. It referred to one of the cases they had done in which Sherlock had been kidnapped too. His captors were stupid then and now too, so John would know what to do. The criminal was confused though. He didn't pay much attention to the code (another proof of his stupidity) and spoke a message into the camera, without showing his own face. He was that smart.

"Whatever. We want a ransom of 670.000 dollars for Sherlock Holmes, then you can have him back. We want it by tomorrow, or else this disgusting poof is going to suffer."

Sherlock didn't really mind his own injuries. He only wanted to be with John to see if he was all right.

((Suppose they send the video to John Not my best of writing, but I have to know a song (Live alone and like it by JOHN BARROWMAN and a monologue by Shakespeare by heart tomorrw :s))

((That’s awesome news about your classes! So exciting! Hope the homework went well.))

John watched the tape and his stomach tightened with rage. The fact that these bastards had his Sherlock killed him, and God, he was so worried about Sherlock.

John tells himself to focus.

“Can you trace the source of the video?” John asks Mycroft.

“We should be able to- I can also narrow in the location of the filming down to 7 locations just from the background of the footage,” Mycroft answers, “We should be able to go in on retrieval by tonight.”

John nods and then goes back to staring at the image of Sherlock on his computer screen. He would get him back, get him back safe to Baker Street and then possibly never let him leave again.

“What did my brother mean by ‘Russian monk’? I’m assuming it’s a codeword of some sort?”

“Yeah, reference back to an old case. If I’m interpreting his use correctly, it means that his captors are stupid enough that we should go for a rescue rather than paying the ransom.”

“Very well, then that is what we will do.”


2 o’clock in the morning, and John was now standing outside a grimy looking building on the East End. He uses Sherlock’s lockpicking kit to open the door, then signals Mycroft’s men to go in, silently as possible.

John instantly sees Sherlock, tied up in a chair in the corner of the room. He stays hidden, but makes his way over there. However, there’s suddenly gunfire sounding out, and people shouting. John drops low and starts running over to Sherlock. He turns to shoot a man to his right.

“EVERYBODY STOP!!!!” a voice shouts out.

John looks back at Sherlock, and his blood goes cold- a man is holding a gun to Sherlock’s head.

“Anyone moves, and the poof gets lead in the head.”

No, no, no, this can’t happen.

John stands and drops his gun.

“Guns down everyone, NOW!” he orders then men.

“Ok, we’re disarmed, now get away from him,” John growls out.

“What, scared for your poof boyfriend. God, you’re disgusting, and no, I’m not letting you get off that easy. I wanted payment, and instead you came and tried to steal back the man I had rightfully taken captive. You need to be taught how to play this game the proper way, you need to be punished. I’ll leave your boyfriend alive so I can still be paid ransom, but…well, I’m going to ruin him for you.”

The man takes out a knife.

“I’ll cut off his dick, so you can’t have disgusting sex with him anymore.”

At that moment, one of Mycroft’s men who had been hiding and still had a gun, shot the man in the head. He dropped down dead, but as he fell, his gun went off and John watched in horror as Sherlock jerked and yelled out in pain.

John grabbed his gun back off the floor and ran over to Sherlock. He took the knife from the dead man’s hand and cut the ropes tying Sherlock to the chair. He pulls Sherlock into his arms. He drops down to the ground, holding Sherlock and trying to stop the blood that was seeping out onto Sherlock’s shirt. He feels tears slip out of his eyes and he bends down to kiss Sherlock’s face.

“SOMEBODY GET AN AMBULANCE!!!”

“Please be ok, you’re going to be alright. You hear me Sherlock? You are not allowed to die. You have to be ok. I love you, and I need to be able to tell you that again, I never said it before, and that was stupid of me, and I need you Sherlock. I can’t…I need you, I love you so much.”

((Ah, angsty. I'm figuring that Sherlock isn't really hurt- I hope not at least- maybe just a graze, but it's bleeding enough to look really bad, and John's kind of freaking out too much to look at it critically.))

((Aww that was beautiful! It gave me so much feels :3 Good feels! Ah, still baffled. And this made me laugh: 'rightfully captured' xDD hahahaha you KIDNAPPED him, you dumbass xD))

Sherlock opened his eyes when he heard rumour at the door. He had estimated that Mycroft would be sensible enough to track him and he had estimated to free him soon, but what surprised him was a sudden hint of hope hit him in the heart.

And then he saw John, coming towards him while shooting people. Sherlock could only look at John in all the chaos around them.

JOHN. Hís John was here to save him. Of course he would be, but again, it was a relief to just see him again.

Then everything became a blur.

Sherlock gasped and swallowed hard when his head was tilted slightly aside as he felt a gunpoint pressed to his temple. His heart skipped a beat, but then began pumping fervently. His ears sang and throbbed of the pounding blood in his veins. Panic, bloody panic gave him an adrenaline boost. John, John needed to be OK. His eyes searched for John's pair and they immediately locked.

He saw his own panic mirrored in John's eyes. He clearly hadn't slept since Sherlock was kidnapped. Worries and sleep deprivation was clearly readable around his oh so blue eyes. The blue orbs felt delightfully familiar, like a buoy Sherlock could clutch for safety.

That feeling was dramatically disturbed by pain. A heavy body collapsed on him, but that was drowned by the surprising pain of a projectile hitting against him. He couldn't help but jerk and yell of surprise, pain, but most of all shock.

The pain and shock drowned the fact that he was freed and he collapsed on the floor. He looked down. his shirt was getting redder and redder. Then John came into view. No- he became everything. Sherlock clutched the closest part of John in his fists, which happened to be his jumper. His woollen jumper that felt soft, warm and itchy in contrast to the water that dropped on his forehead and the soft kisses pressed on his face that ripped him out of his dazed state.

Happiness, just sheer happiness filled the whole lot of Sherlock's being. John said so many beautiful things, things he'd never been told in earnest. John was earnest, no doubt there.

And for the first time, Sherlock Holmes, the iron machine without emotion, cried of happiness.

Sherlock pulled John closer into an emotional kiss. Salt of tears and sweat and saliva was the perfect mix for their declaration of unconditional love. When they parted, they were both panting and crying and smiling and everything was perfect.

"I love you so God damn much. I need you to know that, remember that, whatever will happen, nothing will make me stop loving you."

There. That had to be said. Sherlock didn't mind being cheesy and romantic now. He just needed to say it now, he may not have an other go to say so.

Their moment was interrupted by one of Mycroft's agents who tapped John to move away for the ambulance stretcher. But Sherlock didn't want to let go of John, he would never want to let go of him. He didn't know yet how deep the wound was, so rationally speaking... Well, no, he didn't dare to think of that.

"I'll be fine. I'll be fine. Fine, John. Fine. I'll be uurhhgbsolutely fine." He said this more to himself than to John, only breaking with John's gaze when growling in sudden flashes of pain when he was lifted onto the stretcher. He still didn't let go of John's jumper, his hand, his face, whatever belonged to John. Sherlock had to touch him, feel him, before... No. He'd be fine. It even came down to a struggle when one of the paramedics grabbed his wrists to tuck his arms into a cocoon of blankets and other medical stuff.

"No, John, stay here." Sherlock strengthened his grip on John.

"I'm here, Sherlock, I won't go away, ever. I promise Sherlock. I love you, just stay with me."

The paramedics made their offical sport in tucking in Sherlock from head to toe. He couldn't move his neck because of the stupid brace. He also couldn't use his hands, which were tucked in too. He did feel a sharp pain in his chest and soft, warm and familiar hands in his hair to compromise it.

John disappeared just a moment out of sight. Panic struck again.

"JOHN!" Sherlock yelled.

"Here! They are shoving you into the ambulance. I won't leave you."

Once in the ambulance, Sherlock got a bit of his attitude back, but felt rather bad still. He was quite curious how his wound looked and how much blood would be spilled by now, but John, nor the paramedics would listen to it. The pain in his chest wouldn't stop, though.

((It is a graze, nothing serious, but yeah, Sherlock is oblivious to that now because he hasn't had the chance to look at it. God, so much fluff and cliché romance, but I didn't want to avoid it, frankly :P Hope it's not too OOC. It's difficult to judge... My headcanon: Sherlock only shows his deepest emotions when his life is in danger. I've let the reaction to Sherlock finally opening up to John open to you, I didn't want to write your character in such an important moment. You can either ignore the ambulance or delay it, I've not written the time that passed, so it could be anything. You'd describe the ambulance ride or skip that or so.., entirely up to you :)))

((Oh, so sweet! I love it :) ))

The look of overwhelming joy that shone out of Sherlock's eyes at John's words of love almost made John forget the fact that Sherlock was in mortal danger- instead he just got lost in Sherlock's eyes, amazed as he saw them overflow with tears. Then Sherlock was pulling John in and kissing him, and the kiss held so many emotions, said everything about them. It was perfect, which should have been awful considering the blood and the kidnappers and everything that had lead up to this, but somehow the situation only made it more perfect because it was so fitting, so them- they laughed at crime scenes and waited until someone was shot to actually say the words 'I love you'.

When Sherlock said those three beautiful words back to John, he felt as though something inside him was melting and filling him with a wonderful warm glow. He wanted nothing more than to have Sherlock back safe at home so he could hear those words again and again, without having to worry about bullet wounds and ambulances.

Then a paramedic came, and John's heart might have clenched a bit at the way Sherlock kept clinging to him and making sure he stayed close- as if there was any chance John would be able to leave Sherlock's side now. John would have punched the paramedic if they had even tried to push him away.

"I'm here, Sherlock, I won't go away, ever. I promise Sherlock. I love you, just stay with me."

John carefully watched over the paramedics, making sure Sherlock got wrapped up properly. He climbed into the ambulance, watching the heart-rate monitor like a hawk, making sure Sherlock's pulse stayed steady.

Throughout the ride, John sat holding Sherlock's hand and making ridiculous plans for when they got home- firmly keeping himself in denial about the chance that they might not both go home. They could go on holiday for a bit, he told Sherlock, go to the country or the seaside. Not for long, not so long that he would get bored, but just for a week or something to have some time together with no interruptions. They could laze about in bed all day if they wanted, or go out and see the local sights. They could do experiments together- both sexual and normal experiments. Maybe Sherlock could try and teach John to try and play a bit of violin, or just play violin for John. It would all be amazing, but Sherlock had to stay awake and stay with him until they reached the hospital.

The paramedic tried to give comfort by saying that from where most of the bleeding was, it didn't look too serious. However, they didn't want to remove the shirt until they got to the hospital, so they couldn't be sure. Besides which, John was a doctor, he knew all of the statistics for surgery complications, he knew all of the things that could go wrong. He needed to see Sherlock in the recovery ward with a clean bandage and signed release form before he would be able to feel comforted.

They get to the hospital and wheel Sherlock away for surgery.

John runs along with the cart, squeezing Sherlock's hand and lifting it to his lips for a quick kiss.

"You'll be fine. I love you. I'll be right here while you're in surgery. I'll be with you when you wake up. I love you."

John paced through the waiting room the whole time Sherlock was in surgery. He probably scared the other people there- muttering to himself, kicking the coffee machine when it failed to work, snapping at nurses, and occasionally collapsing in the closest chair and gripping his head between his hands. When the doctor finally came out and told John the news- that Sherlock had only been grazed, they had been able to easily remove all traces of the bullet, and successfully stitched Sherlock up- John's entire behavior changed. A gasp of relief flew out of his lips, and he almost hugged the other doctor he was so happy. Instead he just gratefully clasped the man's hand.

"I'll take you to his recovery room. He's sleeping now. The anesthesia should wear off in an hour or so. We'll do one last check and then you can take him home."

John thanked the man, and then pulled a chair up to Sherlock's bed and took one of Sherlock's hands into his. He was suddenly hit by a wave of fatigue- the effects of two sleepless nights and days full of emotional stress hitting him all at once, and completely draining him. John lay his head onto the bed, resting it on one of Sherlock's legs, and let the steady beeping of Sherlock's heartrate monitor lull him into sleep.

((GOD that was an amazing week full of theatre! Now, I'm back on track and I'll be able to update more often :)))

Beep.
Beep.
Beep.

Why did his limbs feel so heavy. And his head- God, his head. His head felt like a stone, so heavy and ouch- headache.

Beep.
Beep.

Where was he? He didn't bother opening his eyes. His eyelids were just. So. Heavy. But why were they?

Beep.

And the beeping? Where did that come from? Sherlock asked himself. Sherlock became more aware of his surroundings without opening his eyes. Something heavy lay on his chest. Weird. His left arm hurt on one spot on the inside. He knew that feeling. Needle. But he hadn't been using drugs, so that couldn't be it. Sherlock paid attention to smell. It smelled very... clean. Not cosy scents like coffee or books. Almost a chemical smell- no, that smelled different. It smelled like anti-bacteria, yes, that was it. Sherlock became aware of something soft cloth under the fingertips of one hand and warm flesh over the other. On his chest, apart from the mysterious heavy thing on his chest, he felt a slight, though not painful, throbbing.

Beep. Beep.
Beep. Beep.
Beep. Beep.

The beeping quickened because of the mental activity. Sherlock was waking up and there was no way back to sleep now. Ah, the beeping! Of course! A heart monitor! Which also explains the quickening of it! He was in a hospital! And with that thought, all the happenings of the last day? hours? came back at him. The kidnapping, the taping of the video, the maltreatment, the endless sitting, the boredom, the idiots, the rescue, the gun, hot pain and- John. Most of all, he remembered John. John had said that he loved him. Something no one ever had said to him and really earnestly meant it.

Beep. Beep.
Beep. Beep. Beep.
Beep. Beep. Beep.
Beep. Beep. Beep.

That thought roused more in Sherlock than just a quickened heartbeat and breathing. Endearment and love woke the rest of sleepy bits in him up. The heavy weight on his chest lifted and the other hand on his squeezed a little. John! It was John that had laid his head on his chest. He was still here! Thank God.

Sherlock cursed himself that he had taken so long to figure out he was lying in a hospital, with a wound on his chest and his John who just lifted from sleeping on his chest. He probably heard the heart monitor beeping more furiously and woke up because of that. His John was here! With him, at his side! He really did love him, rescuing him and staying with him was more than enough proof of that.

Sherlock opened his eyes. He wanted to see John, but was blinded by the light reflected by all the whiteness in the room.

"John?"

Sherlock's voice croaked a little of sleep. Damn. he wanted to see John now.

"Sherlock, I'm here."

John's hand squeezed his again. John's familiar voice tamed the light panic that had erupted in him. Sherlock blinked and squeezed his eyelids together and there he was.

John. Beaming down at him. Smiling his most honest and happy smile. It was so damn good to see him again.

Beep. Beep. Beep. Beep.

"Good."

John leaned forward and hovered just slightly in front of his head, but then finally kissed him.

Beep. Beep. Beep. Beep. Beep.

Sherlock kissed back as if it was the first kiss they'd shared in a month. As good has he could, regarding the after effects of the morphine that still wore down on him. John's slightly cracked lips on his own adding the right amount of pressure, made him wonder if he really wasn't dreaming any more. He felt John's fingers stroking his hair and guided his own heavy arm up John's cheek. There was so much necessity behind it. God, how he had missed this.

BEEP. BEEP. BEEP. BEEP. BEEP. BEEP.

A nurse stormed inside, interrupting their reunionkiss. The heart monitor embarrassingly revealed how much impact kissing had on Sherlock, revealing what he couldn't express in words. The heart monitor had 2 screens, one in this room and one in the nurse's room, so that if something goes wrong or something unexpected happens, they will be there in no time, just like this time.

((I had this in my mind and thought it a very fluffy but fun idea :)))

John heard the beeping of Sherlock's heartrate monitor speeding up, and he instinctively woke to check that everything was alright. A huge smile broke out over his face when he saw Sherlock slowly waking up. Hearing his name spoken in Sherlock's croaky voice melted away the last bits of stress and fear from John's mind.

John can't help but lean forward and kiss Sherlock, even though he knows it is against recovery procedures to significantly increase patient heart-rate.

John's lips are dry and chapped, and they crack, stinging in the kiss, but that only seems to make things even better because he can feel Sherlock's soft lips in comparison to his rough ones. The kiss is needy and rough, an outlet for all of the emotions of the past few days- the fear and pain of loss, as well as the relief and joy of reunion. John clung to Sherlock, wrapping his fingers through dark curls as though fearing Sherlock would be lost again if he were to let go.

"Stop that this instant!" a nurse yells, slamming into the room, "That is NOT appropriate behavior for a recovering patient!"

The nurse glares at John.

"They told me you were a doctor, Mr. Watson, you should know better! I understand being happy and relieved to have your boyfriend make a safe recovery, but you would do better to express this happiness by keeping him calm so he can heal."

The nurse finally relents and gives a soft smile.

"Just keep things low key, or I'm required to make you wait in the lobby until Mr. Holmes is released."

"I understand, thank you."

The nurse nods and leaves.

John looks down at Sherlock and fondly brushes a curl off his forehead.

"I'm so happy you're awake. Actually, I think...Hold on."

John stands and walks to the side of Sherlock's bed.

"I'm going to bend some hospital regulation- do something that is frowned on, but we can't get in real trouble for. Here," John scoots both his hands under Sherlock and shifts Sherlock to the side of the bed, careful not to tangle or tug wires and being cautious of the area of Sherlock's new stitches. John then walks back to the now empty side of the bed and climbs in. It's a tight fit, but works perfectly for John to lay and wrap his arms around Sherlock.

"I've been needing this," he presses a kiss to Sherlock's forehead, "my Sherlock, you're safe now, and coming home. No more getting kidnapped from now on, ok? I apparently cannot handle the stress of it anymore. From this day on, the only person allowed to hold you hostage is me, if I decide you're not allowed to leave the flat without eating a real meal...or if I decide to keep you prisoner in the bedroom for a day because I decide you're too sexy to leave...but other than those situations it's not acceptable."

John's voice is light and casual, he's joking around and just talking because he's happy to have a safe, conscious Sherlock to cuddle and hold again. He rubs his hands through Sherlock's curls in a calm, soothing manner, enjoying the moment.

Sherlock gladly tried to shove aside, but was still slowed down by his drugged senses and headache. He welcomed John's warmth and wrapped his arm around John. He quickly retreated because a sting of pain in the chest hit him. Better not bend his chest then.

"My John." Sherlock sighed to John's 'my Sherlock'. Hearing that made him blatantly happy. He had been told he was precious not very often in his life.

He let John pet him. He rather wanted him to never stop. His strokes, soft kisses were a very nice change for the tough treatment he had gotten lately. His arse had been sore of sitting on the hard wooden chair, his wrists and ankles slightly cut of the slicing ropes he had been tightly tied with, his cheeks and chest bruised of the slaps and punches he had gotten. He didn't want John to see them, but he knew that was a lost cause. Of course John would see them.

"And what exactly, Doctor Watson, has happened to me? No one has informed me yet. I do feel a sting in my chest when I move it, but I can't estimate what happened as I am probably not allowed to look at it myself."

John's warmth embraced him. He was getting sleepy of it again. It was incredibly good to feel this again, to realise how much he had missed John.

Sherlock's mind wandered off about what he wanted to say. He wanted to say things to John, lovely things. And he had said them, so that proved that he could say them. Oh, sod it. He was adult enough to get over his prejudice of emotions. He snuggled his face in the curve of John's neck and began speaking with a very small voice.

"I missed you. So. Much. I am so glad you came to rescue me. And I should have said every day that-" Sherlock bit his lip and swallowed hard in order to assemble himself again. "that you are precious to me, that no matter what happens, I will-" he sighed, feeling a lump in his throat. Eventually, with a soft voice, Sherlock pressed the words out. "love you."


((What are we going to do after all this reunion fluff?))