A/N v.2: The Purge continues...
So... my second Sherlock fic. :D The quality in this one...sucks. You can tell when you reach the kiss. This was written as a commish fic for my friend, who I'll call Des. Des asked for a fic where Sherlock was in trouble, and John had to come help him, as usually John's the one in trouble and Sherlock helps him. So this is the fic born from that prompt. I hope you like it, Des!
Reviews would be lovely. I really want to write this pairing more in the future, and reviews would help me figure out how to fix them. Also, the big huge deduction scene in this... Yeah, tell me how it works? Thanks. :) Again, though, I'm not a review slut. I won't threaten to not post fics because I didn't get reviews. So no obligations. :)
Speaking about other fics... I HAZ A GOAL. I want to get 40 fics published by the end of summer if I can, but definitely 50 by the end of the year. This makes 23, and I have another in the works. So only 16 more to go. :D Yay! I'll post major milestones in my fics when I reach them. :)
So yeah. Enjoy Help Wanted!
DISCLAIMER: I do NOT own these characters. Or the franchise. Or any references. Those are Moffat's and Gatiss's. If they were mine, the series would be inappropriate for minors. I just borrow them and return them in almost as good condition.
Sherlock stared balefully at the gun pointed at his temple. "Is all this really necessary?" he complained, referring to not only the gun but to being bound to a chair and guarded by several skulking, muscular men. "After all, this is just an assassin's brotherhood. Hardly a 6."
The leader of the guards snarled at him. "Quiet, prisoner. The boss'll be out to deal with you in a minute."
"Lies," Sherlock sighed. "Your leader is in Paris, fixing the botched assassination attempt on the Duke of Kensington, and won't be back for another week. In the meantime, you plan to simply keep me here, scared into submission."
"You little bastard!" the guard growled. "How the bloody hell did you—"
"Simple," Sherlock drawled. "I see your map on the wall, with the multiple colored pins placed on it. Clearly, it is color-coded. I assume red means alive and yellow means dead, as there was a murder in Cornwall a week ago, which has been marked with a yellow pin. Next, look at the letter pinned to the wall. The make is clearly Parisian; I've made a study of such things. The shaky writing indicates one of three things: the writer is angry, insecure, or afraid. If the writer was angry, the writing would be heavier, as the pen would have been pressed more firmly to the paper. If the writer was insecure, the writing would smaller, as though hiding. So fear, then. Look once more at the letter. Why a letter and not an email? Because the sender thinks that an email can be intercepted too easily, what with the increased hacking and so forth nowadays. A confidential matter, perhaps? With your sort, that can only be a 'mission.' Combined with the fear, we can conclude that a Parisian mission has gone wrong, and the man in charge of the assassination has written to your leader. How do I know that? The letter is addressed to him. That means this is an assassination of great importance. The only person of importance in Paris at the moment is the Duke of Kensington, who is about to cause a scandal by revealing the name of some Colonel's illegitimate child by such and such housewife. Such tripe. I assume you were hired by the Colonel to silence the Duke. As for knowing your leader would be in Paris for another week, that bit's easy. I saw the itinerary pinned next to the leader." Sherlock smirked at the dumbfounded expressions on the guards' faces.
The guards regarded him with awe. "That was bloody brilliant," one said.
"Yes, it was," Sherlock agreed. "Now, if you'll excuse me, I do believe that's my man John bursting through the door. Hello John, how's your day been?"
"Just fine, thanks," John said, grunting as he took out two of the guards by hitting them on the heads with the butt of his gun. "How do you manage to get into these situations?" He neatly sidestepped another guard and then turned around and kneed him in the groin.
Suddenly, the man holding the gun to Sherlock's head regained his senses. "'Ey, nobody move! One step, an' Oi blow 'is 'ead off!"
The room fell silent. Then John brought his gun up. "Oh, for God's sake," he sighed as he shot the guard in the chest. Turning, he kneed the last man in the stomach, then cracked the back of the man's head with his gun.
John straightened up and walked to Sherlock. "How do you manage to get into these situations?" he asked again as he untied the ropes that bound Sherlock to the chair.
But Sherlock wasn't paying attention. "You looked so beautiful when you were defending me," he murmured, enraptured.
John looked at Sherlock nervously. "Sherlock…."
John, come here," Sherlock said, looking at John with a strange gleam in his eyes. Warily, John leaned forward.
"Sherlock, are you sure you're—umpf!" The rest of his sentence died as Sherlock captured his lips with his own. When John made no move to pull away from the kiss, Sherlock deepened it. To his surprise, John began kissing back.
Sherlock finally broke the kiss a minute later, both men gasping for air.
"How long?" John finally aked.
"How long have you known?"
"Known what?" Sherlock frowned, disliking being kept in the dark.
"You mean you didn't know?" John laughed a little. "The great Sherlock Holmes had no idea that someone liked him. Completely ignorant in matters that deal with emotions. You do realize you're just supporting the rumors that you're a cyborg with no heart?"
Sherlock wasn't pouting. Sherlock never pouted. Pouting was a despicable thing. His lower lip just wanted to stick out a bit, that's all. "Come on, John," he said, ignoring John's comment. He stood up and stalked out of the room.
"Only you, Sherlock," John chuckled, and followed the taller man.