Missing Piece - BBC Sherlock (Johnlock) *finally completed*

Chapter 11

The sight of John staggering while he clung to Sherlock as they made their way outside made the consulting detective wish there was still one of the kidnappers left he could vent the fury he felt on. By now Mycroft had surely already secured Birch and taken care of his wounds. Hopefully they would take a very long time to heal. Sherlock pursed his lips at the thought of that man in disgust.

One hand wrapped tightly around John’s back they slowly ascended the stairs. His gray eyes were on John the whole time, though he was trying not to look at the wounds all over John’s body. He couldn’t stand to look at them.

It was his fault they were there. 

John stopped when they stepped outside into the sunlight, drawing in one ragged breath. Most of his weight weighted on Sherlock and he was glad for that in one way. It made it feel more real that John was back at his side.

“I never thought it could be so nice,” John began looking up at the sky, squinting his bloodshot eyes at its brightness “to feel the sun on my skin”

 Sherlock didn’t know what to reply and instead tightened his grip around John’s waist. The car stood there waiting to take them back home. In that moment Sherlock was glad for Mycroft’s men. They wouldn’t ask questions or urge him to take John to the hospital because Sherlock was too exhausted to deal with an annoying cabbie or any of that sort right now. All he wanted was to bring his doctor back to their flat and don’t leave him out of his sight ever again.

Through the whole ride to Baker Street John’s head rested on his shoulder, his hot forehead slightly touching Sherlock’s neck. The consulting detective was certain that John wasn’t asleep but no one said a word. And when they finally reached their flat John moved back into an upright position so that Sherlock could step out of the car and help John do the same. The way up the stairs was tricky and John grunted in pain when he had to put pressure on his injured leg. Sherlock tried to ignore the lump that formed in his throat every time he heard it in the, apart from John’s hard breathing, quiet flat.

Leading John to his favourite armchair Sherlock studied the pale face once again. There were dark circles under his eyes, a bit sweat glistening on his skin, stubbles on his chin from not shaving in the last few days.

“I’ll get you some painkillers” Sherlock hurried off to get them and a glass of water after John was seated and his hurt leg positioned on the table. When he returned John gave him a weak nod of appreciation before taking them.

 Sherlock felt the urge to bend down and wrap John in his arms tightly and never let go of him again just to ensure that no one would ever take John away from him again. The consulting detective blinked as if that would help to get these thoughts out of his head, but they were stuck there. If anything the desire to do so just became more urgent. His body felt like a magnet being drawn to John.

He bend over towards John, but instead of doing what every fiber of his body screamed for he took the now empty glass out of John’s shaky hands, his fingers touching the doctors and hurried into the kitchen to put it into the sink. He remained there for a few seconds trying to bring this emotion under control. It was completely and utterly irrational. Sherlock frowned and stared at the hand that had held the glass. He felt an odd sensation lingering where he had brushed John’s fingers.

 “Sherlock?” John asked when the seconds kept ticking by and Sherlock’s body moved of his own accord when he sensed a hint of panic in John’s voice, his discovery cast aside for the moment.

“What’s wrong?” he asked almost breathlessly, rushing back into the living room.

“No. Nothing. I- it’s just. Sorry” John stuttered and sighed, moving his hand over his face “You didn’t come back and I just- it’s stupid really”