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“But his alibi checks out completely Sherlock! You can’t seriously be trying to tell me he did this from the other side of the worl-“

“For god’s sake john, do keep up! I despise repeating myself, why don’t any of you understand what I say the first time around? There is no fault in my logic after all.” The consulting detective scoffed. John stuttered for a split second before regaining his composure after the regular insult.

“Alright smart arse, how did he manage this one?” John yelled indignantly, but before Sherlock could answer, Dr Watson tackled him to the ground from behind. He looked up to see the dart embedded in the wall above his head. John nodded at the vague grunt Sherlock gave in thanks before they both jumped up again and sought shelter from their unseen enemy.

The pair stood shoulder to shoulder against the nearest wall, Sherlock with his back to it to survey the alley in front of him and john with his head angled around the corner of the wall to watch for any oncoming threats.

“Twins, john…” Sherlock muttered under his breath scornfully. John glanced over his shoulder disbelievingly at Sherlock before snapping back to the corner.

“How the hell am I supposed to know he has a twin unless you tell me these things you git?!” Sherlock huffed, annoyed, before john fixed a reproachful glare on him.

“Come now john, you must remember the comments of the girlfriend ‘occasionally he’d act really out of character-“ Sherlock’s amusing imitation of the suspect’s whiney girlfriend was cut short by a dull ‘Thunk’ as yet another dart came into contact with the wall right next to Sherlock’s head, but this time John was ready and waiting for it. He spun on his heel with his gun raised and shot without hesitation in the direction, his hand not wavering an inch. They both heard the resounding thud and crash of their pursuer collapsing and falling from his perch on the building opposite.

A moment of silence passed between the two before john tried to warn Sherlock that there could be others following them, but before he could his vision faded to black. Sherlock watched his blogger collapse in front of him and immediately spun to protect him from any further harm from the assaulter.

“Sorry Mr Holmes, but my employer has requested an audience with the great consulting detective and his blogger.” The man in front of Sherlock, who he had deduced entirely by that point, raised his hand and fired another shot at Sherlock, the first hit him in the leg and he grunted but continued to stand.

“My, my, you have built up quite a resistance to heavy drugs haven’t you?” as he finished his sentence, Sherlock dove for john’s gun, making the attacker start and fumble with his dart gun before taking aim and hitting Sherlock once again in the thigh, try as he might, Sherlock couldn’t fight off the second dose of tranquiliser and felt himself slipping into the realms of unconsciousness, but not before glancing over to his army doctor to make sure he was not injured. Then the darkness took him.

***

John Watson came to with a far to familiar weight and warmth surrounding him. He started and was rewarded with the ropes tying himself and his partner together making themselves painfully known against his back and wrists. He shifted his head to accommodate the pressure of Sherlock’s head unwittingly resting on his shoulder before blushing a bright vermillion when he realised the rest of the position they were quite awkwardly placed in. they were sitting on the cold hard floor of an abandoned storehouse, pressed chest to chest, with Sherlock sitting alarmingly comfortably in his lap. John’s legs were sitting under Sherlock’s thighs so the detective’s long legs could stretch over and behind john’s increasingly warm body. Due to the constraints of the rope, their groins were also pressed quite close together along with their chest, and to top it off, Sherlock was tickling John’s ear with his breath from his head lulling over his shoulder.
John shifted his weight to try to loosen the ropes before Sherlock woke, but stopped immediately as a rush of heat went straight to his groin as he accidentally brushed against Sherlock’s crotch, and to his utter shock and chagrin, Sherlock groaned in his sleep, a deep, throaty sound that stoked the growing problem in john’s pants.

He stilled completely, and sat there, rigid as a board, all the while repeating the mantra ‘not gay, not gay’ in his head. Grasping around his mind for something to put him off, and image of Anderson and Donavan presented itself and he almost immediately regretted it before realising he was not in a situation to be picky at the moment. As horrible as it was, the imagery worked, and he calmed down again.

Just minutes later Sherlock began to stir, and a mumbling in his ear alerted John.

“Ungh. John? Where are we? Oh, a storehouse I see. Wow, those tranq darts had enough sedative in them to knock out an infant elephant. I’d say we’ve been here for a little over 4 hours judging by the height of the sun.” John relaxed at hearing his friend completely normal despite the odd circumstances. That was before Sherlock decided to sit up straight, bringing the two uncomfortably face to face. John had to tilt his head up to keep his eyes on Sherlock’s and Sherlock’s down likewise. John’s face flamed again, and he thought he saw the slightest hint of pink pass his companion’s pale complexion, but brushed it off, as it wasn’t important at the moment. Getting out of there, however, was.

“Mr Sherlock Holmes and Doctor John Watson, I’ve heard a lot about you two” rumbled a low voice that echoed menacingly around the empty space. John and Sherlock’s head’s both snapped to the right where the voice was approaching from to see a man step out from the shadows before them. Sherlock jumped as John forced his head onto his friend’s shoulder quickly to physically stifle the growing laughter that was bubbling out of him. John shook silently against Sherlock for a moment whilst Sherlock looked on, bewildered. When john finally calmed himself he sat back again, raising his head from where it was quite comfortably resting in the crook of Sherlock’s neck. He looked back over at the man, who had greeted them before giving a sniggered,

“Sorry” Sherlock just continued to watch him, the picture of befuddlement. No matter how much he comes to know about his doctor and blogger, he still manages to surprise him, which is impressive in itself.

“As I was saying,” the man began, to which john promptly interrupted with,

“Look, I’m really sorry, but” snicker “what, are you wearing?” both Sherlock and the unnamed man looked at him like he was the one dressed in the shortest leather shorts he’d ever seen, along with a green vest that was topped with a huge cape that was so long it could easily be mistaken for a cloak.

“John, you should know by now not to judge the threat a man presents based on his appearance alone. This man has been a key member in many recent drug cartel incidents within London and internationally, though he has not been caught for any of them by the looks of it. He’s very precise in his methods and is extremely good at tying up loose ends. Andele “Skippy” Jackson I presume?” Sherlock said in one breath. John couldn’t help the ‘brilliant’ that slipped out under his breath that Sherlock obviously heard due to their close proximity.

“Well done, Mr Holmes! I am truly impressed! But you’ve made a mistake. If you had have kept your big mouth shut, you and your companion may have been able to live. You know too much now.” He purred predatorily.

“Dull.” Stated Sherlock bluntly, making Skippy Jackson stiffen and hiss, insulted. “You would have killed us either way, did I not just deduce that of you? Please, try not to be so stupid, it really irritates me.” This made something in Skippy snap. He stormed over to the two tied up men, and suddenly John realised, too late, that under the ridiculous clothing, this man was extremely well built, and definitely very, very threatening. As Skippy swung a clenched fist at Sherlock’s head, john did his best to jerk Sherlock’s body out of his line, which helped to deflect the majority of the force of the punch, but even so the punch glanced Sherlock’s cheek with the force of a bulldozer, sending his now reeling head into john’s due to the proximity they shared at that moment.

“How dare you, you, you, insolent brat! You are in no position to mock me! I have you tied to your ‘companion’ in the middle of nowhere in an abandoned store yard. I am threatening you with death and you still think you have any footing to mock me on?” he spat at Sherlock with so much venom it made john shudder. Sherlock spat a bit of blood from his mouth onto the cement floor, staining it deep red, before he spoke again, his words measured and precise.

“Hm, a store yard indeed. I would say an abandoned ship yard on the side of the Thames that was once used to manage” he paused to sniff the air “tuna? But here was one of your big operations wasn’t it? Going out in fishing boats under the guise of tuna fishing to meet your transporters just outside the bay with the drugs or profit you had made. But where on the Thames? Well, judging by the lack of sound outside it has to be at least 4km from the nearest operating industrial property, it’s peak hour right now for the shipyards and storehouses to be operating, and with London’s density, you don’t get 4km gaps on the west side of the river. So narrowing that down, we must be about 6km east of Canary Wharf. Am I wrong?” Sherlock held the fuming man’s gaze with his piercing ice blue one before Skippy closed his eyes and breathed in and out to calm himself before opening them again and holding the detective’s gaze more evenly.

“You are correct Mr Holmes, but don’t think it will help you, I’m much too clever to be caught by your tricks.” Skippy spun on his heel to strut back to the centre of the large indoor boat yard. Whilst his back was turned, Sherlock shot John a look he knew well. ‘Play along’.

“Clever are you?” Sherlock asked dubiously, to which Skippy Jackson stiffened again, but refused to turn around, “If you’re so clever, how did you manage those 4, no 5, drug shipping projects?” at this Skippy did spin around, his cape/cloak swirling out behind him, not having the same effect as Sherlock’s.

“Oh, Sherlock,” he said, addressing the detective by his first name for the first time, “Sherlock, really? You think I’ll fall for that? Spill all my plans to prove I’m good enough in your eyes? Please, you are not worth my time, why would I care what you think about me?” he sauntered towards them again; his voice was almost simpering at this point, sickly-sweet. John felt his leg go numb under Sherlock’s weight and went to shift himself but changed his mind quickly again when he felt the heat rise in his face. Willing it down, he decided to try to help Sherlock finish this sooner. Sherlock did call him stupid often, but if there is one thing john could claim to be better with than Sherlock, it’s emotions. So he tried his own tactic, tagging along with Sherlock.

“Yes, um, excuse me Andele-“

“SKIPPY! My name is Skippy Jackson, not ‘andele’” the man ground out through his teeth.

“Right, yes, sorry, um Mr Jackson, sir but, I understand Sherlock knows you and what you do, but I’ve, quite frankly never heard of you. “ This made Skippy glare at John which john played the part and flinched at, before continuing his part and pretended to stutter out of nerves.

“Ah, t-that is to say, I- I just don’t really see what the big deal is a-and all, I mean, uh, h-how do I know you’re not just all talk.” Both men were visibly shaking now, though for entirely different reasons. The image of a terrified man shaking in front of him and still daring to question his power and legacy pushed him over the edge.

“How dare you, you SPINELESS WRETCH!” John flinched into Sherlock clearly playing the subordinate role, which brought a warmth to his chest that he couldn’t place.

“I have successfully completed 5 major assignments set to me by my employers, whom I will not name. In each case, I was responsible for personal, records, accounting and official documents. In each case, I hired, and later had KILLED, 60 men or more! Does that not convince you of just how dangerous I am?!” Skippy roared, taking angry steps towards the pair. John hid his face on Sherlock’s other side, trying to irritate the man further by refusing to make direct eye contact, but what john saw back there made him gasp and freeze for a moment before a smile split his face. He heard Skippy continue to rant at him, but whilst he hid his face in Sherlock’s coat lapel, he muttered to him,

“Do they have enough t go on by now?” he knew Sherlock could hear him with his excellent hearing. His answer came in the twitch of a thumb behind his back. Yes. Excellent. John relaxed and sat back up to stare blankly at the raving criminal, showing no signs of fear now. Skippy Jackson stopped in his tracks, noticing the change in demeanour that came across the previously terrified doctor.

“Why. Are you. So. Calm?” he ground out, his fury bubbling just beneath the surface. John just grinned and looked up at Sherlock, before looking away after almost bumping noses with the man. Before either of them could explain a tinny voice sounded in the large room. It was coming from behind Sherlock.

“Andele ‘Skippy’ Jackson, you are here by arrested in the name of New Scotland Yard, stay where you are and we will be on you in a matter seconds.” Said Detective Inspector Lestrade from the phone hidden in Sherlock’s hand behind his back.

“NO!” roared Skippy who had gone white as a sheet and was sweating buckets, “No! No! No! NO! This can’t happen!” he paused and spun furiously towards Sherlock and john, his finger jabbing insistently at the pair and shaking uncontrollably. “YOU! I should KILL you!” at this john froze. He’d forgotten the threat this man posed in his moment of relief.

“Go on then. Do it.”

“WHAT?! Sherlock! I am not okay with this! Sherlock! Are you listening to me! Don’t tell him to shoot us you idiot! What’s wrong with you?” John finished his tirade to have Sherlock speak like he hadn’t said a word.

“But you won’t will you? You know they’re close. Too close. They could be here any second, and not only would you be caught, you’d be caught red-handed. Try getting out of a murder charge with that on your head. Oh, but you don’t even have a gun do you? That’s right, you prefer a more personal way of tidying up loose ends don’t you? I can see by the calluses on your hands. Just how many people have you killed with those hands Andele?” instead of firing up like john expected him to; Skippy just went impossibly whiter, as if he had just become fully aware of the desperation of his situation. Without another word he ran like a scared rat from the pair and out into the London air, whistling down his ride.

The two were still as they listened to the sound of the retreating car.

“So, are the yard coming to untie us?” john asked, the full awkwardness of their situation coming back to him.

“not for another 20 minutes I would say” replied Sherlock offhandedly.

“Sher- Sherlock, did you just provide Scotland Yard with enough soundproof evidence to take a down a wanted murderer and drug supplier, only to let him run off with no chance of us catching him?” he seethed. There was a pause before Sherlock spoke. A pause that almost made John groan in distress at his friend’s rare display of idiocy.

“No, of course not John. I planted a tracker on him when he punched me.” The detective replied resolutely.

“You planted a- no, of course you did why am I surprised?” John muttered to himself, completely drained and exasperated. “So how do we get out of now then?” the blonde asked tiredly.

“Well we have to untie the ropes of course.” Stated Sherlock before he began to squirm to try to loosen some of their bonds. Needless to say, john was very uncomfortable. He clamped his mouth shut to avoid any embarrassing sounds from escaping but it didn’t quite work. The fact that he was very quickly getting hard again did not help him in the slightest.

“Ungh” John’s eyes shot open after accidentally letting out a small grunt, hoping to god Sherlock hadn’t heard him. Sherlock froze. Of course he had heard him, he was Sherlock. Sherlock now noticed the hard on growing in his companions pants. Mere seconds after that they both realised, to Sherlock’s shock and horror, a bulge beginning to form in the detective’s lower regions. Very quickly, they both tried wriggling desperately to escape their bonds and the absolute humiliation each one was facing at getting turned on by their flatmate. Almost simultaneously, both men groaned, rather loudly and froze in their actions. Sherlock looked down to see if it was really John who had made that unbelievably arousing sound, and John, likewise, looked up. Before they had time to regret it, their lips collided messily. Neither of them moved for a moment, then john gave in and started to really kiss his best friend and flatmate. What did he have to loose right? Sherlock obviously found him attractive if his crotch was any indication. Meanwhile, Sherlock kissed john back with fervour, and far less thought process. The thing that amazed him was john’s ability to simply stop his thoughts, the rampaging, high-speed train that had no brakes had crashed and burned the second their lips had connected. Their kisses turned desperate, and where they were too close before they were suddenly not close enough. Years of repressed sexual frustration came out in that one kiss which had them grinding against each other and furiously trying to get more of each other’s mouths.
They both froze when they heard a soft cough and clearing of throat coming from their right, where Skippy had ran from. Lestrade stood there in all his awkward glory before trying to stutter,

“U-uh, thanks boys. We’ve got, uh, got men following him n-now.” He stood there for a moment longer, refusing to make eye contact with the two men who were now both red and panting.

“Um, do you want help with that?” He tilted his head and shifted his hands to indicate the rope binding the pair. As Sherlock’s face began to cool and go pale again, john looked down, his face flushing an even brighter red than before.

“Yes please.” John muttered abashedly, he knew Sherlock was to proud to admit he’d need help with anything, especially from Scotland yard.

***
After giving their witness reports and Sherlock’s findings, the two turned to go home, but Lestrade caught them before they could. Being the, in Sherlock’s opinion, bumbling fool that he was, he had to make one last comment.

“You know you’re lucky it was me who found you guys and not some other Yarder.” It wasn’t a question, but john mumbled a quiet ‘ yeah’ in response anyway. “Oh well, off you go. And congratulations!” he shouted after them, a little too loudly for john’s liking. The two walked off to find a cab, but they walked a little closer than normal, just enough to brush hands every now and then.

The End

Description
“But his alibi checks out completely Sherlock! You can’t seriously be trying to tell me he did this from the other side of the worl-“

“For god’s sake john, do keep up! I despise repeating myself, why don’t any of you understand what I say the first time around? There is no fault in my logic after all.” The consulting detective scoffed. John stuttered for a split second before regaining his composure after the regular insult.

“Alright smart arse, how did he manage this one?” John yelled indignantly, but before Sherlock could answer, Dr Watson tackled him to the ground from behind. He looked up to see the dart embedded in the wall above his head. John nodded at the vague grunt Sherlock gave in thanks before they both jumped up again and sought shelter from their unseen enemy.

The pair stood shoulder to shoulder against the nearest wall, Sherlock with his back to it to survey the alley in front of him and john with his head angled around the corner of the wall to watch for any oncoming threats.

“Twins, john…” Sherlock muttered under his breath scornfully. John glanced over his shoulder disbelievingly at Sherlock before snapping back to the corner.

“How the hell am I supposed to know he has a twin unless you tell me these things you git?!” Sherlock huffed, annoyed, before john fixed a reproachful glare on him.

“Come now john, you must remember the comments of the girlfriend ‘occasionally he’d act really out of character-“ Sherlock’s amusing imitation of the suspect’s whiney girlfriend was cut short by a dull ‘Thunk’ as yet another dart came into contact with the wall right next to Sherlock’s head, but this time John was ready and waiting for it. He spun on his heel with his gun raised and shot without hesitation in the direction, his hand not wavering an inch. They both heard the resounding thud and crash of their pursuer collapsing and falling from his perch on the building opposite.

A moment of silence passed between the two before john tried to warn Sherlock that there could be others following them, but before he could his vision faded to black. Sherlock watched his blogger collapse in front of him and immediately spun to protect him from any further harm from the assaulter.

“Sorry Mr Holmes, but my employer has requested an audience with the great consulting detective and his blogger.” The man in front of Sherlock, who he had deduced entirely by that point, raised his hand and fired another shot at Sherlock, the first hit him in the leg and he grunted but continued to stand.

“My, my, you have built up quite a resistance to heavy drugs haven’t you?” as he finished his sentence, Sherlock dove for john’s gun, making the attacker start and fumble with his dart gun before taking aim and hitting Sherlock once again in the thigh, try as he might, Sherlock couldn’t fight off the second dose of tranquiliser and felt himself slipping into the realms of unconsciousness, but not before glancing over to his army doctor to make sure he was not injured. Then the darkness took him.

***

John Watson came to with a far to familiar weight and warmth surrounding him. He started and was rewarded with the ropes tying himself and his partner together making themselves painfully known against his back and wrists. He shifted his head to accommodate the pressure of Sherlock’s head unwittingly resting on his shoulder before blushing a bright vermillion when he realised the rest of the position they were quite awkwardly placed in. they were sitting on the cold hard floor of an abandoned storehouse, pressed chest to chest, with Sherlock sitting alarmingly comfortably in his lap. John’s legs were sitting under Sherlock’s thighs so the detective’s long legs could stretch over and behind john’s increasingly warm body. Due to the constraints of the rope, their groins were also pressed quite close together along with their chest, and to top it off, Sherlock was tickling John’s ear with his breath from his head lulling over his shoulder.
John shifted his weight to try to loosen the ropes before Sherlock woke, but stopped immediately as a rush of heat went straight to his groin as he accidentally brushed against Sherlock’s crotch, and to his utter shock and chagrin, Sherlock groaned in his sleep, a deep, throaty sound that stoked the growing problem in john’s pants.

He stilled completely, and sat there, rigid as a board, all the while repeating the mantra ‘not gay, not gay’ in his head. Grasping around his mind for something to put him off, and image of Anderson and Donavan presented itself and he almost immediately regretted it before realising he was not in a situation to be picky at the moment. As horrible as it was, the imagery worked, and he calmed down again.

Just minutes later Sherlock began to stir, and a mumbling in his ear alerted John.

“Ungh. John? Where are we? Oh, a storehouse I see. Wow, those tranq darts had enough sedative in them to knock out an infant elephant. I’d say we’ve been here for a little over 4 hours judging by the height of the sun.” John relaxed at hearing his friend completely normal despite the odd circumstances. That was before Sherlock decided to sit up straight, bringing the two uncomfortably face to face. John had to tilt his head up to keep his eyes on Sherlock’s and Sherlock’s down likewise. John’s face flamed again, and he thought he saw the slightest hint of pink pass his companion’s pale complexion, but brushed it off, as it wasn’t important at the moment. Getting out of there, however, was.

“Mr Sherlock Holmes and Doctor John Watson, I’ve heard a lot about you two” rumbled a low voice that echoed menacingly around the empty space. John and Sherlock’s head’s both snapped to the right where the voice was approaching from to see a man step out from the shadows before them. Sherlock jumped as John forced his head onto his friend’s shoulder quickly to physically stifle the growing laughter that was bubbling out of him. John shook silently against Sherlock for a moment whilst Sherlock looked on, bewildered. When john finally calmed himself he sat back again, raising his head from where it was quite comfortably resting in the crook of Sherlock’s neck. He looked back over at the man, who had greeted them before giving a sniggered,

“Sorry” Sherlock just continued to watch him, the picture of befuddlement. No matter how much he comes to know about his doctor and blogger, he still manages to surprise him, which is impressive in itself.

“As I was saying,” the man began, to which john promptly interrupted with,

“Look, I’m really sorry, but” snicker “what, are you wearing?” both Sherlock and the unnamed man looked at him like he was the one dressed in the shortest leather shorts he’d ever seen, along with a green vest that was topped with a huge cape that was so long it could easily be mistaken for a cloak.

“John, you should know by now not to judge the threat a man presents based on his appearance alone. This man has been a key member in many recent drug cartel incidents within London and internationally, though he has not been caught for any of them by the looks of it. He’s very precise in his methods and is extremely good at tying up loose ends. Andele “Skippy” Jackson I presume?” Sherlock said in one breath. John couldn’t help the ‘brilliant’ that slipped out under his breath that Sherlock obviously heard due to their close proximity.

“Well done, Mr Holmes! I am truly impressed! But you’ve made a mistake. If you had have kept your big mouth shut, you and your companion may have been able to live. You know too much now.” He purred predatorily.

“Dull.” Stated Sherlock bluntly, making Skippy Jackson stiffen and hiss, insulted. “You would have killed us either way, did I not just deduce that of you? Please, try not to be so stupid, it really irritates me.” This made something in Skippy snap. He stormed over to the two tied up men, and suddenly John realised, too late, that under the ridiculous clothing, this man was extremely well built, and definitely very, very threatening. As Skippy swung a clenched fist at Sherlock’s head, john did his best to jerk Sherlock’s body out of his line, which helped to deflect the majority of the force of the punch, but even so the punch glanced Sherlock’s cheek with the force of a bulldozer, sending his now reeling head into john’s due to the proximity they shared at that moment.

“How dare you, you, you, insolent brat! You are in no position to mock me! I have you tied to your ‘companion’ in the middle of nowhere in an abandoned store yard. I am threatening you with death and you still think you have any footing to mock me on?” he spat at Sherlock with so much venom it made john shudder. Sherlock spat a bit of blood from his mouth onto the cement floor, staining it deep red, before he spoke again, his words measured and precise.

“Hm, a store yard indeed. I would say an abandoned ship yard on the side of the Thames that was once used to manage” he paused to sniff the air “tuna? But here was one of your big operations wasn’t it? Going out in fishing boats under the guise of tuna fishing to meet your transporters just outside the bay with the drugs or profit you had made. But where on the Thames? Well, judging by the lack of sound outside it has to be at least 4km from the nearest operating industrial property, it’s peak hour right now for the shipyards and storehouses to be operating, and with London’s density, you don’t get 4km gaps on the west side of the river. So narrowing that down, we must be about 6km east of Canary Wharf. Am I wrong?” Sherlock held the fuming man’s gaze with his piercing ice blue one before Skippy closed his eyes and breathed in and out to calm himself before opening them again and holding the detective’s gaze more evenly.

“You are correct Mr Holmes, but don’t think it will help you, I’m much too clever to be caught by your tricks.” Skippy spun on his heel to strut back to the centre of the large indoor boat yard. Whilst his back was turned, Sherlock shot John a look he knew well. ‘Play along’.

“Clever are you?” Sherlock asked dubiously, to which Skippy Jackson stiffened again, but refused to turn around, “If you’re so clever, how did you manage those 4, no 5, drug shipping projects?” at this Skippy did spin around, his cape/cloak swirling out behind him, not having the same effect as Sherlock’s.

“Oh, Sherlock,” he said, addressing the detective by his first name for the first time, “Sherlock, really? You think I’ll fall for that? Spill all my plans to prove I’m good enough in your eyes? Please, you are not worth my time, why would I care what you think about me?” he sauntered towards them again; his voice was almost simpering at this point, sickly-sweet. John felt his leg go numb under Sherlock’s weight and went to shift himself but changed his mind quickly again when he felt the heat rise in his face. Willing it down, he decided to try to help Sherlock finish this sooner. Sherlock did call him stupid often, but if there is one thing john could claim to be better with than Sherlock, it’s emotions. So he tried his own tactic, tagging along with Sherlock.

“Yes, um, excuse me Andele-“

“SKIPPY! My name is Skippy Jackson, not ‘andele’” the man ground out through his teeth.

“Right, yes, sorry, um Mr Jackson, sir but, I understand Sherlock knows you and what you do, but I’ve, quite frankly never heard of you. “ This made Skippy glare at John which john played the part and flinched at, before continuing his part and pretended to stutter out of nerves.

“Ah, t-that is to say, I- I just don’t really see what the big deal is a-and all, I mean, uh, h-how do I know you’re not just all talk.” Both men were visibly shaking now, though for entirely different reasons. The image of a terrified man shaking in front of him and still daring to question his power and legacy pushed him over the edge.

“How dare you, you SPINELESS WRETCH!” John flinched into Sherlock clearly playing the subordinate role, which brought a warmth to his chest that he couldn’t place.

“I have successfully completed 5 major assignments set to me by my employers, whom I will not name. In each case, I was responsible for personal, records, accounting and official documents. In each case, I hired, and later had KILLED, 60 men or more! Does that not convince you of just how dangerous I am?!” Skippy roared, taking angry steps towards the pair. John hid his face on Sherlock’s other side, trying to irritate the man further by refusing to make direct eye contact, but what john saw back there made him gasp and freeze for a moment before a smile split his face. He heard Skippy continue to rant at him, but whilst he hid his face in Sherlock’s coat lapel, he muttered to him,

“Do they have enough t go on by now?” he knew Sherlock could hear him with his excellent hearing. His answer came in the twitch of a thumb behind his back. Yes. Excellent. John relaxed and sat back up to stare blankly at the raving criminal, showing no signs of fear now. Skippy Jackson stopped in his tracks, noticing the change in demeanour that came across the previously terrified doctor.

“Why. Are you. So. Calm?” he ground out, his fury bubbling just beneath the surface. John just grinned and looked up at Sherlock, before looking away after almost bumping noses with the man. Before either of them could explain a tinny voice sounded in the large room. It was coming from behind Sherlock.

“Andele ‘Skippy’ Jackson, you are here by arrested in the name of New Scotland Yard, stay where you are and we will be on you in a matter seconds.” Said Detective Inspector Lestrade from the phone hidden in Sherlock’s hand behind his back.

“NO!” roared Skippy who had gone white as a sheet and was sweating buckets, “No! No! No! NO! This can’t happen!” he paused and spun furiously towards Sherlock and john, his finger jabbing insistently at the pair and shaking uncontrollably. “YOU! I should KILL you!” at this john froze. He’d forgotten the threat this man posed in his moment of relief.

“Go on then. Do it.”

“WHAT?! Sherlock! I am not okay with this! Sherlock! Are you listening to me! Don’t tell him to shoot us you idiot! What’s wrong with you?” John finished his tirade to have Sherlock speak like he hadn’t said a word.

“But you won’t will you? You know they’re close. Too close. They could be here any second, and not only would you be caught, you’d be caught red-handed. Try getting out of a murder charge with that on your head. Oh, but you don’t even have a gun do you? That’s right, you prefer a more personal way of tidying up loose ends don’t you? I can see by the calluses on your hands. Just how many people have you killed with those hands Andele?” instead of firing up like john expected him to; Skippy just went impossibly whiter, as if he had just become fully aware of the desperation of his situation. Without another word he ran like a scared rat from the pair and out into the London air, whistling down his ride.

The two were still as they listened to the sound of the retreating car.

“So, are the yard coming to untie us?” john asked, the full awkwardness of their situation coming back to him.

“not for another 20 minutes I would say” replied Sherlock offhandedly.

“Sher- Sherlock, did you just provide Scotland Yard with enough soundproof evidence to take a down a wanted murderer and drug supplier, only to let him run off with no chance of us catching him?” he seethed. There was a pause before Sherlock spoke. A pause that almost made John groan in distress at his friend’s rare display of idiocy.

“No, of course not John. I planted a tracker on him when he punched me.” The detective replied resolutely.

“You planted a- no, of course you did why am I surprised?” John muttered to himself, completely drained and exasperated. “So how do we get out of now then?” the blonde asked tiredly.

“Well we have to untie the ropes of course.” Stated Sherlock before he began to squirm to try to loosen some of their bonds. Needless to say, john was very uncomfortable. He clamped his mouth shut to avoid any embarrassing sounds from escaping but it didn’t quite work. The fact that he was very quickly getting hard again did not help him in the slightest.

“Ungh” John’s eyes shot open after accidentally letting out a small grunt, hoping to god Sherlock hadn’t heard him. Sherlock froze. Of course he had heard him, he was Sherlock. Sherlock now noticed the hard on growing in his companions pants. Mere seconds after that they both realised, to Sherlock’s shock and horror, a bulge beginning to form in the detective’s lower regions. Very quickly, they both tried wriggling desperately to escape their bonds and the absolute humiliation each one was facing at getting turned on by their flatmate. Almost simultaneously, both men groaned, rather loudly and froze in their actions. Sherlock looked down to see if it was really John who had made that unbelievably arousing sound, and John, likewise, looked up. Before they had time to regret it, their lips collided messily. Neither of them moved for a moment, then john gave in and started to really kiss his best friend and flatmate. What did he have to loose right? Sherlock obviously found him attractive if his crotch was any indication. Meanwhile, Sherlock kissed john back with fervour, and far less thought process. The thing that amazed him was john’s ability to simply stop his thoughts, the rampaging, high-speed train that had no brakes had crashed and burned the second their lips had connected. Their kisses turned desperate, and where they were too close before they were suddenly not close enough. Years of repressed sexual frustration came out in that one kiss which had them grinding against each other and furiously trying to get more of each other’s mouths.
They both froze when they heard a soft cough and clearing of throat coming from their right, where Skippy had ran from. Lestrade stood there in all his awkward glory before trying to stutter,

“U-uh, thanks boys. We’ve got, uh, got men following him n-now.” He stood there for a moment longer, refusing to make eye contact with the two men who were now both red and panting.

“Um, do you want help with that?” He tilted his head and shifted his hands to indicate the rope binding the pair. As Sherlock’s face began to cool and go pale again, john looked down, his face flushing an even brighter red than before.

“Yes please.” John muttered abashedly, he knew Sherlock was to proud to admit he’d need help with anything, especially from Scotland yard.

***
After giving their witness reports and Sherlock’s findings, the two turned to go home, but Lestrade caught them before they could. Being the, in Sherlock’s opinion, bumbling fool that he was, he had to make one last comment.

“You know you’re lucky it was me who found you guys and not some other Yarder.” It wasn’t a question, but john mumbled a quiet ‘ yeah’ in response anyway. “Oh well, off you go. And congratulations!” he shouted after them, a little too loudly for john’s liking. The two walked off to find a cab, but they walked a little closer than normal, just enough to brush hands every now and then.

The End