Work Text:
John had been imprisoned for more than 5 hours. He wasn’t even mad anymore. The Garridebs hadn’t done anything to him. John wondered if they had forgotten him in this closet. He had tried shouting to no avail, and he was just incredibly bored now.
Why was he always the one getting kidnapped? It was becoming very tedious indeed. John could already hear Sherlock gloating at the coming Christmas party about rescuing him… again.
But the hours were passing, and still no sign of Sherlock. Doubt was beginning to show its ugly head. John wondered if sherlock even realized he was missing.
The genius had the annoying habit of talking to him when he wasn’t there, carrying on conversations without his input. It was unnerving… and a little endearing too, he had to admit. John liked to think it meant he was important to the detective.
But it was just wishful thinking on his part.
John sighted for the hundredth time. It was not what he had planned for their Christmas holiday… He had wanted to try test the waters with Sherlock and feelings, maybe trying… well… John didn’t exactly know what he had hoped. Obviously he wasn’t very high on the detective’s list of priorities.
His wannabe kidnappers the Garrideb brothers were not masterminds by any means - he was being kept in the closet of their fucking office. He had been there just this morning with Sherlock.
Shit.
What was Sherlock doing?
His shoulder was killing him.
“Hello Dr Watson. Not too uncomfortable I hope.” said the grating voice of Henry Garrideb. “disappointed I’m not your boyfriend?”
A flash of light, the blindfold being removed, John could see the face of the eldest of the brothers. The man was clearly very pleased with himself. Not a inch of worry on this face. What the hell?
“You should run while you can,” John spat. The calm and tranquility he could read on the man was unnerving him more than any clear threat.
“Oh I wouldn’t count on the great Sherlock Holmes to save you. We broke him, he won’t even think about searching for you here.” Henry gloated.
John was sure his heart stopped beating for a second. “What… What did you do to Sherlock? If you hurt him, I swear, I will end you.”
The man dared to laugh, “Excuse me, Dr Watson if I don’t find you very frightening. And to answer your question about Mr Holmes, we killed you.”
“What?”
“Don’t worry Dr Watson. I am not a murderer, I won’t kill you. All we needed was for Sherlock Holmes to believe you dead.”
“What?” John felt like he was being particularly dumb repeating himself, “You’re making no sense.”
“You know, my brothers are proper geniuses too. They can make any kind of film or video you need and the best computer analyst won’t be able to tell shit from truth.”
The dreadful feeling had come back in full force, John was now afraid he understood too well what the Garridebs had done.
“No. You didn’t…”
“Yes, we used our footage of you and made some… lovely adjustments. Sherlock won’t be looking for you because he thinks there is nothing to save. Your death is giving us all the time we need to prepare our escape to our safe place. By the time they understand, we will be far away.”
“No. Even if Sherlock believes me dead, he will seek to find and destroy you even more!”
“Who said you were killed by us? No, you were the unfortunate victim of a tragic accident. Your cabbie you see, lost the control of his car and fell in the Thames. All my brother had to do was to change the license plate and an old footage becomes the last recording of your life! So you see, your Sherlock is in no state to do any sleuthing of any sort, too occupied to mourn you. My spies reported to me the great detective is completely broken by your death and has not left 221B since.”
“You WHAT ????” John shouted, “How could you… Sherlock… He won’t buy it!”
“Well, if he indeed begins to investigate your demise too soon, we are not against using violence. You won’t be there to be his guard dog after all.”
John’s stomach dropped. How dare they threaten Sherlock! And the thing was, it was a likely scenario. He could picture Sherlock running someplace without a thought about his own safety and falling in a trap, being hurt… maybe even being killed…
Nope. Not an option.
John closed his eyes to try and stop the flow of anguish the mere idea of Sherlock being in danger had provoked. It was his job to make sure the detective stayed safe.
Cold anger slowly replaced the fear. Captain Watson knew how to use it to trigger an adrenaline shot. Anger was a very useful tool he had learned to use in a fight.
When he opened his eyes again, he was ready. Henry Garrideb, not so much.
Ten minutes later, John was running outside the building, one shoulder dislocated but a small price to pay to break free from his ropes. He was after all in better shape than Henry, actually unconscious on the floor. The man would be in need of medical attention but it really wasn’t his priority.
When John finally arrived at the flat, he climbed the stairs shouting, “Sherlock !”. But he froze when he opened the door of the living room.
It was… the apocalypse. All the furniture was all over the place. The table was broken as if it had been thrown against the wall. What the hell had happened? Who could have ransacked the place? Why? The Garrideb had no reason to...
“Sherlock? Where are you? Are you okay?” Worry had returned with a vengeance and John ran to the bedroom, hoping to find the detective.
“Sherlock?” The bedroom was in the same state as the rest of the flat, the bed upside down, not a stick of furniture having been spared. In the chaos, John almost didn’t see the man curled up in one of the corner of the room.
“Sherlock?” John tried again, more quietly, wondering if maybe the man had been attacked. “Sherlock? Are you okay? It’s me, John, I am coming to you. Sherlock?”
When John finally got closer, he could see that Sherlock had curled up, head against his knees, hands in his hair, pulling hard.
He was muttering so quietly John didn’t understand immediately. “John, John, John, dead, your fault, your fault he’s dead, John.”
“No, no, no, Sherlock, I’m not dead, I’m here!”
“Don’t listen, just your mind tricking you, John is dead… dead...dead. He left me.” Sherlock was keeping his eyes shut and John felt like his heart was breaking at the sight of his despair.
“Sherlock, I am here, I promise it’s me. I am going to touch you, okay, don’t… don’t be afraid. It’s me. John. ”
John tentatively put his hand on Sherlock’s, trying to ease the hard pulling on his hair.
At the touch, Sherlock violently jerked away, his eyes blown open.
“What! What are you!”
“Sherlock, it’s me. I promise it’s me, John. Please.”
A joyless laugh escaped the tall man’s mouth, “My god, I am so out of it I am hallucinating John!”
“Sherlock! Look at me! Deduce, you great idiot!” John shouted with an hint of Captain Watson in his voice.
That seemed to shut the detective long enough to enable him to do it.
“You were held captive, you dislocated your shoulder to escape. Are you… Are you really here? I saw… I saw you…”
For the first time, John watched the great man failing to finish a sentence because it had to do with death and John.
Suddenly Sherlock shouted, “Mrs Hudson !!!!!”
“What…?” John tried to ask, when the old landlady promptly came into the room.
“Sherlock! What did you do to the place! I’m warning you, young man, I’m adding the price of the furniture onto your rent !”
“Mrs Hudson! Do you see John?” He asked violently, apparently trying not to shake her but clearly on the verge of failing.
“Of course I see him. I have perfect eyesight for my age!”
“You see him, you can actually see him. It’s not John from my mind palace. John is actually here. John is not dead. John!”
The despair in the tall man face finally lifted and suddenly John was being hugged.
“John!” Sherlock cried. His shoulder wasn’t exactly enjoying all the squeezing, but John couldn’t care less. He had an armful of the lanky detective, he was in paradise. Mrs Hudson, bless her, left them, although not without making some terrible innuendos first.
But Sherlock must have perceived something because suddenly he pulled back.
“John! You’re hurt!”
“Sherlock, calm down. It’s just dislocated. I will need your help to put it back in its socket.” John tried to reassure his friend who was frantically checking him everywhere he could put his hands on. If Sherlock wasn’t so clearly distressed, John would have actually enjoyed it.
After resetting his shoulder, Sherlock was still obviously distressed. John would never had thought such emotionalism laid hidden beyond the cold mask he wore most of the time. Watching the man’s emotions about his death awoke a hope John had believed buried.
“Sherlock, I am okay. See, I can move my arm.”
“John, you should be angry. Why are you not angry?”
“Angry? Why should I be angry at you?”
“Oh John, are you truly an idiot? I should have been able to deduce there was something wrong with that footage. I let emotion blind me! I can already hear Mycroft, Caring is not an advantage, it’s found on the losing side! John, I let my feelings for you control me and I let you down. I didn’t save you. You could have died. Really died! And it would have been my fault!”
Sherlock finally shut up, out of breath.
“Feelings? For me ?” John’s heart had nearly stopped at Sherlock’s little speech and was now about to jump out of his chest.
“Yes, John. Are you deaf?”
“Oh. Oh, you wonderful man!”
John took matters in his own hands. Literally. And pulled the tall man down to kiss him!
“You, my beautiful man, are the only one who can manage a love confession and an insult at the same time and still be successful!” John gleefully laughed at the flabbergasted face between his hands.
“Confession? Oh.” And the detective flushed red at the realisation, making John laugh even more.
“Unintentional confession it seems! But Sherlock, you were wrong.”
“Wrong?” There were so many emotions battling on Sherlock’s face, worry and affronted were the most obvious.
“Yes, love. Caring for you, wanting to protect you gave me the… incentive to free myself to find you. So you see. Sentiment. Not always on the losing side. Because I am feeling lots of things, but not losing. Definitely not losing. But you will have to make a choice, Sherlock. Do you want this for us?” John finished on a serious tone.
“Love? Me? You?”
“I hope I haven’t broken you, not a complete sentence yet.” John tried to joke, feeling more and more exposed and worried about the man’s reaction. After all, the detective could still not want a relationship with him. Simple John.
“Don’t be ridiculous! Of course I want you! I can’t accept a reality where you’re not beside me; look what I have done to the place I think about as home!” Sherlock said, interrupting John’s silent self-doubt. “It’s not home anymore if you’re not here! You! You are the one who should be thinking, are you sure John? I am me. I am dangerous to be around”
“And yet, here I am.”
John put once more his hands on the lovely face, but much more carefully, almost reverently, “Sherlock, you are the greatest man I have ever known, and I love you. I don’t need safe. I need you. All I ask is your promise that you will always try your hardest to come back to me, as I promise you the same.”
“Yes.”
There weren’t many other words after that. Their mouths much more interested in knowing each other intimately.
John didn’t know how long they kept kissing and kissing. Some of the kisses were full of passion and hunger, others were soft and reassuring.
At some point, they ended up in John’s bed, the only place Sherlock hadn’t ransacked in his rage and grief.
They finally slept, holding tightly to each other, both needing the reassurance.
Sherlock was the first to wake up, the infuriating git! He had a serious look on his face, betraying some hard thinking process.
“What are you thinking about so hard so early in the morning?” John asked, not without warmth.
“You. What you said. Yesterday. Hum… it sounded awfully like a …. proposal.” Sherlock finally explained.
“Yes.”
“Yes?”
“Yes.”