Johnlock Oneshots (fluff)

8) Handcuffed

Word count: 618
*John's POV*

I got pushed against the police car and my wrist was handcuffed to Sherlock's. Apparently punching a cheif officer in the nose wasn't a good idea.

"Joining me?" Sherlock asked, scanning the inside of the car. I gave a hum in reply, trying to see what he was looking for. He officer standing nerest to us turned his back and my friend shot his hand through the open window, pressing a button on something - I couldn't see what. All of the officers inhaled sharply through gritted teeth, taking out their earpeices, which were making a high pitched ringing noise. Sherlock took the opportunity to grab a pistol and point it at them all, me stumbling after him. They looked shocked and scared as he ordered them to get onto their knees, and hesitated slightly. Some drug addict detective, supposed to be on the side of the angels, was threatening ten or so official police officers? He clearly wasn't one of them.

"Oh, just do as he says," Greg yelled from the other side of the police car, somewhat used to Sherlock acting like this. The officers obeyed, staring at my friend coldly.

"Just to be clear, the gun was his idea, I'm just kind of-" I excused, gesturing half heartedly to the handcuffs. Sherlock took the pistol with his other hand, and pointed it at my head.

"My hostage," he said, knowing that I trusted him enough not to pull the trigger.

"Yes, hostage, that works..." I muttered. My friend started running away from the officers and 221B, dragging me with him.

"For god's sake, go after him, Lestrade!" An officer yelled. We didn't care to look back. Greg would probably hesitate to chase us anyway.

.

*Sherlock's POV*

"Take my hand!" I yelled at John, trying to avoid our awkwardly attached wrists constantly circling around each other and clashing. He did so without hesitation, his fingers lacing with mine, and a thrill of fuzziness shot through me. I didn't know what it was, but I kept running, darting into alleyways to avoid the police. I dropped the gun by mistake but decided to leave it.

John and I ran along an alley with a tall bottle-green fence at the end of it. I leaped up onto a bin that was pushed against the fence and swung my body over, my hand getting caught at the top where I was handcuffed to my friend. He crashed into the metal bars, and pulled me close to him by grapping my coat with his other hand. My eyes widened as that fuzzy feeling returned, and I could tell that John had just experienced the same.

"Sherlock, we're going to need to co-ordinate," he hissed, bowing his head as to hide his hair for a moment when a police car whizzed by the entrance to the alley. I stared at him, unable to form any words, and we locked eye contact, his hand still clutching my coat. A blush creeped up his face and he let go, putting his hand around one of the bars. He stared at the floor. I stood still for a second before moving my free hand onto his. John's head shot up to gaze at me, and I learned forward, my lips brushing his. Our fingers melted into a hand-hold, and I kissed him. He kissed back, our running away from the police thing forgotten about for a few seconds. We pulled apart and gave slightly surprised smiles to each other.

"Is that enough co-ordination?" I smirked, and he climbed up onto the bin and hopped over the fence.

"Perfect," John replied, and we took off running again, hand in hand.