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About Deviant Member K-chow PalalumpskiFemale/United States Recent Activity
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I know I'm not the best artist in the world. In fact I'm pretty close to sucking. But please don't hate because I'm working on getting better...even if it's not really working XD

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One thing you'll notice about me is that I have a variety of favorites. Anything related to the Jonas Brothers or Twilight is from when I was a fanatic. I can't bear to part with them because I still have a weird soft spot for the stuff, even though I don't like it anymore.

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WARNING: This story will contain mature themes including male on male sex, violence, and swearing. If you don't like those things then this story is not for you.

Please read the AN at the bottom :D

*~~~*

The next few days were spent in a combination of planning, preparing, and worrying for Sherlock. They had everything just about set for their trap from exactly what John would wear to hide the wire and bulletproof vest, to the basics of what he would say during their 'fight'. Sherlock was getting very anxious, however, the day before they were to execute their place. He paced the flat, played loud, cat-screech-sounding notes on his violin, and started experiments that never got finished, leaving the chemicals wherever. And he was clingy. Very clingy. He rarely let John stray even one room away from him, as if he would suddenly drop dead if Sherlock couldn't see him anymore.

This, of course, started to get to John after the first hour. "Sherlock!" he huffed in irritation the third time that the man followed him into the kitchen when he went to refresh his cup of coffee. "Please, go back to the sitting room and just...sit. You're driving me up the wall." While he understood very well why Sherlock was acting this way it didn't make it any less bothersome.

Sherlock pursed his lips, wanting to protest, but if John was already getting testy then that was only likely to lead to an argument. Besides, John was right, he was being ridiculous. He wasn't going to just disappear if there was a wall between them. Hopefully. He moved back into the living room, though he had too much energy to sit, and picked up his violin instead. Everything came out sounding like screams of bloody murder.

John groaned, setting the coffee pot down. "Sherlock," he sighed, marching back into the room and standing in front of the other man. "Put the violin down. Stop thinking. Sit. Or at this rate, we're definitely not going to have to fake the fight."

Sherlock stopped playing but didn't put the violin down, fingers clenching and unclenching around the neck and bow. "I can't sit. I can't just stop thinking, you know that." He dropped the instrument unceremoniously into a chair and started to pace. "Where are my cigarettes?"

"You are absolutely not allowed to smoke," John said, moving to sit down in his chair, as any other spot in the living room would be in Sherlock's path. "There's a fresh box of patches in the medicine cabinet."

"Patches don't do anything anymore," Sherlock retorted, stopping and pulling up his sleeve to show he was already wearing four.

John's lips pulled down into a frown. "First of all, that's probably why you're so worked up, that's way too much nicotine. Secondly, I keep telling you it's going to be fine. You know that. We've planned it all out so there's no way I'm can get hurt. I promise, I'll be fine. Lestrade's made sure of it."

This didn't seem to reassure the taller at all. "Nothing is guaranteed and I don't need to remind you why I'm acting this way." He then spun on his heel and continued his pacing, mind whirling with scenario upon scenario of how things could go wrong. This was a horrible idea, why had he ever agreed to it?

"Sherlock." John made a frustrated sound and pushed himself up again. "Sherlock!" He grabbed the man's arm and spun him around so they were face-to-face, his eyes firm as they held the detective's gaze. "Listen to me, Sherlock Holmes. I am going to be fine."

Sherlock looked down at John, into the dark, calming blue, and while he was still feeling like ripping his hair out, he relaxed slightly. His leaned down a little, forehead touching John's. "I'm sorry. But...you know..." He wound his arms around his husband's waist.

"I know," John assured him, automatically returning the embrace and pressing close. "I know. But I'm going to be okay. I won't let him hurt me again, and neither will you, or Lestrade, or Mycroft. Everything's going to be fine, and then we'll be done with Moriarty forever."

Sherlock nodded. He wasn't at all convinced, because there were just too many possibilities for things to go wrong, but for now it would have to be enough to put him at ease. His hold on John tightened. "Yes. The world will finally be rid of that odious man, and we'll be free."

John smiled and gave him a soft kiss on the lips. "Yes. Free to have our happy ending," he said.

For a moment, they were silent, just holding each other, as if this might be their last chance to do so. Then Sherlock spoke, pulling back enough to look down into John's face again. "I think it's obvious that I'm nowhere near ready for this...But are you?"

John took a deep, steadying breath. "Yes," he said firmly, decisively. "Yes, I am absolutely ready."

"I suppose that's a good thing. One of us needs to be," Sherlock said, examining John's face. Such bravery, such determination. He always admired that; the world was just another battlefield and John was always ready for the next challenge.

"You'll be okay, too," John said, smiling a little, and reaching up to brush back a few curls from Sherlock's face. "And remember, we don't take offence to anything the other says while we're arguing."

"Right." Sherlock nodded once. "Because it's just for show and we're supposed to be vicious."

"Exactly," John chuckled. "And I swear, I don't mean a word of it." He gave him another peck on the cheek, gentle and loving.

Sherlock grinned a little. He still got a warm prickle on his skin wherever John kissed him. "I know," he said. "Don't worry, I'm quite used to verbal assaults. I've learned to not let it get to me."

"Good." John hugged Sherlock tightly, reluctant to let him go, when he knew what would soon transpire. John was putting himself in the thick of things. But he was willing to risk it all if it meant getting rid of Moriarty, putting Sherlock's mind at ease, and giving them hope for a peaceful future.

I.:.O.:.U

The next day they acted as normally as possible. Perhaps even a bit too normal. The only thing out of line of their normal routine was John's putting on some additional garments and wiring under his normal clothes (this he did in the bathroom, where there were no windows to be seen from). Otherwise, there was nothing suspicious about their activity. They went out to dinner, Sherlock trying to ignore the fact that they would soon be screaming at each other (doing it in public was the best place to be sure that Moriarty would see). It was somewhat surreal, and Sherlock was barely holding his composure for all his nerves.

John kept a firm grip on Sherlock's hand throughout dinner, reaching across the table, twisting their fingers together. He desperately hoped things would turn out the way they were supposed to, that everything would go according to plan, but he had to face the reality that this was, possibly, the last moment they would ever be spending together. There was a chance John wouldn't make it through this, or even a chance that Sherlock might die. They were making a leap of faith. For all the reassurance he had given Sherlock, it was hard to believe those words himself.

After a reasonable amount of time, he gave Sherlock's hand one last squeeze, then released. The silent profession of love and the attempt of reassurance in that squeeze was not lost on Sherlock. But it didn't really help when he was impossibly worried still and scared. They had reached the cue in their conversation to begin the argument, and that meant now there was no going back. It was kill Moriarty or die trying.

"I can't believe you're taking another case," John began. "You know, when I agreed to marry you, I thought, stupidly I guess, that we might actually be spending some time together."

Sherlock kept his face impassive, hiding the torrent of emotions inside. "We never agreed that I would stop taking cases. That has always been a part of me and I was under the impression that you understood that."

"I do understand that," John huffed, playing off his frustration well, because deep down, it had some base in reality. "But you go running off at all hours of the night, and you don't sleep or eat or talk for days at a time, and you leave me to trail behind you like some helpless puppy, and it's irritating."

Sherlock kept his demeanor cold, like he used to. It was actually quite easy to slip back into. His defence mode naturally kicked in like it always had when someone started yelling at him. "Isn't that how it's always been? It's only bothering you now because you let your sentiment get in the way."

"Well, excuse me for feeling sentiment toward my husband!" John said, raising his voice now. "I just want to spend a bit more time with you. You, and not the dead bodies you're examining. You're married to me now, not your work!"

"You knew what you were getting into so you can't blame me for going on as usual." Sherlock shrugged, keeping calm in spite of John's 'rising anger'.

"Yes, I can," John barked. "I can blame you for it. I can blame you for all of it. I can blame you for every bad thing that's ever happened to me because of your stupid obsession with these cases, with being right all the time and showing off and proving to everyone just how damn clever you are!" He stood. Saying these words made him feel sick to his stomach. Sherlock already blamed himself enough, John knew, and he didn't want to be saying these things, because they weren't true. None of it was Sherlock's fault. But it had to be believable...

For just a split second, just because it was John's voice saying those things and because he could see John saying them and he looked so convincing, Sherlock felt it. A sting in his heart, even though he knew these words were planned and that John didn't mean them. Anyone else saying such things to him would have had no effect, but John...it hurt. But as quickly as he felt it, he could also feel his walls building, the defence that was programmed into his brain kicking in automatically to protect him. He lifted his chin in defiance and his next words came too easily. "Again, you knew how I was, how I am, and you still agreed to marry me. I can't help that you're an idiot for letting yourself get involved with me."

"And there you go, calling me an idiot again!" John cried. "Honestly, Sherlock, if I'm such an idiot, why the bloody hell did you agree to marry me? It's clear you don't think very highly of me, or consider me a priority! Why did you ever think this might work out between us?"

Sherlock hated this, every second of it. He wanted to call the whole thing off and hug John and take it all back. But he didn't have a choice. It was time for the clincher. "If you're so unhappy then go. I'm not going to stop you."

John clenched his fingers into trembling fists. It's not real, he had to remind himself. They were acting. Both of them. They were bringing John's worst fears to life, but it was all an act. "As if I would want you to stop me!" he snapped. Violently, he pulled his wedding ring off of his finger and hurled it at Sherlock. Then he grabbed his cane, turned on his heel, and limped out of the restaurant as quickly as he could. That was it. They'd made a scene. They'd split up. And now John was out in the open, without Sherlock, and completely vulnerable. Just what Moriarty would want.

Sherlock easily caught the ring and watched John leave, face still just as stoic, just barely hiding the pain inside. Phase one complete. He closed his fingers tightly around the little gold band and stood up, walking out of the restaurant and ignoring the stares they had garnered with their performance. Yes, it was just a performance. So why did it feel like John had just ripped his heart out and crushed it underfoot? He barely made it to the cab that Mycroft arranged to conveniently have in the area before tears started to fall.

I.:.O.:.U

In the opposite direction, a black car with tinted windows rolled up next to John. The back window opened just a slit, enough for a voice to slip out saying, "Helloooo, Johnny~.”

John froze where he stood. Even though he'd been expecting it, that voice still chilled him to the bone. And at the same time, it made him feel nothing but rage. Moriarty was the bane of his existence, the thorn in his side, the only thing that posed a threat to his and Sherlock's happiness, and if they didn't have a plan to stick too...After a moment of hesitation, John kept walking, saying nothing. Best not to jump into it and risk making him suspicious.

The car easily kept to John's speed. "Oh, is that any way to greet an old friend? How rude!"

"I'm definitely not in the mood," John said, scowling. His heart pounded. This moment could make or break their plan. Any moment could. Any move by John, or any word he said, ran the possibility that Jim would realise this was a set-up.

"Yes, I couldn't help but overhear your little spat. Dreadful business. I guess Sherly hasn't changed after all." Jim tutted a little. "Too bad. You do make a lovely couple!" The car stopped and the window rolled down further to reveal his face. "Feel like a little revenge?" he asked with a grin.

"Leave me alone," John said firmly. "Just because I'm pissed at Sherlock doesn't mean I'm going to team up with you for some sort of sick revenge. So go away. I'm not interested in your games."

"Oh...Still such a good boy even after all this time. How dull." Jim shrugged. "I didn't want to have to do this but if you're not going to cooperate..." He snapped his fingers and someone from an alley nearby dashed out and put a rag with chloroform over John's face.

John dropped his cane, and it clattered to the ground with finality. He struggled as best he could, but he was no match for his assailant's strength, and the chloroform overwhelmed him. His body slowly sagged as he lost consciousness. The man threw John into the back of the car, leaving his cane behind, and it took off.

I.:.O.:.U

John regained consciousness and immediately doubled over and retched, vomiting on the floor of the warehouse. How many times now had he had chloroform used on him to aid in his kidnapping? Certainly more than the average army doctor, and he wasn't even serving anymore.

Moriarty was sitting on a crate nearby, legs crossed and phone in hand. He looked over when he heard the sound of John getting sick and made a face. "Nuh uh, that will never do." He clapped once and a few men moved John over and cleaned up. "Don't want my suit to pick up the smell. It's brand new, Armani." He smoothed his lapels.

"Armani?" John managed to slur. He felt light-headed and his ears were ringing, but he had to fight the side effects of the chemical. He needed to be focused. "Thought you were a Westwood bloke? Either way, it doesn't suit you. You look hideous."

Jim frowned thoughtfully at that. "I like all designers! But Seb picked this out for me. Before your precious detective offed him." He sighed. "He never did have a good fashion sense."

"You don't seem very upset that he's gone," John said. He tried to move, only to find his wrists tied. He tugged unhappily at the bonds, for show, but he could tell that it was possible for him to untie himself. He'd have to work at it a little, but he had time anyway. He was supposed to stall to allow Sherlock and the others to catch up.

"I'm not foolish enough to have a heart. The people that work for me are disposable." Though something in Moriarty's face showed that he wasn't being completely honest. He giggled at John's struggling. "You should know better than that."

"You should know that you're wasting your time. Sherlock's not going to come and get me," John said. "Not after that fight. He doesn't care."

Jim tutted. "That's not what this text says." He waved the phone teasingly in front of himself, and then pocketed it.

John made a frustrated sound. Texting Moriarty hadn't been part of the plan, but he was sure Jim was well prepared anyway for Sherlock to come, with or without a heads up. "You're wearing this game out, you know" he said, trying to keep him busy. "The same thing, over and over. All you do is capture me and tie me up, or try to hurt me from a distance. Too much of a coward to do it up close and personal, aren't you?"

All the joking died from Jim's features and he took a few long strides till he was right in John's face. "You don't want me to be up close and personal," he said, dangerously low. "You wouldn't like it."

"What, as if I like it now?" John snarled, not fazed. "Because believe me, I don't."

Jim's demeanor easily returned to giddy. "I'm sorry, I thought we were having fun! I'm a terrible host. Bad Jim!" He giggled and went back to the crate and sat delicately. Checking his watch, shook his head. "Sherly's taking his time. Maybe he doesn't care after all. Wouldn't that be a sad end to the story."

"There is no story, Moriarty," John said. "Just you and your twisted mind. You don't even have a guarantee that Sherlock is coming. That text could have been a trick, making you think he's on his way when really, he has no interest in saving me. I'm not of any use to you as bait anymore, so why don't you let me go."

Jim shook his head. "A nice attempt at logic, Johnny, but no can do. You really don't know your own husband, do you? No wonder your relationship is failing~," he sang. "If there's one thing I know about Sherlock, it's that when it comes to his favourite toy, he's predictable. He'll be here. And I've arranged a little welcoming party outside so we'll know when he's coming."

"Welcoming party?" John echoed. "What do you mean?"

Jim grinned like the madman he was. "You'll like this one. If he can get past the security outside, I've got a few surprise guests inside who have been told to capture him if they see him, bring him in here, and then force him to watch me kill you." He pulled out a gun that had been in his pocket and aimed it at John's head. "And you said I never do anything myself."

"As if I've never had a gun to my head before," John muttered. At least Lestrade and the others had an idea of what awaited them when they got there, thanks to his wire. "So, what if Sherlock really doesn't come? Kill me anyway?"

"Hmm...Yes, I think so. If he doesn't come, which I'm sure he will, and then he finds out that I broke his toy, I think he'll feel bad enough to come to me on his own." Jim smiled brightly. "But for now, all we can do is wait. Though this is getting a little tedious. Maybe I'll just do it now and get it over with." He clicked off the safety.

John tensed in his seat. This was bad. Very bad. Typically, he would egg Moriarty on, encourage him, just to piss him off, but in this case, Moriarty actually seemed to be reaching the end of his game. If he pushed it too far he would be dead before Sherlock would get there, and it would ruin everything. But his silence would seem suspicious. His thoughts came to a grinding halt. What was he supposed to do...?

"What's wrong, Mr. Chatterbox? Nothing more to say? Well, that's boring." Jim twirled the gun around his finger. "Alright, how about this. I'll give Sherly ten minutes. If he doesn't show up...Well, you know the rest."

John held his breath. Ten minutes. Certainly Lestrade had heard. They knew the deadline. Hopefully, Moriarty wasn't feeling changeable.

I.:.O.:.U

The cab took Sherlock to where Mycroft, Lestrade, and a few other Yarders were in a surveillance van. The detective wiped at his eyes and stepped out of the cab, trying to get a hold of himself before having to face them. His brother glanced at him as he climbed into the van, and offered him a pack of cigarettes and a lighter. Naturally, he didn't hesitate to begin chaining them.

After hearing the sound of a scuffle through John's wire, and seeing his phone's GPS signal start to move on the map, they knew that Moriarty had taken the bait. They waited a few minutes to give a head start, and then made their way towards the location, not wanting to be spotted following them. The van stopped outside of a different abandoned warehouse, the kind of place it seemed Moriarty enjoyed doing his business these days.

Sherlock wanted to charge in as soon as they arrived, but Lestrade held up a hand to stop him. Instead, he signaled to his men to go out first, so that they could take out any security that Moriarty had planted around the outside of the building. The detective could only wait anxiously, sucking in more tar than he must have ever done in one day before.

Another few minutes, and his phone buzzed with a message.

'Tsk tsk, Sherlock. You shouldn't leave your things lying around. xJM'

Sherlock's reply was rash and immediate.

'I swear on my life, if you touch one hair on his head I will destroy you.'

Then it was a game of waiting. There was silence on John's mic, save for the occasional command from their favourite consulting criminal, which meant that for the time being, John was likely unconscious. By the time they heard the sound of him vomiting, Sherlock was nearly done with his pack of cigarettes.

"John won't be happy when he smells the smoke on you," Lestrade pointed out, only earning a glare in response. Sherlock purposely took a long drag before letting it out, relishing in the familiar feeling that he had been craving for days now.

"When can we go in?" he asked impatiently.

"We have to wait for signal that it's all clear. Then we can get inside and find the sniper or whoever and disarm him." Lestrade turned up the volume of the speaker where John's feed was coming through. Just as Moriarty began to explain about his 'welcoming party'.

Sherlock and Mycroft both turned and listened as well, the horror clearly written on the former's face. "Dammit!" Lestrade cursed, grabbing his radio from his belt to tell his team to keep looking inside for more targets. As for Moriarty being the one who would pull the trigger...They hadn't been counting on him planning to get his hands dirty. A hidden sniper was one thing, but sneaking up on Moriarty himself would be much more challenging. How could they disarm him?

It was the last straw for Sherlock. He had to get in there and do this himself. No one else would be a match for Jim. "Let me know when they clear out the extras. I'm going."

"Sherlock," Greg said in a warning tone. "One wrong move..."

Sherlock took a deep breath and bowed his head. He'd already decided what he was going to do if they failed. "One wrong move, and I'll be firing two bullets."

Greg's eyes widened and he shared a look with Mycroft. "We wouldn't let you," he said sharply. "Don't even say that. John wouldn't want that, and you know it." But just then he heard Moriarty give the ten minute countdown. "I don't want to hear any more about this," he said, before rushing off to set a timer and inform the others.

Mycroft, however, stayed where he was and fixed Sherlock with stern gaze, his normally indifferent exterior breaking. "You're being irrational."

"Oh, and I'm sure you're so very happy that you've been proven right once again. But have no idea what it's like!" Sherlock snapped at him. "You don't know what it's like to care about someone so much that you can't imagine life without them, so don't try to tell me that I'm being irrational!"

Mycroft held his gaze, silently, calmly, trying to show him through his eyes how wrong he was. Sherlock's eyes opened just a fraction, reading the truth in his expression, and then suddenly it dawned on him. He swallowed thickly, and averted his eyes.

"Sherlock, we're clear," Lestrade said, grabbing his belt and putting his gun in its holster. He glanced at the timer. Six minutes. It would take three to get in there, and a few more to assess the situation. "Let's go."

Sherlock didn't look up as he moved to follow Lestrade out of the van.

I.:.O.:.U

Moriarty glanced at his watch again, checking to see how much time he had left before he could be naughty. "Almost halfway done. How are you holding up, Johnny boy?"

"Fine, Jim," John drawled back. In reality, his heart was pounding against his ribcage. Would Sherlock make it in time? Would the police be able to handle Moriarty's henchmen? Would Lestrade be able to disarm his potential murderer before he could shoot? He had to get that stupid rope undone just in case. He'd been working at it the whole time, and he felt pretty close.

"Oh good~!" Jim clapped. "We don't have much time left now. Just want to make sure you're comfortable."

"Oh, yes," John said. "So comfortable. I could take a nap." He glared at the man.

"You wouldn't want to fall asleep now! There's only two minutes left til the show!" Jim stepped closer and gave his cheek a little pinch.

John pulled back sharply, though he couldn't go anywhere near far enough. "Don't touch me!" he snapped.

"Oooh feisty!" Jim shook his head looking a little sad. "It's quite a shame that you played for the other team. I think we could have been great friends." Looking at his watch again he grinned. "Too bad for you. I guess Sherlock doesn't love you after all..."

I.:.O.:.U

Greg took the lead as they crept inside, Sherlock right behind, followed by a few of his men. While the inside was mostly one big room, there were plenty of old scraps of wood, boxes, crates, and other various piles of trash that gave them cover. The DI signaled for them all to group behind a stack of pallets, and he and Sherlock peered around the corner.

The situation was obvious and dire. Moriarty was a few metres away, his gun in hand, the safety off. He could shoot point-blank in a split second. Sherlock's heart dropped into the stomach. They didn't have any time to spare. "Why don't you just shoot him in head?" he hissed into Lestrade's ear.

"I'm a good marksman, Sherlock," Greg whispered back. "But there's no guarantee I'll make the shot." John would make it, he thought. John would never miss. He'd never said anything, but he knew he was the one who shot that cabbie. But of course, John wasn't available at the moment. "If I don't make the shot, that's it. John's dead."

Sherlock winced at the 'd' word. "Well, someone has to do something or he's going to be...that anyway." He looked around them, trying to come up with a plan. "I can distract him if I climb on those crates over there. Then you can get closer and make the shot."

Greg scanned the room, then gave a quick nod. Right now it was their best plan. "Alright," he said softly. "Go." He readied his gun.

Sherlock crawled over to a pile of crates that was to Jim's side and climbed to the top. With him turned that way, Lestrade could sneak around the other way and get him from behind. By the time he was at the top, their ten minutes had nearly run out, and he heard Moriarty's twisted voice telling that lie. He couldn't stop himself from being dramatic. "What would you know about love anyway, Jim?" he called from his perch at the peak of the pile.

Jim whipped around just as he had hoped. "Why if it isn't the great Sherlock Holmes! A bit late, don't you think?" John looked up as well, and relief flooded him. He worked double time at getting the knots undone, Moriarty now unable to see his hands moving.

"As long as John's alive, I'm not late."

Jim giggled. "Well, no. But you might find that someone else is quite soon..." He moved his arm to point the gun at John again, and the doctor froze. Sherlock's expression broke for a moment into panic, though he didn't dare to look at Lestrade and see where he was, for fear of giving away his position. Instead, he quickly locked eyes with John, begging him silently to stall.

His husband got the message. "That's a horrible pun," John blurted. "Sherlock may be a complete dick all the time, but at least he can come up with better ways of insulting people. He's more clever than you."

"That really hurts, John. Just when I thought we were getting closer." Jim put a hand over his chest, feigning insult. "Better watch what you say, or I might just have to take out my pain on you."

"Are you getting bored already?" Sherlock cut in, hoping he didn't sound too desperate to keep him talking. "I just got here. I thought we'd play a while longer."

"Well, I did have to wait for you for a while," the criminal said with a little pout. "I don't know if I feel like playing anymore."

"I think you're just afraid you'll lose," John suggested darkly, his glare fierce and hateful.

Just as the man opened his mouth to reply, there was a thud, and all of them turned to see Greg on the ground, gun out of his reach, and a man above him. He hoisted him up by the arms and dragged the stumbling and dizzy policeman out into the open.

"What's this? The good old Detective Inspector. Ah, Sherlock, I underestimated you!" Moriarty wagged a finger at the detective. "But now I see what's been going on. You almost had me fooled! I guess John was right; you are more clever." Jim turned back around, face stoic, and pointed the gun at Sherlock. "I'm sorry. I just can't have that."

Sherlock suddenly felt as a heavy weight had been placed on his shoulders. Lestrade's shot was their absolute last hope, and now even that was gone. There was only one way they could end this. If he died, if Moriarty made sure he won this time, John would be safe. Along with Lestrade and everyone else that he would only grudgingly admit to caring about. He bowed his head and took a deep breath. His only hope was that John would be alright without him again.

But John was not about to let Sherlock take the fall, not again. He'd finally, finally, managed to get those ropes undone and with a great leap he was out of the chair and tackling Moriarty to the ground. The surprise attack caused the Jim to pull the trigger, the bullet whizzing through the hair and grazing Sherlock's ear. This in turn brought the rest of Lestrade's team out from their hiding places, and the man himself elbowed his captor in the ribs and grabbed his radio to call in backup.

It was all a flurry of movement and sound, but once the Yarders had their guns aimed at the criminals, Moriarty let out a laugh. "Well, this is a surprise!" He grinned up at John. "Excellent work, Johnny boy!" John just glared, and so he turned his head to look at Sherlock. "I'm gonna miss our little game, Sherly. It was fun while it lasted." The remainder of Lestrade's team burst in then and handcuffed Jim and the other man at gunpoint, pulling them away.

Sherlock had been still through most of this, blood pouring from the hole in his ear, but he hardly felt the pain. John had done it! His wonderful, perfect John had managed to somehow defy everything and save the day, the most spectacular bit of serendipity he'd ever been fortunate enough to have. He jumped down the crates and ran to him once Moriarty had been taken away, throwing his arms around his darling husband. "You're amazing! Fantastic! I love you so much! I'm sorry about everything I said, you know I didn't mean it. I love you." He punctuated each sentence with a kiss.

"Mmmf, Sherlock!" John managed between kisses. He pushed the man back, his hand going quickly to his ear. "Damn it, Sherlock!" His eyes shone with worry, and lingering fear, and also complete and utter relief.

Sherlock was almost crying at this point, the tears pooling in his lower lids. But he had a huge smile on his face. "Who cares about that? It's easily fixable." He grabbed him by the shoulders. "We're finally safe!"

"We will be," John said, trying very hard not to smile. "Just as soon as you're not bleeding." He took Sherlock by the arm, shaky as the adrenaline already was starting to wear off. "Come on. Let's get you outside so I can patch you up, yeah? You great idiot." They stood and moved to start to find their way out of the building, both of them for the first time in a long time letting their guard down.

And that's when the explosives went off.
I O U Much More (Post-Reich) Chapter 13
You guys, I've spent at least three hours working on this chapter. You better like it >:[ (jk, I'm not forcing you to like anything :XD: )

No, but seriously, I don't know if it's just that this chapter is so damn long or I just am not on my A-game because I'm feeling crappy, but this took me so much longer than it should have :XD: But I'm hoping you guys don't mind and that it was worth the effort in the end, because we've finally reached the climax! Just in case you were wondering, I did Jim for this chapter back when we were RPing. I don't know if I mentioned this previously, but me and my buddy had been switching off with him (she played him for the scene before the explosion at the club, I did this chapter). I hope I did a good enough job with his zany character ^^

Anyway, about the Ghostlock story, well...It's coming slowly :/ I think I need a small break, maybe just for a few weeks to catch up with things, get into a rhythm at school, and then I'll try to start posting again. I really want to get back to writing, because I also have an idea for a Cabinlock (don't know if any of you are into Cabin Pressure, but maybe some other people would be interested). But I have to first work on the Ghostlock because I promised that first! So yeah, possible small hiatus, I still have to think about it.

Other than that, I think I'm done for now! Please don't forget to follow sxs-fanfics on tumblr for updates, and I'll see you guys next week!! SHOUT OUT TIME:
:iconcaptainsparkleships:

TvT It's okay. You'll always stick with me right?


SailorXStar as Sherlock
Kakurenbo as John

Sherlock and related character names belong to the BBC, Moftiss, and Sir ACD
Story belongs to SXS and Kakurenbo

Chapter 12: sailorxstar.deviantart.com/art… ~ Chapter 13: You're here! ~ Chapter 14: Coming soon
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WARNING: This story will contain mature themes including male on male sex, violence, and swearing. If you don't like those things then this story is not for you.

Please read the AN at the bottom :D

*~~~*

After a night of sleeping squished together in the tiny hospital bed, John was released with a clean bill of health, and the newlyweds returned to 221B once again. They could hardly get settled before Mycroft dropped by to bring them a pile of wedding gifts, assuring they'd already been screened by Scotland Yard, just in case. This, of course, wasn't good enough for Sherlock, and that afternoon he started sifting through the presents, checking each one with extreme care to be sure that there was no possibility that they were poisoned, booby trapped, or in any way dangerous.

John was still beat after the whole ordeal, but he wasn't sitting around, or letting Sherlock make him sit around. He was determined not to let his leg get soft, and so wanted to do everything he could for himself. He was making tea in the kitchen when he noticed the way that Sherlock was examining their gifts and he sighed. Hobbling into the living room, he leaned over the back of the man's chair and placed a gentle kiss on his cheek as he offered him a mug. "You need to relax," he advised. "Lestrade's already checked them once. I'm sure he didn't miss anything."

Sherlock accepted the drink but didn't stop his work. "You may put all your faith in the dear DI, but he is still an idiot. I am not taking any chances." He turned a strangely shaped package over in his hands slowly.

"Lestrade isn't an idiot, Sherlock," John scolded. "He does his best, and I'm sure he was very thorough with all of this. He doesn't want to see us hurt anymore than you do."

Sherlock rolled his eyes. "You know what I mean, though. You can never be too careful." Taking a gulp of his tea, he continued his inspection of the gifts. "So far none of these are dangerous, if you'd like to look at them yourself." He gestured to a small pile on one side.

John sighed, plopping down on the couch and reaching for the first item on the pile of gifts. "This is Moriarty isn't it?" he said quietly, after a long moment. "He told you you were getting soft, missing things, or something like that. That's why you're being so paranoid." It made sense, what with the way Sherlock had been acting in the hospital. "You can't let him get inside your head, Sherlock. It gives him control."

Sherlock's fingers tightened only just a hair around the gift he was examining. "I'm not letting him get to me. He's trying to kill you and he'll do it in any way that he thinks possible. Why shouldn't I be cautious?"

John ran a hand tiredly over his face, then took a long sip of his tea. "There is such a thing as overkill," he said, looking across at his husband. "And I'm sure between Mycroft's security and the support of the police that everything will be alright."

His words seemed to pass right through Sherlock as the man continued his inspection. He put the gift in his hand into the 'safe' pile and grabbed another, changing the subject. "Anything of interest? I haven't actually paid attention to what they are."

"Nothing you'd find very interesting," John said, deciding it was useless to try to change his mind. He'd take caution over Sherlock wishing he hadn't returned. "Your basic wedding gifts. New sets of dishes, towels...those sorts of things. Although, there's this is from Molly." He held up a book about parenting. "I think it's a hint that she wants us to get on with the adoption so she can babysit."

Sherlock peered over at the book for a moment before taking it from John. He put it on the bookshelf where he would see it and remember it later. "The sooner we finish this business with Moriarty, the sooner we can let Molly live out her dreams of parenting through our child."

John smiled, half-amused. He was too tired still to get angry thinking about Moriarty, and so let those emotions rest on his back burner for the moment. "You know, he's not the only thing that needs to change before we can allow a baby into our lives. You're going to have to clean up some of your experiments. This flat isn't very child-proof."

Sherlock frowned, looking around the flat. Besides the new chemistry set that he had gotten after the fire, there was also his and John's guns, and a refrigerator full of human body parts. Quite an abnormal setting for a childhood home. "I suppose you're right. It is a bit of a dangerous environment for a child to grow up in. Then again, we're dangerous parents to be raised by."

"They'll have less reason to think that if we don't make it seem like we're a living in a forensics lab. We're going to have to pass some sort of inspection before we're granted adoption rights," John pointed out. "So we need to make it at least reasonably safe, okay?"

Sherlock hummed in agreement. "I'll clean up, I promise." He grinned at his husband, then looked back down at the gift in his hands. "Hopefully they won't read your blog. Something tells me that it won't help our cause."

"Well, that's why we have Mycroft on our side," John reasoned. "I'm sure he'll be able to help."

Sherlock grimaced but John was right. Without Mycroft, there was no way that they'd ever be allowed to have a child, even if they cleaned the flat top to bottom and scored perfectly on the interview. After all, they had quite a reputation, it would be easy for the adoption agency to declare right off the bat that they were unfit, and refuse them a baby. So while they would try to do everything they could on their own merit, they would need the elder Holmes to help them the rest of the way.

John stood, setting the gifts that he'd looked at aside for the moment. "What do you want for dinner? Is there even anything edible in the fridge?"

"Not likely," Sherlock said. "Shall we order in?"

"Like always?" John chuckled. "Yeah." He grabbed his phone. "Although, that's going to have to change, too. We can't feed the kid take out all the time."

"Then I guess you'll have to learn to cook," Sherlock said with a smirk, not looking up from the new package he was holding.

"Oh?" John quirked an eyebrow as he dialed their favourite take out place. "And who says you won't be the one learning to cook?"

Sherlock shrugged. "It seems like it's more your area. I hardly even eat."

"That will have to change, as well," John huffed, now a bit less playful. "You can't be setting such a poor example for our son."

"You know I can't eat if I'm on a case," Sherlock said. "My energies are needed for more important things than digestion."

"You do realise that food gives you more energy?" John said, the logical man's words not making sense to him as a doctor. "You need to feed yourself, Sherlock. Really."

Sherlock tutted. "It's never worked that way for me." Seeing that John was getting upset, however, Sherlock amended his statement. "Don't worry, John. I know my limits."

"Sometimes I doubt that," John mumbled, thinking of the many times Sherlock found himself in over his head. "But all right. If you collapse, I won't hesitate to say I told you so."

"If I collapse, I know that you'll be there to catch me," Sherlock said with a wink. "Then say you told me so."

This made John pause and he let out an exasperated puff of air. "Yes, of course I'll be there to catch you. You're right. How could I not?" He shook his head. "I wish I had been before..."

"Be glad that you weren't. If you had then the whole plan would have been put to ruin and you would have died," Sherlock said, finally looking up and setting down the gift. He didn't know what he would have done if that had happened, and he didn't like to think about it. His face softened a little as he tried to push the thoughts away, and turned into a teasing grin. "Not to mention the fact that I might have crushed you what with my speed of falling and being a bit bigger than you."

"You're taller than me," John contradicted. "Not bigger. I weigh more than you. More muscle, you know. You're a bit scrawny." He smiled back with a twinkle in his eye.

Sherlock sniffed, pouting a little. "If I was so scrawny I wouldn't be able to carry you."

"I'm still stronger than you," John said. "I'm in military shape." Or he had been, before his limp had become a real and permanent thing.

Sherlock waved his hand dismissively. "Your military shape is deteriorating."

John opened his mouth to say something, but he found the playful edge had disappeared. He tried not to show it too much (and he was sort of rubbish at hiding it) but he was sensitive to his loss of strength, and the bit of flab that had appeared as of late. Which was only made worse when he thought about his damaged leg. But he supposed Sherlock wouldn't understand those sensitivities. "Right..." he muttered, moving to walk towards the kitchen so he could place their order.

Sherlock glanced over at John when the doctor's tone changed, and he saw the disgruntled look on his face. Oh. Maybe he'd said something not good. When John had hung up the phone, he stood, taking a few steps across the living room. "John?"

John didn't answer, still silently lamenting his physique, and this made the detective frown. Definitely said something wrong. Even though he was in touch with his feelings more, he still needed work on being sensitive to other people's. Moving all the way into the kitchen, Sherlock wrapped his arms around John from behind, chin on his shoulder. "What was it?"

The shorter man leaned back into the embrace without question, but he was still not one hundred percent appeased. "What was what?" he asked "What are you talking about?"

"I said something that bothered you," Sherlock said. "What was it?"

John sighed, wanting to brush it off, but also wanting to talk about it. He didn't want to hide things from Sherlock, even little things. "It's nothing. I know you didn't mean to upset me. I suppose I'm just a bit sensitive about having gotten, well...flabby."

Ah, of course. Sherlock would have kicked himself if he could. He knew John's pride was sensitive and he'd said such a blatant dig without thinking. "I'm sorry," Sherlock said, tightening his arms around John. "You're not flabby. Your body is just settling into this lifestyle because you haven't been getting regular exercise anymore. But you're still strong."

"I'm not happy with that, Sherlock," John grumbled, trying to twist around to face him. "I hate being so limited." He tapped the side of his bum leg. "I want to be in the kind of shape I used to be in."

Sherlock felt guilt in the pit of his stomach. It was his fault that John wasn't in shape anymore, inadvertently because of the three years he'd spent not chasing him anymore while he was gone, and more directly because of their run-in with Moran. He wouldn't say that out loud, though, knowing that would only make John mad. Instead he said, "I know, love. I wish I could fix it for you."

"Well, you can't, Sherlock," John said more sharply than he'd meant to. "No one can."

Sherlock was still for a moment before pulling away, a little stung. He let go of John and looked at the floor. "Right. I'm sorry." Everything he did only further served to mess John up, make him upset, or cause him stress. Sometimes he wondered why John put up with him, why he loved him.

His reaction, however, made John realise his mistake, and he turned fully so that he could face his husband. "God, no, Sherlock, no," he said hastily. Yes, he was the one who'd been hurt, but Sherlock was actually trying to make up for it, which was amazing progress, and he'd basically shot him down. "I'm sorry. I shouldn't have snapped."

Sherlock looked up shaking his head and smiling faintly. "No, it's true, and you have every right to be upset. I don't understand how you feel, so it must be frustrating when I act like I do."

"It's not that. I just have to adjust," John murmured, taking his both his hands. "I'm not used to being so...helpless. It's going to take some time, but it doesn't give me any right to be short with you."

"It's fine," Sherlock insisted, not really meeting his eye. This was part of why he'd avoided feelings so long, so that he could avoid feeling this useless emotional pain for stupid reasons. Things had been much easier before, although he'd never actually want to go back to that. "I'm sorry I got you upset in the first place." Just then there was a knock downstairs signaling their take out had arrived. Sherlock moved back from John and went down to get it without another word.

John watched him go and heaved another sigh. Sighing was becoming a familiar pastime. He grabbed his cane, unable to stand without it anymore, and limped to the kitchen to set the table.

Sherlock returned a moment later with the food and sat across from John, who had already taken his place. As he took each box from the bag, he sniffed them, looking for any sign that they had been tampered with. When it seemed there was no trace of anything wrong, he started to dish some out.

For a short period, they ate in silence, more tense than usual after their strained conversation. But John eventually broke through, because he wasn't going to let over-sensitivities ruin their first night home as a married couple. "Have you thought about how we're going to do it?" he asked, knowing Sherlock would catch on to what he was talking about. "I mean, he's already proven that he's impossible to find unless he wants to be found. And he's proven that he can pretty much kill any of us by wiggling his little finger."

Sherlock looked up from his plate, where he was toying around with the noodles, and shook his head. "I have thought about it but I have no solid ideas. I've been distracted." His eyes flashed to the ring on his finger but only for a second, not noticeable. "It's obvious that we can't find him. If only we could find a way to get him to come to us on our terms..." He took a bite and chewed thoughtfully, looking at the ceiling.

"I'd suggest offering myself up as bait, but I doubt you'd ever let me do that," John said, initially kidding. But the more he thought about it, the more it seemed like that could actually be a viable option for them. He was the number one target at the moment, it would be quite easy to draw the man to him. How else would they ever get a chance to take a strike at Moriarty unless they created the stakes?

Sherlock looked at John and could see the wheels turning in his head. Now he knew what it was like to be on the other side of one of his revelations. Only he knew exactly what John was thinking without having to pry it from him. "John, no. Never."

"Sherlock, it could work!" John said, leaning forward, putting his elbows on the table. "It could draw him out. And I would be fine. I'm sure I would."

"Absolutely not. You've already had too many accidental near death experiences. We don't need to purposefully create one. If anything went wrong..." Sherlock shook his head. "No."

"I don't see any other choices," John said, not heatedly but honestly. "We need to be able to control the situation, and it's the best idea we have at the moment."

Sherlock frowned. John did have a point but his life had been risked so many times already. And yet, if this could potentially finish Moriarty...He sighed, resigned. It went against every fibre of his being to voluntarily put John in danger, but it was what needed to be done. "We are going to take every precaution."

"Of course, Sherlock," John assured him, smiling in triumph that it had been so easy to make the detective change his mind. "I'll wear a bulletproof vest. I'll be wired. There'll be police officers. I promise, I'll be okay."

Sherlock nodded. He was beyond worried, beyond terrified, but maybe he wouldn't have to feel those things anymore if this worked. "Alright. Then let's come up with a plan."

"Right," John said, mind racing to brainstorm a strategy. "We should consult with Lestrade. He'll be able to put together a group of the best police men and get us the proper equipment."

"Obviously. And I suppose we should speak with Mycroft," Sherlock said grudgingly. He put his hands together beneath his chin, calm on the outside, but frantically visualising every possible negative outcome and how to prevent them on the inside. "We need to make it look unplanned. If he is even the tiniest bit suspicious it could all fall to ruin."

John grinned. "Out of everyone I know, Sherlock, I know you'll be able to manage it. You're going to win this game." He sat back, frowning thoughtfully. "We could stage a lovers' quarrel, maybe? I'm sure I could think of some convincingly angry things to say to you." He graced Sherlock with an amused smirk.

Sherlock matched his expression. "Out of everyone I know, no one has more reasons to have a shouting match with me than you, John."

John laughed lightly. "You know, it'll probably be nice to blow off a little steam pretending to shout at you. Even though we've done plenty of shouting since you came back, I'm still a little on edge."

"Hmph. Nice to see how loved I really am," Sherlock said, feigning hurt. "Just don't take it too far. Subtlety tends to speak volumes."

"As if you would know anything about subtlety," John snorted, starting to laugh even more. "You're the most dramatic person I know."

Sherlock pursed his lips to try not to smile. He supposed he did have a flair for drama. "Well, then you'll have to do most of the talking. Wouldn't want to ruin our performance, would we?"

"I suppose it would seem more realistic for me to just shout abuse at you," John agreed. "You've never been the confrontational type. You don't argue with people, usually. They yell at you, and you silently sit by and contemplate calling them idiots."

"You know me so well," Sherlock said, a bit sarcastically. "If people want to say rude things to me, I don't care. The only time I feel the need to argue with people is when they're wrong."

John's laughter died a little and he blinked, a bit stunned. "Wait, so...when you would just sit there silently, you...you were tacitly agreeing with me? And not just me, I mean...everyone who argues with you? I always thought you just couldn't be bothered to argue with idiots."

"I know when I'm wrong, John. I'm just not going to admit it to your face." Sherlock tried to act nonchalant about this even though it was quite a reveal for his character, biting on the prongs of his fork.

John snorted fondly. "Right, of course. Too much pride for that." He was actually quite proud of the admission, considering that meant that Sherlock had more sense of of his own errors than he let on.

Said dark-haired man smirked. "Why do you think I didn't want you to post the unfinished cases on the blog?"

John shot him a smile. "I still think it's good for people to read about the unsolved ones. Makes you seem more reachable. A little less intimidating."

"Intimidating is helpful. If people are going to give me work, they need to believe that I can do it. Unsolved cases only leads to uncertainty in my abilities and then no cases for me." Sherlock picked up his dish and put it in the sink before returning to his seat.

John rolled his eyes. "It hasn't made much of a difference," he said. "Seems plenty of people still want you to solve cases for them, and now that you've come back from the dead you'll only get more famous, and even more people will come. Although we're going to have to cut back when we get our son."

Sherlock was about to retort, but then he thought more deeply about it. "I hadn't thought of that." He couldn't be in and out of the flat whenever he wanted if they had a kid, especially not if John kept a steady job at the clinic. Someone would have to stay home with the baby.

"Don't worry," John replied. "I'm sure you won't be too bored. Kids take a lot of work."

Sherlock hummed and nodded. "Hopefully. Once this whole Moriarty thing is over, I have a feeling that things are going to be quiet around London."

"Please don't tell me you're disappointed about that," John said wearily. "We could do without as much crime."

"No crime means no cases, and no cases means I'm out of work," Sherlock said with a shrug. "I would prefer not to be lacking in work, but that doesn't mean I don't want to kill Moriarty," he added quickly. "That vile man will pay in blood for everything he's done to you." His hands balled into fists, knuckles going white.

"Calm down, Sherlock," John said, reaching across the table to put his hand over Sherlock's. "Believe me, I hate him just as much as you do, but we can't let him get us worked up anymore. We need to stay calm now, focused, or our plan will never work."

Sherlock sighed and let his hand relax. "Yes. You're right." He stood up again, moving to the other side of the table to stand in front of John, putting his hands on his shoulders. "He only gets me this way because he's nearly taken you from me over and over."

"But I'm still here," John said firmly, looking up at him. "Just as I've said I would be. I won't be going anywhere. No matter what Moriarty does, Sherlock, he can't take me away from you."

"I know," Sherlock said, and his mind suddenly created a morbid truth for John's words. If in the end it was out of John's control to return, if something happened that was final, then Sherlock knew exactly what he would do next so they would never be apart. Just what Moriarty had always wanted. He leaned over and left a lingering kiss on John's cheek.

John smiled at the gesture, face warming. "I can't believe there was ever a time when we weren't a couple," he said. "Everybody else obviously saw it long before we did."

"Seems like such a cliche," Sherlock said with a chuckle. "From one of those silly movies that women like so much."

"Well, maybe," John hummed. "But I like those silly movies. They all have happy endings, you know."

"Yes, that's true," Sherlock said with a smile. "Hopefully we'll get ours too."

John chuckled. "I have a feeling that our movie's never going to end. Not really. I think we'll be old and grey and still solving crimes together."

Sherlock let out a laugh at the image in his mind, one of the more genuinely joyous he'd had in a while. "I can easily see that. But that's fine with me. A life of doing what I love with the man I love."

John couldn't help but give a sunny grin in response to Sherlock's laughter. "Lestrade will still be calling you with cases."

"In between changing Anderson's adult diapers," Sherlock snorted. "Oh no, that will be Sally's job." He threw his head back laughing.

John's grin brightened, if that was even possible, laughing right along. It was good to see Sherlock in high spirits. They needed more positive energy. "You're terrible," he said fondly.

Sherlock smirked. "You love it." He slid his hands gently down John's arms to his hands, taking them and gently pulling the doctor to stand. John raised an eyebrow at him, but the man just tugged him closer. "You know...we never did get our dance," he murmured into his ear.

John looked up at the other man, already wide smile growing impossibly larger, and he quickly pecked him on the lips before dragging him into the living room. He went to the radio, tuning it to the classic station before going to lower the lights. Sherlock, meanwhile, pushed the furniture out of the way so that they would have plenty of room. Soon there was a slow, soft melody flowing through the air, and John and Sherlock found each other again, hands easily sliding into the correct positions.

Even though John was pretty self-conscious about his dancing (not just because of his leg, but because he didn't think himself all that graceful), he was much less apprehensive being alone in the flat than he probably would have been at the wedding. Not to mention that the way Sherlock looked down at him with such a gentleness, that he knew was saved for his eyes only, could make him feel like he was some sort of prince dancing at a ball. Sherlock tightened his arm around John's waist, squeezing his hand briefly as he gazed fondly at his husband. They swayed easily to the song, completely lost in each other, for a moment, letting themselves forgot about the impending task at hand.
I O U Much More (Post-Reich) Chapter 12
Hi guys!! I'm so very sorry this is late in the day again T_T Adjusting to being in school again has been ridiculous, and I've been doing so much homework all day, and I'm still not done Dx

Well, anyway, I hope you guys like this chapter. Idk how I feel about it, maybe just because there isn't a lot going on. :/ But then next chapter...Oh the next chapter you guys will love :XD:

So, yeah, there's no much else to say, except the usual! Please follow sxs-fanfics on tumblr for updates, and now it's shout out time!! And I bet you can guess who they are :XD:
:iconcaptainsparkleships: :iconcrackersthegiraffe:

Thank you my loyal lovelies :heart: And also thanks to :iconkucukinsan: for the steady stream of comments every week :D Okay, see you next Wednseday!!

SailorXStar as Sherlock
Kakurenbo as John

Sherlock and related character names belong to the BBC, Moftiss, and Sir ACD
Story belongs to SXS and Kakurenbo

Chapter 11: sailorxstar.deviantart.com/art… ~ Chapter 12: You're here! ~ Chapter 13: sailorxstar.deviantart.com/art…
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Mature Content Filter is On
(Contains: strong language)
WARNING: This story will contain mature themes including male on male sex, violence, and swearing. If you don't like those things then this story is not for you.

Please read the AN at the bottom :D

*~~~*

On the day of the wedding, Sherlock couldn't deny being nervous, and he felt ridiculous for experiencing such a lack of control. For while he did worry quite logically about the potential of being attacked by Moriarty at some point during the ceremony or reception (something Mycroft had gone to great lengths to try to prevent), those concerns were nowhere near as great as his general anxiousness about the wedding itself. It didn't make any sense to him. He and John were basically married already. They lived together and shared funds even before they were a couple. This was just making it official. So then why did he have butterflies fluttering madly in his stomach? Sherlock groaned in annoyance and started to fix his tux even though it was perfectly smooth and well-fitting.

Mycroft, being the best man, and Lestrade, a groomsman, were standing with him at the back of the church, waiting for them to prepare the last bits of the altar. The two older men watched the detective futz around with his clothes for a moment before exchanging smirks.

"I'm quite surprised just how flustered he seems to be, although I suppose I shouldn't be," the elder Holmes said, leaning toward the DI. "Our dear Dr. Watson tends to bring out everything he tries to hide."

"I can hear you, you know. And I'm not 'flustered'. I'm just getting impatient," Sherlock lied, glancing around for a clock to corroborate him. "When does the ceremony start?"

"You've still got a good five minutes, Sherlock," Lestrade told him. "Don't worry. I'm sure John's just as nervous as you. Probably even more nervous."

"I'm not nervous!" Sherlock protested, crossing his arms, but quickly had to uncross them to fix himself again. No, he wouldn't deny to himself that he was a wreck, but he certainly wasn't going to admit it out loud. "Has it been five minutes yet? This is getting tedious."

Lestrade, though amused, rolled his eyes. "Always dealing with a child," he mumbled to himself. "All right, come on." He took Sherlock's arm and forcefully led him out to the altar, Mycroft following, and setting him in place where he needed to be, knowing it would shut him up. He then moved to his own spot just behind him, standing next to his brother.

Sherlock made an undignified sound as he was dragged forward, but when he was still, he swallowed. Standing in front of the church somehow made him dizzy, knowing that he had to be open and emotional for all these people he didn't know, and some he did. He shook his head to try to clear it. This was incredibly stupid, and he was going to ruin everything if he didn't get a grip...

I.:.O.:.U

John, too, was anxiously adjusting his tuxedo from where he was standing behind the closed doors of the church's main room. It was tradition that the groom didn't see the bride before the ceremony began, though he wasn't at all sure why he'd been designated the 'bride'. Maybe because he looked better in a white tux than Sherlock (the pale man's skin seemed to blend right into the fabric), or maybe because he was shorter. Who knew? Either way, he his hands were clammy, his throat felt dry, and he kept fidgeting nervously. "I think I'm gonna be sick," he muttered.

"John, don't be ridiculous," Molly huffed, adjusting his bow tie with a smile. She and Mrs. Hudson had been dedicated his 'grooms-maids' since he didn't really have any male friends to be in his party. "You're not going to throw up. Sherlock's probably in no better shape, but you're both being silly. You look dashing, all you have to do is say a few words, kiss, and you'll be married."

"She's right, dear," Mrs. Hudson continued, patting John on the shoulder. "Just relax and before you know it, it will all be over."

John swallowed nervously. "All right," he said. "All right, thank you, Molly. Mrs. Hudson." He embraced each of the women in turn, then faced the closed doors, taking a deep breath. They were right. They just had to get through the ceremony and then they could spend the rest of the night eating and dancing and having fun.

The organist started to play the wedding march, which could be heard even through the thick doors, and John knew that was his cue. He didn't know that far away on the other side, Sherlock's heart nearly stopped as the ceremony officially began.

The ushers opened the doors and everyone in the pews turned their heads to see the other groom. John- alone, he preferred to do this alone- gripped his cane tightly and proceeded down the aisle. And everything else seemed to disappear from Sherlock's view.

John looked incredibly handsome, the white tuxedo, monochromatic save for the purple bowtie and a very pale grey shirt, looked so clean and pure against his tan skin. His hair was brushed perfectly out of his face, and his dark blue eyes locked onto Sherlock's, making his nerves both flare and dissipate at once. Sherlock loved John for him, his heart, but couldn't help but think how lucky he was that such a beautiful person was his. He couldn't keep the smile off his face as his fiance, soon to be his husband, made his way towards him.

At the sight of Sherlock's smile, John found himself with a grin of his own, feeling much better than he had when hiding behind the doors. Sherlock looked absolutely divine, watching him with those piercing eyes, curls groomed into behaving ringlets, standing tall and waiting for him. For him. He felt stupid for having wasted any time worrying about being gay, when he could have already been with this amazing man. But he was going to make up for every second now.

He maneuvered the few steps up to the altar, and handed his cane to the waiting Lestrade. He could stand properly long enough for this, the most important moment of his entire life so far, and most likely ever. He wiped his still sweaty palms on the legs of his trousers, making Sherlock chuckle, and reached out to take the other man's hands in his as the priest began.

There was nothing particularly special about what he was saying, and if there was then Sherlock didn't notice. He was too focused on John, there in front of him, hand in hand with him, waiting to officially be married to him. Of course, he did keep his ears slightly pricked for the moment when the priest would pause and allow them to read their vows. He'd been working hard to make his perfect, and was eager to read them to John (though he wished they were in a bit more of a private setting).

When the priest finally stopped, looking to the pair, John decided he would go first. He nodded and took a deep breath, squeezing Sherlock's hands, his voice catching in his throat. He felt a bit faint, but one glance at Sherlock's encouraging face steadied him enough to speak.

"Sherlock, I...before I met you, nothing...nothing ever happened to me. I was just a sad, injured soldier with no real direction. And then the moment I let you borrow my phone, everything changed. You brought me back to life, Sherlock. You saved me. I'm so grateful for everything you've done for me, including coming back to me even after three years. When I thought I'd lost you...I was desperate. I didn't know what to do. But I have you back now, and I'm never, never letting you go again. That's a promise. I love you, Sherlock Holmes." In true Watson fashion, it was disjointed, emotional, entirely impossible to get through without his voice breaking. But the words were nothing but the truth.

Sherlock felt himself choking up at John's words but he swallowed it and smiled. He waited for the clapping to die down, then he looked into John's eyes and held him there as he began. "John, as you recall, I was basically a machine when we first met. But you didn't seem to see me that way. You understood me and you showed me kindness. Instead of reacting like I was some sort of freak when I did something strange, you just accepted it. You..." He paused, squeezing his eyes shut against tears. "Made me feel again. I thought that caring was a disadvantage, but you've taught me that everyone needs at least one person that they can call a friend. To share a laugh, to have your back, or just to talk to even if they're not right there. I found that in you, and so much more. John Watson...you are my best friend and I love you." Sherlock smiled down at him as a few tears trailed down his face.

John swallowed back a sob. He probably looked a mess, because he was much quicker to cry than Sherlock, and by now his eyes were probably red and his cheeks were probably flushed. But he didn't care. He was overwhelmed, and for the rest of the ceremony both he and Sherlock were completely absorbed in each other.

Sherlock didn't even know why the priest bothered asking after hearing their vows, but he supposed he couldn't change tradition. They said 'I do' when prompted, and for John those two words meant more than he could ever say, more than Sherlock would ever know. The final words were barely out of the priest's mouth before they were lunging towards each other to kiss.

Sherlock wrapped his arms tightly around John, their lingering tears mixing as they kissed, hardly noticing the roar of clapping from their guests. Only when he finally needed air did he break away to scoop John up, and carry him out of the church to the waiting limo (which Mycroft had ensured the safety of ahead of time). Sherlock set John onto his feet so they could both climb in, but then pulled his new husband into him again immediately, not wanting an inch of space between them. He nuzzled his face into sandy blonde hair with a pleased hum. "My husband..."

John smiled, sighing softly against Sherlock's throat. He loved those words, and he was positive he would never get tired of hearing them. "You know, we don't have to go to the reception," he said. "It'll probably be a great party, but I think I'd prefer to get you into bed right now."

Sherlock laughed. "John, you don't really think I'd skip my own wedding reception? Of course I'd love to take you to bed, but I told you if we're doing this, we're going all the way." He kissed the top of his head. "I want to dance with you and eat cake and all those other reception things people do."

"Even if you have to listen to someone give a speech about you?" John asked with a grin. "Anyone's allowed really. I don't think you want Anderson getting near a microphone."

"I don't care," Sherlock said. "Not even Anderson's absolute idiocy could ruin this day."

John giggled. "I agree whole-heartedly," he said. He didn't really want to miss the reception either, but he was on a bit of a high from the wedding. Maybe they would just leave early.

When the limo stopped in front of the reception hall, Sherlock helped John out and kept his hand to support him until they could get to Lestrade, who still had John's cane. Many of the guests were already there when they entered the hall, and applauded for them as they walked in. John found himself blushing, but he was also beaming. Couldn't stop beaming really. He was so happy.

They made their way to the head table at the front of the hall, which was set up with six chairs. Sherlock and John sat at the center, with Greg and Molly to John's right and Mycroft and Mrs. Hudson to Sherlock's left. There was already smooth jazz playing from the DJ's speakers and the waiters were pouring out drinks. Sherlock wasn't normally one for parties, especially not ones this elaborate, but this was his wedding day and sod his usual attitude. He was going to celebrate.

It wasn't long before the reception was in full swing. Little by little, the guests made their way to the head table to give their personal congratulations. Even Anderson and Donovan grudgingly wished them well. John did most of the talking to them, and Sherlock just smiled politely, trying to be on his best behaviour. For everyone who he hadn't said something mean to, he got a reward kiss from John, and right now that was all he wanted. John, of course, was more than happy to give him as many kisses as he wanted. Those lips were his now, completely and utterly.

Part way through dinner, John was talking to Lestrade, still hand in hand with Sherlock. They hadn't let go since they came in. Greg was well into his third, maybe fourth, glass of champagne, and it showed, but John knew he wasn't doing himself too much harm. Although at one point he did lean across the table to wink at Mycroft, who seemed completely baffled by the action (and maybe the tiniest bit flushed; from the alcohol no doubt).

When dinner ended they rolled out the cake on a cart right in front of the head table. It was three tiers, elegantly decorated, with two grooms on the top. Sherlock pulled John around the table so they could stand in front of it, grabbing the knife. They wrapped both their hands around it the handle, and slid it through to make the first slice. Cheekily, Sherlock took a bit of frosting and dabbed it on John's nose, only to kiss it off a moment later.

"You two can be adorable after you hand out slices to the rest of us," Mycroft said as calmly as possible. Sherlock smirked, knowing his brother was probably dying for a piece by now.

John laughed, because he could practically hear Sherlock's thoughts. "Be nice," he scolded lightly. Together, they cut the cake to serve all of their guests, then returned with their own pieces to the head table. "Well," he said. "Mycroft thinks we're adorable. That's sweet, and mildly unsettling," he chuckled.

Sherlock scoffed. "Mycroft has never called anything adorable before. He'll just say anything to get at a piece of cake." He scooped up a little onto his fork. "Open up, love." Sherlock brought the fork closer to John's mouth. "I happen to think you're adorable," he added with a smirk.

John grinned and happily accepted the bite of cake. It was his favourite, yellow with fudge icing in the middle and buttercream on the outside. "Thank you. But if you'd asked me three years ago, I never would have guessed you'd be calling anything adorable, let alone me."

"That's because three years ago we weren't together, and I would have rather died than say something so sappy." Sherlock offered another bite to John.

John accepted it without protest once more. "Hmm, well, you're not allowed to 'rather die' for anything anymore, do you understand me? Living is all you're allowed to do now."

Sherlock chuckled. "Yes, dear. Except on one point." He looked into John's eyes seriously. "I would rather die than see you die. And that I refuse to compromise on."

John sighed. Honestly, he felt exactly the same. Though he'd managed to go on somehow after he'd watched Sherlock die the first time, he didn't know what he would do now. So he'd have to concede on that one. "Stubborn idiot," he mumbled, and leaned forward to give Sherlock a deep, slow kiss. "Let's not linger on that. I don't want anything to spoil this night."

"Agreed," Sherlock said with a grin.

Just then, the waiters brought the head table a fresh bottle of champagne, and filled everyone's glasses. It was only John's second glass, as he'd been busying himself with talking for the most part throughout the party, and so he took a swig. He looked around the hall at all the smiling faces, the people dancing, knowing that he had his husband right there next to him. He felt like nothing could ruin this night.

Well, maybe not.

At first he thought it was just getting warm with all the excitement and movement, and he took another sip of champagne. But then he realised that his throat was starting to close up. He couldn't breathe. He tried to keep himself calm, trying to think of what to do, what was causing this. He didn't have any allergies to anything that he knew of, and even then, he hadn't eaten anything strange. Looking to Sherlock, he watched as he started to bring his glass to his lips, and suddenly it came to him.

"Don't!" John choked out, the word barely forcing its way through his mouth. He swatted the glass out of Sherlock's hand and it shattered on the floor.

"John?" Sherlock looked at him, confused and concerned, and the rest of the table turned to him as well. John met Sherlock's eyes, fear and warning in his gaze obvious because he couldn't speak to give voice to them. He put a hand to his throat. His skin was paling, and his eyes were wide, and he needed air, dear God!

Sherlock clutched at John's shoulders, not knowing what to do. Why didn't he know CPR? Did he know CPR and was it just lost? Everything seemed to flee from his mind in his panic. Frantic, he untied John's bowtie and unbuttoned his collar to try and help but he could see John turning red in the face, then blue. "No, no, not now, John, please!" Now Sherlock was feeling like he couldn't breathe.

"Move," Molly said, suddenly appearing beside him and shoving Sherlock out of the way. CPR wasn't a necessary skill in the work of a mortician, but it didn't hurt to know.

"Lock this place down!" Lestrade called, suddenly sobering up and pulling out his phone to call an ambulance. He ran out of the room to start checking all the doors and windows so that whoever had done this couldn't escape. Although he had a bad feeling that they most likely had already left. Many of the men moved to help him while the rest of the guests were moving with uncertainty, in varying states of fear.

Sherlock felt completely numb, watching as Molly tried to breathe for John. How could he have let his guard down? Why did he think that they could get away with this without a problem? He supposed he had just wished that today, at least, they could have a break. But he should have known better; there would not be a single minute that he could be completely sure of their safety until Jim Moriarty's body was lying at his feet.

When the paramedics arrived, they rushed inside, surrounding John and pulling both Sherlock and Molly away. They multitasked, maneuvering him onto a stretcher while snaking a tube down his throat to open his airwaves. Mycroft was quick to make sure that none of them were dangerous, muttering to each one softly, not about to let his little brother lose his husband already. Lestrade, having secured the building and prepped his backup to start questioning, returned to the room. When he saw what was happening he moved to put a hand on Sherlock's shoulder.

Sherlock didn't even react as they took John out of the hall. These incidents were becoming routine now, and he was just so tired of it. He turned around to face Lestrade. "Drive me. First stop at the flat. I need patches."

"Right," Lestrade said, nodding once. He took one last look around to make sure that everything was okay, and then guided Sherlock out of the building to his car. His other officers could handle things for now; he had to be there for Sherlock. Greg drove quickly, stopping off at 221B as requested. Sherlock was in and out of the flat in seconds, and they were then on their way to the hospital.

For a short while, they drove in silence Sherlock secured three patches onto his arm and closed his eyes. He had his knees drawn up to his chin and he breathed deeply as the nicotine kicked in. Greg knew he probably didn't want to talk, but he felt like he needed to say something, anything, to try to reassure him. Usually John was his support, but for now he'd have to do. "He'll be all right, Sherlock. You know he will. He always is."

"No, I don't know," Sherlock snapped. "And if he is, how long will it last? This bloody game...When I get my hands on Jim Moriarty he will be sorry he ever crossed paths with Sherlock Holmes." He wrung his hands together before running them through his hair.

"The police will help in anyway they can," Lestrade told him. "We're all behind you." There was nothing more that he could say, and so they fell back into silence. They arrived at St. Bart's quickly, and he drove right up to the entrance, for Sherlock's sake.

Sherlock opened the door immediately and started to get out, but he paused halfway and muttered, "Thank you..." before he jumped up and ran into the hospital. After finding out John's room number, he took the stairs two by two and sprinted down the hall to reach his husband.

John was tucked into a hospital bed, as he had been such an unfortunate number of times before. His shallow breathing fogged the oxygen mask strapped to his face, and his eyes were closed in a drug-induced sleep. Sherlock's lips curled in over his teeth as he felt himself choking up. He was grateful that John was alive, but he couldn't stand to see him like this, to know how much suffering he'd put him through since he'd returned and even before that. Pulling a chair up next to the bed, Sherlock gently took his hand and held it to his cheek. "I swear to you, John, I will end this," he whispered, voice breaking.

"How sweet," came a voice from nearby, and Sherlock's head whipped towards the sound. A figure stood from a shadowed corner of the unoccupied side of the room and Jim Moriarty stepped forward, grinning. "Very touching, really. And the ceremony was beautiful. Did you like my gift? I see the poor doctor wasn't very fond of it."

Sherlock's hand automatically went to his pocket for his gun but realised that he didn't have it. He hadn't thought he'd need it at his own wedding. "You really shouldn't have," he said calmly but his voice was laced with venom.

"Oh, you're angry, Sherlock," Jim tutted. "You really have gotten soft. Your dear brother was right. Caring is a disadvantage. The Sherlock I know and love would have suspected that poison. I left you lots of little clues, but you didn't riddle any of it out. Pity."

"Clues? What clues?" Sherlock furrowed his brow trying to think. But all he could remember from that day was John, anything and everything having to do with John. He clenched his fist. He was becoming careless.

"The seal on the bottle," Jim said, sounding bored. "Some marks on the waiter's fingers, showing he'd been tampering with drugs. Several other miniscule things that normal people would never notice. But you would, of course. Oh...but you didn't." He tsked, smirking.

Yes, he had certainly become careless. Ironically because he cared too much. Sherlock kept his cool facade as he spoke. "You still haven't managed to finish us off though. Doesn't that mean you're slacking a bit too?"

"Oh, no, not at all!" Jim sang. "I'm just having fun. Because it is fun, Sherlock, watching you squirm. Seeing that delicious fear in your eyes whenever John is in danger."

Fear that was still present in his mind at that very moment. But Sherlock took deep breaths and stayed calm. "Well, if you don't intend to kill us at present, then I believe we're done here."

"Oh, I'm hurt, Sherlock," Jim said, pouting. "You don't want me to stick around?"

"I did just get married. You know how newlywed couples like to have their alone time." Sherlock stood as well, watching closely.

"I can't imagine the sex will be anything too exciting at the moment," Jim drawled, amused. "Well, ta-ta for now, Sherlock, my dear." He put his hands in his pockets and strolled easily out of the room.

Sherlock watched him go. If only he had his gun, he would have shot his brains out. He waited a few moments to ensure he was gone then let his shoulders drop. God, he was such an idiot. He slumped into the chair by John's bedside again, taking hold of his hand and kissing it gently. What was he going to do?

I.:.O.:.U

It wasn't until the day that John stirred, and in that time, Lestrade, Mycroft, Molly, and Mrs. Hudson, as well as some of their wedding guests, had been in and out to check on both him and Sherlock. Said detective had been in and out as well, unable to sit still waiting for John to wake up, and not having slept at all. He was antsy, even though the doctors assured him that John would make a full recovery, and so he wasn't in the room when John opened his eyes to look for him.

John sighed and settled back to wait. He could hardly believe it. One minute he was enjoying his wedding and the next...He shook his head. If he ever got his hands on that horrible criminal...

A moment later, there were footsteps, and John turned to see Sherlock in the doorway, looking frazzled and exhausted. The taller stopped dead for a moment, and then practically leaped toward the bed and grasped his hand. "John! How long have you been awake?" he said, hovering over him.

"Just a few minutes," John said, feeling more relaxed now that he was in Sherlock's presence. "How long was I not awake?"

"About a day, give or take." Sherlock ran a hand over his forehead and smoothed back his hair. "How do you feel?"

"Just dandy," John muttered, rolling his eyes. "Sorry. I'm just angry above all else. But glad that you didn't drink that stuff. Did anyone else? Are Lestrade and the others okay?" With all his personal chaos going on he hadn't been aware of anyone else.

Sherlock nodded. "Everyone is fine. Everyone but you, love." He sighed, looking down at their intertwined fingers. "You missed a visit from our dear friend, Jim."

John clenched his teeth. "Dear friend, indeed," he growled. "And what did he have to say, this time? More games?"

Sherlock nodded then was quiet for a moment. He could feel a lump growing in his throat and he tried to hide the way his voice cracked. "It was my fault...He planted clues and I didn't even see them. I was completely oblivious, and it almost cost your life."

"Sherlock, no," John said firmly, putting a stop to this right away. "This was not your fault. We've talked about this, about you blaming yourself."

"But I could have prevented it! They were obvious things that I should have seen!" That he would have seen if he wasn't so distracted. But that was the sacrifice he had made to let himself love John, and he didn't regret it for any other reason than it leading to him being endangered. He stood and started pacing. "I've never felt so stupid, so utterly useless. Ever since I've returned I've been getting more and more lax, and it's only caused more and more trouble. I wasn't even sharp enough to know that Moriarty was still out there, and we're basically his little toys!" Sherlock stopped and pressed the heels of his hands to his eyes. "It was a mistake to come back."

John was calm through most of this speech, trying to think of what to say to make Sherlock stop thinking that it was his fault, but that last sentence drove everything from his mind. A mistake? Did Sherlock really think this was all a mistake? His blood began to boil, and he felt breathless with anger. "What?" he whispered, but that whisper turned to a roar. "WHAT?!"

Sherlock jumped a little at John's outburst and turned back towards him. It was the loudest he had ever heard him yell before, and he knew he'd said the wrong thing.

"How could you even think of saying something like that?!" John yelled, pushing himself up in the bed more. "You, Sherlock Holmes, my husband, are telling me it's a mistake that you came back? Are you fucking kidding me?!"

Sherlock didn't want to make John more upset, so he took a deep breath and spoke carefully. "John...Don't you see what's happened because of me? What will continue to happen? You were safe while I was gone."

"God damn it all...damn it, Sherlock! Calling you fantastically ignorant...that was the most accurate statement I've ever made! Do you never listen to me?!" John was breathing heavily, very worked up, a nearby monitor beeping frantically as his heart raced. "I've told you a hundred times that I don't bloody care what happens to me, so long as you are here with me!"

This made Sherlock let out a frustrated sound, and his voice started to raise in volume. "Well, I do care! I hear everything you're saying, but that doesn't matter! I will not watch you die or be the cause of your death!"

"So what are you saying, Sherlock? That you would have rather stayed in the shadows, doing your own thing, bloody perfect with your fucking deductions while I suffered and maybe even died because you were gone? You would have rather not told me you loved me and not gotten married just so that I could exist alone and miserable? Or maybe, heh, maybe you'd rather we go all the way back to before we even met, because then I wouldn't have any ties to Moriarty or any of your crazed psychopathic stalkers, and I'd still. Be. Miserable!"

Sherlock was stricken silent and he stared at John for a long while. He didn't want any of that, of course not. He was so happy that he was with John, even if they were constantly being pursued, and God help him if they'd never met. He'd probably be dead. With a shaky sigh, he moved to sit back down in the chair and shook his head.

John was struggling to breathe evenly, and he laid back against the pillows, closing his eyes and trying hard to focus on regulating his breathing. He seemed to have gotten through to Sherlock, at last, and that was enough to make him calm down. "You're a right git sometimes," he said after a few minutes. "And it's exhausting being a walking bullseye. But I love you, and I wouldn't have things any other way. So please...don't ever tell me that you wish you weren't here with me."

Sherlock looked up and there were tear stains on his cheeks. "I'm sorry. I'm so sorry, John," he said, standing up and leaning over the bed so that he could press his face into the other man's neck. "I'm just...terrified."

John's expression softened, and he did his best to wrap his arms around Sherlock. He knew deep down that he only said things like that because of how much he cared, and how vulnerable his heart was. He had to remind himself that Sherlock was more emotionally fragile, and that it made him think in ways that seemed logical to him, but strange to everyone else.

"I know. But I've made it this far, right? And I'll be just fine as long as you're here to protect me," John said.

Sherlock nodded, not moving from that spot for a long while. He, too, had to remember that John wasn't defenceless and that he couldn't treat him that way. There would always be things out of his control, even without Moriarty, and that was something he needed to accept.

After a bit, Sherlock sniffed up and started to pull away. "You should get some rest. They want the drug out of your system before they release you," he told John.

John nodded, and he shifted over a little. "Come here," he said, patting the space beside him. Sherlock smiled faintly and arranged himself carefully on the bed next to John. They laced their fingers together and closed their eyes for a much needed rest.
I O U Much More (Post-Reich) Chapter 11
So, how does this wedding compare to TSO3? :XD:

So, last chapter there wasn't really much going on besides sex, and this chapter we've got everything but sex. All kinds of fluff, angst, drama...And I really enjoyed sprucing it up too. I think the last bit is my fave part, but I love the whole chapter as a whole :D

Also, duh, I should have said this at the beginning, I'm SOOOOOOOO sorry for how late this is. But it's the first week of school and even though I didn't have class today, I was doing school stuff most of the day (I know, already X_X) so I didn't get started on this until late T_T But, I'm promising you now, because I'm not going home this weekend I'm going to devote a bunch of time to prepping these chapters better so I only have to do a quick readover before I post, and also writing the ghostlock, because I'm running out of time :XD: So, yeah, as long as they don't come up with some insane homework for me, then I should a lean, mean, writing machine!

Okay, my loves, that's all for now. Please don't forget to follow sxs-fanfics on tumblr for updates, and now it's shout out time!!
:iconcaptainsparkleships: :iconcrackersthegiraffe:

My only two faves anymore, but I love you guys :heart: See you next week!

SailorXStar as Sherlock
Kakurenbo as John

Sherlock and related character names belong to the BBC, Moftiss, and Sir ACD
Story belongs to SXS and Kakurenbo

Chapter 10: sailorxstar.deviantart.com/art… ~ Chapter 11: You're here! ~ Chapter 12: sailorxstar.deviantart.com/art…
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(Contains: nudity and sexual themes)
WARNING: This story will contain mature themes including male on male sex, violence, and swearing. If you don't like those things then this story is not for you.

Please read the AN at the bottom :D

*~~~*

After a few days of observation, Sherlock was released from the hospital, allowing for he and John to return to 221B at last. It was the first time that Sherlock was actually showing himself to Mrs. Hudson since the day that he'd brought John home in the rain, and she could hardly believe her eyes even though there had been rumors in the news of his return. She slapped him for giving her such a scare, and John couldn't help a little chuckle, but then gave him a huge hug, and all was well.

Now that they were on the defensive, there wasn't much for the pair of them to do but wait. This was a bit frustrating for Sherlock, since his chemistry set, violin, and even his skull had been lost to the flames at the club. It would take at least ten thousand pounds to replace all of it (perhaps more to get another real human skull), but all of those paled in comparison to John's beating heart. And while there were times that he got bored, he could always busy himself with planning for the wedding.

One afternoon, John was sitting in his usual chair- the best chair in the world, in his opinion, which he'd missed quite a bit. Just like he'd missed the perfectly hideous wallpaper, and the bullet holes that Sherlock had put in the wall, and all the other strange but amazing things in their Baker Street flat. He tapped his cane on the ground in thought, looking at a selection of flowers on the coffee table in front of him and his fiance, trying to decide on something for the wedding. But honestly, he couldn't care less about the flowers. "Is this really necessary?" he asked Sherlock. "I mean, flowers? I know Molly and Mrs. Hudson think we should have a proper ceremony, but this all seems...frivolous."

Sherlock grinned a little at John's annoyance. "Aren't most things in a wedding frivolous, love? Really you don't need a ceremony at all, just someone to make it official and a witness. But if we're going to do it then we should go all the way." He looked back at the three different arrangements. "Now, which do you like best?"

"Oh, I haven't the foggiest," John complained. He shifted, tucking his good leg underneath him and rubbing slowly at the other, working the soreness out of the muscles around his wound.

Sherlock giggled. "Fine, fine. I'll pick." He put a hand to his chin and looked between the choices. "The carnations, I think. Not too fragrant and they still look nice."

John let out a little hiss as he worked a particularly sore spot, but still managed a tight smile. "Never would have thought of you as having extensive floral knowledge, Sherlock," he said. "Well, the carnations are fine with me. We could have wilting roses, for all I care, as long as we get married."

"I don't really have much knowledge. Carnations were just an essential detail in a case once, before we met." Sherlock leaned back in his chair with a sigh, looking at the flowers again, and then John. He smiled warmly. To think that they were actually planning a wedding, their wedding, was somewhat surreal. "You know, there are still moments when I think that this is all just some very elaborate product of my imagination."

John paused in rubbing his thigh, and he met Sherlock's eyes for a silent moment, before he stood and limped over. He flopped rather gracelessly across Sherlock's legs, and settled in his lap. "Well, it's not," he said. "Unless you hit your head a bit harder than we thought." He reached up to ghost his fingers along the scar by Sherlock's temple, just barely hidden by his curls. It was one of a few different stitched up areas on his head. Sherlock closed his eyes, the scar tingling from sensitivity, even from such a light touch. His arms circled John's waist.

"I sincerely hope not. But if that's the case, I hope the illusion never ends," he murmured.

"It won't," John said, tilting his head back to brush his lips along Sherlock's jaw. "I'm here. I'm real. Honestly, Sherlock, shouldn't I be the one thinking you're the illusion?"

"Probably," Sherlock admitted with a wry smile. "I did 'come back from the dead'." He looked down into John's eyes, with his own looking softer than usual. "But then again, how could I deny you your miracle?" he added softly.

John blinked as he remembered the little speech he'd said in front of Sherlock's grave that day, and he blushed. "So I guess you were there..." he said, occupying himself with a hand in Sherlock's curls. It was a little embarrassing that he'd been listening when John had thought he was alone, but then again, the words were meant for Sherlock anyway.

Sherlock nodded, lowering his gaze. "I was. It was all I could do then not to tell you that I was there. I hated to see you that way."

John took a slow, calming breath. They had purposely avoided talking about the time after Sherlock's supposed suicide, mostly because John didn't want to have to think about the torrent of emotions that he'd had to endure, and he didn't want Sherlock to keep feeling guilty. But there was also a small part of him that wanted to talk about it, because he hadn't had anyone to confide in besides Ella, and he rarely told her everything he was feeling.

"I just...I didn't know what else to do. I thought that maybe somehow appealing to your dead body would give me some answers." He smiled ruefully. "They just came three years late."

Sherlock wasn't smiling, however. "I'm sorry, John. I will always be sorry. If there had been any other way-"

"Sherlock," John said, holding a hand up to his mouth. "It's okay. I told you already that I forgave you, a while ago. You've done enough apologising for a lifetime." He let his hand move to rest on Sherlock's cheek and tilted his head up to kiss him.

Sherlock kissed back for a moment, but then pulled away slowly. "You may think so. I, however, will always have to remember the way you looked that day and know that it was my fault." He sighed, letting his thumbs rub over John's lower back where his hands were resting. "Perhaps if we can finally finish off Moriarty I'll feel better. At least then I can finally say that my disappearance wasn't for nothing."

"We will finish him off," John said firmly. "If anyone in the world is clever enough to outsmart Jim Moriarty, it's you, Sherlock. And I'll be there to make sure you don't do something stupid and get yourself killed."

That made Sherlock crack a smile. "Always good to know you have my back." He kissed the tip of John's nose.

They fell into a short silence, John idly playing with the collar of Sherlock's well-tailored shirt. There was something else he wanted to talk about. "Sherlock...I..." For some reason, though they'd been together for weeks now, this subject was difficult to bring up. "I've been thinking...We haven't really done the, um...We haven't gone the whole way yet with our..." He flushed deeply, eyes glued to the shirt.

Sherlock had to think for a second about what John meant before realisation dawned on his face, and he too blushed. "Oh." He swallowed. "Yes, that, um...That's something you want to try?" They had been doing other things, but he wasn't sure whether or not John actually wanted to do that, being that it was a little more outside of his comfort zone.

"Well...I don't know. It wouldn't be so bad if I could be the...'top'." John's face was going to be permanently stained red at this point. "But I don't think I can hold myself up long enough on my leg so..."

"We can always wait," Sherlock said. In the same way that John was probably nervous about being the 'receiver', he was worried simply because he hadn't done anything like that before. At least John had some experience in going all the way.

The shorter man shook his head. "Waiting isn't going to help. I...It'll be bloody weird, but I want to try. I think it should be alright, because it'll be with you." He smiled up at Sherlock, and the detective returned it, leaning in to press their foreheads together.

"In that case..." Sherlock tilted is head and let their lips brush together in a sweet kiss. John shifted, pressing himself closer to his fiance's chest and returning the kiss with anticipation and passion that had been building for a while. They had been so busy lately that they hadn't had much of an opportunity to be intimate. His fingers threaded in Sherlock's curls- those curls that he loved so much-  and his tongue darted out to prod at Sherlock's lips.

Sherlock opened his mouth eagerly. Kissing John had become one of his favourite parts of being in a relationship. He ran his tongue over John's, tasting his morning coffee and minty toothpaste, hands clutching at John's hips to try to pull him even closer.

John gave a soft, surprised gasp at Sherlock's bold moves, exciting him even more. Sherlock had really learnt a lot in these few short weeks of them being together, and he was sure that he already had cataloged ways to easily drive him mad. His hands moved to Sherlock's shirt, nimble fingers making quick work of the buttons. Soon he was sliding the troublesome garment off of Sherlock's torso and tossing it aside, revealing the smooth expanse of marble skin. Sherlock hummed into his lips in approval.

Long-fingered hands wandered up under John's jumper, pulling it up over the man's head after a short break in their kiss. Sherlock dropped it with his shirt, and the cream and purple materials mingled together in much the same way that they were about to.

John pulled back after another moment, panting softly, and he kept their lips close. "We should move to the bedroom," he breathed out.

Sherlock gave a nod, and wrapped his arms more snuggly around John so that he could lift him as he stood. He carried John to what was now their room (formerly his room), and laid him gently on his back before climbing over him. They immediately resumed kissing, and John released a soft, pleased moan.

The doctor started to work his own trousers off with practised hands,pushing them down with his pants, leaving himself bare in Sherlock's presence. Though, around Sherlock, who could deduce everything at a glance, he'd always felt somewhat bare. This was just in a more intimate sense, and he wouldn't want anyone else to know him the way Sherlock did.

Sherlock, meanwhile, was kissing down John's jaw, searching for one spot that he knew would make him melt. It was easy to tell when he'd found it, because of the way John's hands stuttered where they were trying to get Sherlock's trousers off. The taller man smirked, and he started to leave hot, open-mouthed kisses there.

John moaned once more, loudly and desperately, squirming beneath Sherlock. Clearly he was right about Sherlock having stored information on his sensitive areas. "Nnnh, wait, before we..." He gestured wildly to the bedside table. "Condoms. Lube."

Sherlock paused in his lavishing, and he sat up, opening the drawer and pulling out a box and a bottle. They hadn't needed to use either of these yet in their previous ventures, and he admittedly didn't know exactly what to do with them. He blushed in embarrassment. "Um...John?"

John looked up at his lover, and chuckled a bit, amused by Sherlock's innocence. He forgot a lot of times that he was Sherlock's first and only, because of how confident he'd become. "Don't worry," he said. "You know the technical aspects, yes? What's supposed to happen? I can guide you through the actual act. First thing's first." He reached down and gripped Sherlock, stroking him slowly. Sherlock moaned in response, his head falling back, as he became even harder.

When John thought that Sherlock was ready, he grabbed the box of condoms and retrieved one of the square packets. "Watch," he instructed. He ripped the packet open and extracted the little circle, which he rolled slowly onto Sherlock's erection. Said man's eyes were carefully observing, while also adapting to the feeling of having the rubber stretched over him.

"Good," John said, nodding in an almost clinical manner, though his arousal was begging for release. He took the bottle of lube and emptied some onto Sherlock's fingers. "You know, generally, what you're supposed to do with these, right?" he said. He gripped Sherlock's wrist and brought the detective's hand down, between his legs. His heart pounded a little nervously. This was the part that was new to both of them.

Sherlock nodded. He was pretty sure he could take it from there, even though he was still a little unsure of himself. He felt around and found John's entrance, passing over it with the tip of his finger. He pressed down a little until he felt it open, and then slid the digit inside.

John took deep, slow breaths, his fingers digging into Sherlock's thin shoulders as he forced his body to relax at the intrusion. It wasn't that it hurt, it was just an odd sensation. Not really good or bad at this point, only stinging a little bit.

Sherlock was watching his face, and moved the finger experimentally in and out. "Is it alright?" he asked softly.

The movement was a little different, but still okay. John nodded. "Yeah. I think I could do another."

Sherlock was chewing his lip a little as he tried to carefully add a second finger in, feeling the skin and muscle stretch around them. He spread them sightly, causing John to wince as the sting amplified. Seeing this, Sherlock grabbed his length and gave him a few long strokes to try to counteract the pain.

This combination seemed to do the trick, and John was suddenly overcome with pleasure. "Sherlock..." he groaned. "God, yes, that's good." The burn was still hiding, but fading fast, not so much painful now as uncomfortable. It was being quickly replaced with an all new feeling of satisfaction that he'd never thought possible from this kind of activity.

Just John's words and seeing him enjoying the attention were enough to elicit a low undefinable sound from Sherlock's chest. He started to thrust his fingers again, and John whined and writhed beneath him, making Sherlock feel much better about the whole situation. He wouldn't have been able to enjoy himself if he thought John wasn't as well.

"Sherlock...I'm ready, please," John choked out after a few minutes. He didn't think he could handle much more without finishing early.

Sherlock swallowed thickly and pulled his fingers away. This was it. He grabbed the lube bottle again and coated the rubbery guard around him before leaning over John. He put his hands on either side of the other's head, positioning himself at John's entrance and then finally slid inside.

John's body tensed and clutched tightly to Sherlock at first, as he tried to adjust. Sherlock was much bigger than just his two fingers, and both of them groaned in tandem. John squeezed his eyes shut against the pain, trying to grasp some of that pleasure that he'd been experiencing before by stroking himself. And after a few long minutes, he felt ready for some movement. "Okay," he gasped. "Okay, I'm alright. Go."

Sherlock, now feeling some primal instinct inside of him giving him direction, pulled out almost all the way before thrusting in again. "Ngh...John..." The sensation was incredible, the tight warmth around him, feeling so fully connected with the only man he loved. He buried his face John's neck, kissing him there again as he started to move in a steady rhythm.

John was reduced to rather uncharacteristic whimpers and moans as Sherlock set a pace. Now that his body was used to the stretched and full feeling, things were starting to feel even better. He could hardly think straight, much less form words. He tried to keep his hand at the same beat as Sherlock's pumping hips, but it was hard when he was getting so easily lost in this new feeling.

Sherlock could feel himself throbbing, growing closer to the edge as he listened to John. He propped himself on one forearm, while his other hand grabbed John's free one, lacing their fingers together. He started to move unconsciously faster, knowing that he wouldn't be able to hold on much longer.

John's rhythm faltered as he felt himself tumbling over. It was so much better than he ever thought it could be, although he was sure no one else could undo him this way except Sherlock Holmes. He let out a desperate, choked cry as he reached his climax, coming apart beneath his fiance. "S-Sherlock!"

As soon as John finished, calling out Sherlock's name in such a gorgeous tone and clenching harder around him, Sherlock simply couldn't resist any longer. "John!" He lost all feeling for a moment as he rode out the high, unable to do anything but breath haggardly and flop onto his side when he was done. It had been the best orgasm he'd had since they'd gotten together.

The only sound in the room was their panting for a good few minutes, before Sherlock's broke into a goofy smile. He turned to John and pressed sloppy kisses all over his face.

"Sherlock," John said through a breathy laugh. "Sherlock, what are you doing?" He too was smiling now, unable to quell the happy expression.

Sherlock giggled and nuzzled John's cheek affectionately. "That was amazing. You're amazing." He finally landed a kiss on John's lips, soft and sweet.

John let out a soft hum and kissed him back just as gently, their lips melding perfectly together, as always. "I have to admit, it was a hell of a lot better than I'd expected," he said.

Sherlock just beamed, and he removed the now soiled condom to toss it in the rubbish bin. "I suppose we'll be doing that again then."

John nodded in agreement. "Definitely. Although when my leg's a little stronger I want to try the other way around." He pulled Sherlock to lay down again with him and snuggled against his chest, lips pressed to his neck. "I love you, Sherlock Holmes."

"And I love you, John Watson," Sherlock murmured. He rested his chin in John's hair, wrapping his arms around him, and sighed contentedly as they basked in the after glow.
I O U Much More (Post-Reich) Chapter 10
Huzzah for sex!! :XD:

Happy Wednesday my darlings! Can you believe that we're already to the tenth chapter? There's only five left after this :( I was thinking maybe we could do another contest for this story, since I haven't tried to do one since Once More With Feeling. Is anyone interested in that? Please let me know, because last time it kind of bombed :XD:

Anyway, I'm going back to school soon T_T This Sunday I'll be moving into my apartment and then things are probably going to get busy. The good news is that I don't have any class on Wednesday this semester, which means that I won't be posting late (hopefully) for these chapters, and that's probably when I'll post the next story as well. The bad news is that I won't have as much time to write the next story (and I haven't written anything more for it in a few weeks ^^; ) so it might come later than I thought. I'm hoping to get it going soon, I just need some inspiration. Here's hoping school gets my brain going, haha.

Alrighty, so that's it for me! Please don't forget to follow sxs-fanfics on tumblr for updates, and now it's time for shout outs!!
:iconcaptainsparkleships: :iconcrackersthegiraffe:

Thank you lovelies, for always faving :D See you next week!!

SailorXStar as Sherlock
Kakurenbo as John

Sherlock and related character names belong to the BBC, Moftiss, and Sir ACD
Story belongs to SXS and Kakurenbo

Chapter 9: sailorxstar.deviantart.com/art… ~ Chapter 10: You're here! ~ Chapter 11: sailorxstar.deviantart.com/art…
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WARNING: This story will contain mature themes including male on male sex, violence, and swearing. If you don't like those things then this story is not for you.

Please read the AN at the bottom :D

*~~~*

The pair made their way hand in hand as fast as John could keep up while hobbling along. He felt nearly sick to his stomach thinking about how close he'd come to being charred remains. Thank God that he'd convinced Sherlock to let him come. Of course, that didn't make things any better for the rest of the men who were in the club, including his future brother-in-law, but they would be easier to save being on the ground or upper floors.

A few blocks away, the fire and flashing lights of emergency personal were already visible. Sherlock let go of John, his focus on the burning building, and sprinted the rest of the way, knowing that his fiance would catch up eventually. Far be it from him to show brotherly love, but this was a special circumstance. The flames licked at the dark sky, there were people gathering in the street, a spray of mist was coming from the powerful hoses blasting the club, and a few ambulances were already half full of injured escapees. Sherlock shoved through the crowd, bypassing the policemen at the yellow tape, and grabbed Lestrade by the shoulders. He shook him, yelling, "Mycroft!! Have you seen Mycroft!?"

Lestrade was stunned by how fast Sherlock had arrived, but he quickly collected himself. "We haven't found him yet," he said. "But I'm sure he's fine. They're still evacuating people." He looked back at the building, where firemen were still practically carrying people out. His eyes showed a hint of distress. "I'm sure he's one of them," he said more softly.

Sherlock didn't have more than a second to process the change in the DI's demeanour before John had caught up. He leaned heavily into his side as he caught his breath, staring at the flames. It amazed him, in a terrible way, how much destruction one man could leave in his wake.

The taller man grabbed his hand again, needing John's support. Icy blue eyes scanned over all the windows, searching for any sign of his older brother from among the inferno. "John, where is he?" He was barely aware of how tightly he was squeezing John's hand. "John..." He was half tempted to go in himself.

John winced, trying to get Sherlock's fingers to loosen up. "Maybe he wasn't here," he said, and reached up to touch Sherlock's cheek. "Maybe he was out. Either way, I'm sure he's fine. Mycroft isn't one to let himself be killed by Moriarty, of all people."

The gentle touch made Sherlock jump a little, and he looked down at the doctor. Even with John's calm and steady reassurance, he still felt tense. Although he did release his vice grip. "Yes, of course," he said, trying to get control of himself. "I should just call him." He pulled out his mobile and dialed Mycroft, which made John frown. Sherlock never called anyone, and that alone showed just how concerned she was. It rang a few times before going to voicemail. Sherlock hung up without leaving a message, feeling more disconcerted.

John put his hand on Sherlock's shoulder and looked into his eyes again. Every passing moment was making him a bit more worried too, but he was even more worried over the fact that Sherlock was acting this way. When the detective was confident, then usually everyone else could be too. But if not... "I'm sure he's fine," he assured once more, but it was becoming less and less convincing to both of them.

Suddenly Lestrade ran over with a relieved half-smile. "We've got him," he said, and pointed to a group of men at the door. Two firemen were on either side of Mycroft, dragging him out of the wreckage. He looked dazed but alright, and Sherlock's shoulders drooped, face smoothing into a stoic expression. John almost laughed at how fast he was to put on his mask again. He was sure at a time like this, Mycroft might appreciate a little show of emotion, but he supposed that just wasn't how those two worked.

The group waited until the elder Holmes had been put into the ambulance and given an oxygen mask before heading over. Up close it was easier to see that he was certainly signed, but with no permanent damage After a fit of coughing and a long moment of inhaling the fresh oxygen like a gift from God, Mycroft pulled the mask away just enough to speak. "Next time please inform me when your friend Mr. Moriarty plans on blowing up a building. We're going to have to deal with quite a clean up now."

"Next time I'll be sure to let you know," Sherlock said. He tried to act nonchalant but a hint of a smile played on his lips, the unspoken happiness that he was okay.

Lestrade stepped forward then with a smile, a hand on the back of his neck. "Glad to see you're all right, Mycroft," he said, with very genuine gratefulness in his eyes. But then they turned playful to try to lighten the mood. "Sherlock was pretty frantic a few minutes ago, you should have seen."

"I was not!" Sherlock snapped.

Mycroft grinned knowingly. "Thank you, Gregory. And I'm quite glad to see all of you are alright as well. Especially you, John. I hadn't thought that Sherlock would allow you out for some time. It was a stroke of luck."

Sherlock had almost forgotten his horrible near-mistake. He'd been so wrapped up in Moriarty and the explosion that the guilt didn't fully hit him until now. "John...I'm so sorry." He turned to him and wrapped his arms around the other man, pulling him close. To think, he'd come so close to losing the most important person in his life. "How could I have been so stupid?"

John was surprised by the sudden embrace, but hugged Sherlock back tightly. "You were trying to protect me, Sherlock" he reasoned. "You couldn't have known. Let's just be grateful I went with you, okay?"

Sherlock nodded into John's shoulder. "I'm not letting you out of my sight anymore." It was far too much of a risk, he'd learnt that much. Even just going downstairs in their own flat had left John open to attack.

But these words made John push back a little, looking up at his fiance. Much as he appreciated his protectiveness, he didn't want to be coddled. "Sherlock, you can't watch me every moment of the day. It's just not realistic. Really."

"He's right, Sherlock," Mycroft said, now having completely removed the mask. "But I can up the security around your flat. I'm assuming that you'll be returning there considering that you have nowhere else to go at the moment."

"That's where he wants us," Sherlock said bitterly, wishing that there was a way that they could get out from under Moriarty's thumb. But he'd made it pretty clear what would happen if they didn't play along. "We'll be much more vulnerable there, so any extra security would be good. And neither of us will leave the flat without the other."

"Sherlock," John said, with a deep set frown, fully extracting himself from said man's arms. "What if I want to go to the pub with Greg, hmm? You're not usually one to go out drinking with us. Is the secret service going to come with us? That'll definitely be subtle."

Sherlock pursed his lips as John was starting to lose his patience again. He hadn't thought that after this incident that the he would argue with taking more precautions, but he supposed that it was frustrating to be treated this way. Wanting to avoid a fight, Sherlock decided to try a compromise. "I suppose that Lestrade might be competent enough to keep an eye on you."

"Gee, thanks," the DI muttered.

"But how much do you need to go to the pub?" Sherlock continued, ignoring him.

John sighed, rubbing a hand over his face. "I suspect with everything that's been going on, I'll be wanting to go to the pub a bit more frequently than usual...But that might not be the only place that I want to go on my own. I'm tired of having babysitters," he huffed. "I'm not completely unable to defend myself just because of my leg." Even Lestrade looked skeptical at that. He knew all the stories about John getting kidnapped.

Sherlock looked at John earnestly, and the shorter could see without him speaking that he only had the best intentions. It made him feel a little guilty for always giving a hard time, but he couldn't be under house arrest for the rest of his (or hopefully Moriarty's, if he died first) life, not even at Baker Street. The detective understood this, but it wasn't forever, and he needed John to just cooperate for a while longer. He put his hands on John's shoulders.

"I warned you this was going to happen that first day, love. Because I came back sooner than I had meant to, and especially since Moriarty turned out to be alive, you are a target again. You've been in mortal danger multiple times since my reappearance and I'm not going to make the mistake of letting that happen again.

"I know you can defend yourself under normal circumstances but this is Moriarty we're dealing with. It's better to be safe than sorry in the end, yes?"

John sighed again, in defeat. He knew that he wasn't going to win this one, and in the end, Sherlock was right. It was obvious that he was still very much in danger, and things weren't going to be normal for them until they had done their job of ridding the world of Moriarty. Again. "I suppose," he mumbled. "It's tiring, though. You'd think Moriarty would have thought of a few other ways to get under your skin, by now. I swear, if I'm threatened at gunpoint by that man one more time, I'm going to kill him. There's nowhere he'll be able to hide."

"You remember what he said. He swore to burn out my heart." Sherlock let his hands slide down John's arms to take his hands. "And my heart is you. I don't think there's anything else that he could do that would compare, and he won't settle for less than the worst possible torture." He squeezed John's hands. Now more than ever he knew that Mycroft was right about love being a dangerous disadvantage. But he wouldn't give up John for anything. "I'm sorry that I dragged you into this psychotic game."

John's face softened and he ran his calloused thumbs gently over the back of Sherlock's hands. Back when Moriarty had first said those words to him, he had never dreamed that he was talking about him, but it seemed that since that moment he had had a bullseye on his back. "Don't apologise," he said. "This whole situation may be a right pain in the arse, but I wouldn't want to be living any other life than this one."

"I know." Sherlock smiled a bit sadly. "Though I think if you had known ahead of time that you would be the target of a psychopathic killer because of me, you might have thought a little harder about moving in together."

John chuckled and shrugged a bit. "Perhaps," he said. "But look at all the fun I would have missed." He returned Sherlock's smile encouragingly. "Come on. 221B is waiting for us."

Sherlock kissed him on the forehead. "Yes. Let's go home." He hooked his arm into John's, and they headed for the street to hail a cab, neither planning on having John walk all the way home.

On the way, they were silent, but once they were in the back of the black car, John spoke. "It was different of him," he said. "To not give you more warning, or a way to get out of it or prevent it. To not make it more...playful. His games are getting more abrupt. Deadlier."

"I suppose even his insane games get boring eventually. He's changing it up," Sherlock said, gravely. It was an unnerving thought. "Baker Street, please," he added to the cabbie who nodded and drove off.

"I guess it's just a matter of trying to predict his next move," John reasoned, watching the streets of London flash by through the window. "But that seems nearly impossible."

"Yes. All we can do is hope for a hint." Sherlock looked at John's profile, glowing from the lights zooming by. To think he might not be sitting here with him had things gone differently...He shook his head, banishing the thought.

John could feel Sherlock staring at him and he turned, with the intention of leaning over to kiss his cheek. But before he could, there was the most hideous crunching sound he'd ever heard. The impact was jarring, horns were blaring, and John was vaguely aware of screaming that may have been his own. The cab fish tailed off the road, before flipping and rolling, throwing the two of them together, and all John could do was grab Sherlock's coat and hold on for dear life.

Sherlock's arms encircled John, pulling him to his chest as his back slammed into the side of the rolling cab. He heard a loud thumping sound, his head cracking the glass of the window as it hit the ground during their somersault. Suddenly he was extremely dizzy and nauseous, and couldn't figure out why John was screaming so much. It was just a silly carnival ride, right? That's why it felt like they were spinning out of control. But in another moment, his brain completely shut down and he lost consciousness.

Just when it seemed like the cab was never going to stop moving, it suddenly crashed, wrapping around a pole, and jerked into its final resting place. John had been protected from the brunt of the damage by Sherlock's enveloping embrace, but he was still quite banged up. He groaned, struggling to get his bearings. Dizzy. He was very dizzy, and the smell of blood stung his nose. "Sherlock?" he croaked. "Are you all right?" As his vision focused, he lifted his head to look up at Sherlock, only to find him slumped against the shattered window and unconscious. Blood was running from a gash by his hairline, far too similar to another time he'd almost lost the detective.

"Sherlock. Sherlock, wake up. Can you hear me?" He didn't try to move him, knowing that it was better not to in case there was any damage to his spinal cord. All that really mattered to him right now was seeing the shallow rise and fall of Sherlock's chest, and knowing he was alive. That, at least, was a blessing.

Thankfully, it wasn't long before John heard sirens. They hadn't made it too far from the club, so it was likely that any of the police and paramedics they could spare were coming from there. Sure enough, when they managed to get him out of the cab, he could see Lestrade and Mycroft stepping out of one of the police cars. A few EMTs nudged him aside so that they could carefully remove Sherlock from the vehicle as well, stabilising his neck and spine, and lifting him onto a stretcher.

John felt a bit nauseous and faint as he watched them take Sherlock away. It was so much like that day three years before, only this time there was no elaborate plan and fake blood. After all that talk about protecting him, now Sherlock was the one just barely escaping death. But then a hand on his shoulder brought John from his thoughts, and he turned to see Greg standing behind him with Mycroft.

"This isn't going to get better," the elder Holmes said with a grim expression. "There's only one possible way that you'll ever be able to live in peace, and it's not going to come to pass very easily. James Moriarty needs to be killed."

John took a deep breath and released it slowly, shakily. "You're right," he said. "That's the only way to end this. We have no choice." All previous thoughts of annoyance at the prospect of being cooped up and escorted in and out of the flat were gone. The fact that it had hardly been an hour since Moriarty had struck and he was already after them again confirmed the severity of the situation. Neither of them could rest until that man was buried six feet in the ground.

One of the paramedics came over to him then, leading him towards the back of the ambulance so he could sit down and be looked at. They draped a blanket over his shoulders, and he couldn't help a slight chuckle. A shock blanket. Hadn't seen one of these in a while.

Sitting down with the warm fleece draped around him, the adrenaline of too much excitement wearing down, and the dizziness still threatening to make him vomit, it was all John could do to keep his eyes open. But thankfully, he didn't have to for very long. Once the medics helped him into a gurney and they started for the hospital, he let himself finally pass out.

I.:.O.:.U

When Sherlock woke up there was a dull throbbing in his head and he groaned. A second later, he realised that that had been a mistake, for just that little bit of effort was enough to escalate his headache to splitting. Did he dare to open his eyes and let the light in? Just by inhaling he could smell antiseptic and the general sterile atmosphere of hospital.

Hospital...Suddenly the night before (or was it? How long had he been out?) came rushing back to him, making his head spin. The explosion, the cab, the crash, the blow to his head. "John!" he cried, though it sounded strangled and very unlike his voice. His eyes shot open and he sat up, only to feel dizziness and nausea sweep over him. He fell back into the pillows, but his body wanted to fight itself. He needed to know that John was okay.

"Don't try to move too much," a soothing voice advised him from nearby. John. Yes, that was definitely him, and while it was comforting his worried heart, it grated on his ears and made his head  pound. "You hit your head pretty hard."

Sherlock groaned again squeezing his eyes more tightly shut against the pain in his head. "John..." It was a whimper this time, pathetic sounding, but he was suffering too much to care.

"I know, Sherlock," John responded softly, making sure he wasn't going to make Sherlock's obvious headache even worse by talking to him. "I know it hurts. The doctor doesn't want to give you any morphine or anything too strong, because of your history with drugs. Just try to go back to sleep."

Of course. Sherlock cursed himself for his stupidity in the past, and for never being able to get away from its negative consequences. He tried to relax but the pain was unbearable. He reached out a hand in the general direction of John's voice.

There was a rustling from next to him, meaning that John must have been in a bed of his own. Then he heard him sit down in a chair before feeling the firm grip of his rough hand. "I'm here," he whispered. "Just try to relax."

Having John's hand helped a little, but the pain didn't go away. Sherlock laid quietly trying to separate himself from the throbbing, steadying his breathing, occasionally using John's hand like a stress ball, and eventually fell into fitful sleep.

John took a trembling breath once he could tell that Sherlock was asleep, frantically wiping away the tears that he was very glad the other hadn't seen. Really, there was nothing to cry over, but he supposed from being overly tired himself he was feeling more emotional, and he couldn't bear to see Sherlock like this. Such a great man, brought to whimpers and the desperate need for comfort, all because of that bastard...

I.:.O.:.U

The next time Sherlock woke his head was still hurting immensely, but he felt he could better control the pain this time. He opened his eyes, blinking rapidly to adjust to the light and stark whiteness of the hospital room. Turning his head he found John asleep in a chair next to his bed, head on the mattress, still holding his hand. The detective gave a small smile. Wincing with the effort, he lifted John's hand and leaned over as much as he needed to kiss the back of it before laying back again.

The movement stirred John, and as his eyelids fluttered open, he was glad to be rid of the nightmare that had been behind them only moments before. A horrible combination of Sherlock's jump and the car accident, and nothing to be desired. "Sherlock..." he murmured. "You're awake. How are you feeling?" His grip on his fiance's hand tightened as he sat up and rubbed his eyes with his free one.

"Awful," Sherlock wheezed. "But better than before. What was the damage?" He was tempted to probe his head a bit to find out but knew it would only increase the already miserable pain.

"You cracked your head open," John told him. "You have a severe concussion, and you need to stay here to be monitored. Otherwise, you've obviously got some bruises, but those are nothing serious. Thankfully your back was alright."

Sherlock groaned, not wanting to have to stay here for a prolonged amount of time when they had just been so close to finally going home. "Annoying. Have they questioned the cabbie yet?" Even with his pounding head, his mind wasn't inhibited from thinking with his usual speed.

"Cabbie's dead," John told him. "Lestrade is still investigating, but it seems pretty clear cut to all of us. Although you'd probably have the full solution by now if you were there." He smiled. "Anderson's helping out too. Doing his best."

Sherlock laughed but regretted it when it sent a sharp pain through his head. "Anderson may as well be making assumptions with his eyes closed. But you and I both know who's behind this. They won't find anything to connect it to him."

John gave his hand a comforting squeeze and nodded. "Yes," he said. "Of course I know that." He sighed, looking down at their hands, and the ring that still glinted on his finger. "Mycroft said that the only way that we're ever going to be safe is to kill him, and I think he's right. Somehow we have to do it."

Sherlock scoffed. "If only it were that easy. He always seems to be one step ahead." He grit his teeth and closed his eyes as another round of throbbing passed through his head.

John pressed his lips together, displeased. Sherlock was in no shape to be thinking about all this right now, and he wasn't going to encourage it any longer. "All right, enough worrying for you. You still need rest."

One of Sherlock's eyes opened and he peeked at John with a little smirk. "Whatever you say, Doctor."

"I'm serious, Sherlock," John said, adopting a firm tone. "Concussions are tricky, and nothing to smirk about. Behave yourself."

Sherlock rolled his eyes fondly. "Don't worry. I have no intentions of taking any chances. I'm in too much pain." He let out a little huff of breath, shifting a little on the pillows behind him. "Kiss me, John?"

John chuckled softly. He stood and leaned over Sherlock, pressing a gentle, loving kiss to his lips. They hadn't had a chance to do that since before they left to investigate the warehouse, and John made a mental note not to let themselves go that long without kissing ever again. "As soon as you get out of here, we're getting married. I'm not waiting any longer. Not taking any more chances."

Sherlock smiled as they pulled apart. "Agreed. I'll have Mycroft start making preparations. Though we might have to put off the honeymoon for a bit."

"I'm fine with that," John said. "As long as I'm married to you. We don't even need a honeymoon, as far as I'm concerned."

"I don't know. After all this, wouldn't it be nice to have a holiday? All these near death experiences have taken a toll on me," Sherlock said with a chuckle.

"This is only your first near death experience," John reminded quietly. "I've had...four now? Five? I'm the one who really needs the holiday."

Sherlock's face turned more serious and he looked John directly in the eye. "Your near death experiences affect me just as much as my own. Because you are my life now."

"Sherlock, that is entirely too sappy," John scolded playfully, which made the other man huff indignantly. He reached up, one hand softly caressing Sherlock's cheek, tucking back a wayward curl. "I'm sorry. I hate causing you so much stress."

"It's not your fault," Sherlock said, leaning into the comforting touch. "I would rather near death than death, even if it is stressful."

John gazed fondly into his future husband's bright blue eyes, and smiled a bit. "Me, too," he agreed. "All right, enough chat. I've kept you up too long. More rest now."

"Alright, alright." Sherlock relaxed, closing his eyes. "I love you, John."

"I love you, too, Sherlock," John said softly. "Very much." He sat back in his chair, still holding Sherlock's hand tightly, watching silently. He was afraid to go back to his own bed, even though he was tired. He feared that if he let go of Sherlock's hand, he might just disappear.
I O U Much More (Post-Reich) Chapter 9
Hi guys! I'm sorry this is really late in the day, but I'm kind of in a writing funk and it took me a long time to get this chapter to anything that resembled decent T_T I hope that you guys still like it, idk what's up with me. I need a way to get out of this writer's block. Any tips?

Anyway, we're more than halfway through the story! There's only 6 chapters left already (and that means I have only 6 weeks to get that other story ready for you :XD: ). I hope that you've all been enjoying it so far, as it seems like many of you have been :D

I wanted to mention something when I posted chapter 7, but I forgot to because I was still pissed about my laptop charger :XD: The childhoods of Sherlock and John are obviously not in canon with what we learned in S3, but again, I'm trying to keep this revision free of any reference to S3 because it was written so long before we knew anything. And I love Ben's parent's as Mr. and Mrs. Holmes, and I hate to make people think of them negatively, but that's just how it is in this story. Anyway, I just wanted to say that lol.

Okay, so that's it for me! Please don't forget to follow sxs-fanfics on tumblr. Also, we've kind of given up on MashingButtons since we don't really have time to make any new content with school coming O_o So we'll skip over that to SHOUT OUTS!
:iconcaptainsparkleships: :iconcrackersthegiraffe:

My two regulars, lol. Thanks as always for your love :heart: See you next week!

SailorXStar as Sherlock
Kakurenbo as John

Sherlock and related character names belong to the BBC, Moftiss, and Sir ACD
Story belongs to SXS and Kakurenbo

Chapter 8: sailorxstar.deviantart.com/art… ~ Chapter 9: You're here! ~ Chapter 10: sailorxstar.deviantart.com/art…
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So, on Monday, my laptop charger broke. -_- And in spite of the fact that I ordered one right away in the morning, it's still not here yet and won't be until tomorrow probably. (Note to you guys, if you ever have to mail something/are ordering something, the post office is the fastest way to go). I'm making this post on our family computer.

What does that mean for you guys? Well, unfortunately, I can't post the next chapter of IOU today, because my files are on my laptop and I can't get to them now. I hate to leave you guys hanging, but hopefully the thing finally comes tomorrow, and I can get the chapter to you guys ASAP. I'm really sorry guys, but unfortunately, shit happens :/

A bit of good news: I've started writing the Ghostlock/Teenlock story and so far it's looking really good! Once I actually write enough to be ready to post, I'll probably be doing so both here and on fanfiction at the same time, because I want to try using a beta this time around to help me out. It's the first time that I'm writing a Johnlock story from scratch (even though the idea of the story is based on an RP), and having that second eye will help me to give you guys something better.

Alright, darlings, hopefully I'll be seeing you tomorrow. Wish me luck!
  • Mood: Annoyed

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SailorXStar
K-chow Palalumpski
United States
Konnichiwa minna-san!! Watashi wa SailorXStar to iimasu. Hajimemashite!! I'm an aspiring artist whose real talent lies in performing arts. I guess on the internet I'm most well-known as SuperSailorX on YouTube where I'm a fandubber and also as SailorXStar on FanFiction. Please look me up at these locations if you're interested :D I hope you like what I have to offer here and please critique me because I always love the advice. Thank you! :D

Current Residence: New York
Favourite genre of music: Jazz, 70's, 80's, and randoms
Operating System: I'm bi-systemal
MP3 player of choice: iPod Nano Chromatic (purple)
Favourite cartoon character: Most 90's characters plus Scooby Doo ppl and the Looney Tunes
Personal Quote: You only regret what you don't do
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:icondeanieweanieluvspeen:
deanieweanieluvspeen Featured By Owner Jul 16, 2014  Hobbyist Writer
What does a
snowman
eatfor breakfast??
/?

...

Snowflakes..
!!1
THE SOURCE OF ALL NIGHTMARES 

(I'm sorry but I'm crying)
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:iconsailorxstar:
SailorXStar Featured By Owner Jul 17, 2014
:XD: Lolololol
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:iconxxxruby-chanxxx:
XXXRuby-ChanXXX Featured By Owner Jul 9, 2014  Hobbyist Digital Artist
i have an idea for a story
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:iconsailorxstar:
SailorXStar Featured By Owner Jul 9, 2014
Ooo do tell. I would love to do a collab if you want ^^
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:iconxxxruby-chanxxx:
XXXRuby-ChanXXX Featured By Owner Jul 9, 2014  Hobbyist Digital Artist
Sherlock turns into a girl... (we can note about it)
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:iconsailorxstar:
SailorXStar Featured By Owner Jul 10, 2014
Oh gosh :XD:
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(1 Reply)
:iconjeanneriddle:
JeanneRiddle Featured By Owner Mar 19, 2014  Hobbyist General Artist
Your hiatus makes me sad. When are you posting the next beautiful fan fic?FOREVER WAITING 
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:iconsailorxstar:
SailorXStar Featured By Owner Mar 20, 2014
I'm hoping that I can get to it soon. Maybe in a few weeks? I have to see how things go with school. But don't be sad, I will be back!! :heart:
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:icondefokofunfan01:
defokoFunfan01 Featured By Owner May 6, 2014
Yaaay!
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:icondefokofunfan01:
defokoFunfan01 Featured By Owner Feb 14, 2014
Just wondering, when is the next chapter to be posted?
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