Johnlock One-shots

223.Why Come?

“Where are you going?” John asked, grabbing his boyfriend's wrist and holding him from walking out.

“Work.” Sherlock responded dully, turning around to John.

“You've been going to ‘work’ every single Saturday. Can't we just be together? I work all through the week, then only get one day with you. I hate being left alone and I want to know where you're going.”

“I can't tell you. I'll try to be back before it turns late.”

“You're never back before then, Sherlock.” John said, frowning.

“Please love, this is very important. I need to go.” Sherlock hated when John frowned.

“No.”

“Please?”

“Not without a kiss first.” John said, looking up at Sherlock, who smiled and gladly kissed his lips, then ruffled his hair and walked away.

John watched him go outside and frowned. He wanted to know where Sherlock's been going, this has been happening for so long.

He tracked down Sherlock's phone and watched as a little dot moved around the map, which represented him getting around the city. John watched it for awhile, to where Sherlock stopped at a building.

John wanted to check it out. He needed to make sure Sherlock wasn't cheating on him.

It took awhile to get to the address, but John was able to get there. It wasn't a home, it was an abandoned building. There probably were a lot of meetings here before people stopped using it. John got in through an open window and looked around. He could see tables and furnitures that would be put in offices.

John walked around for awhile before finding a room he heard voices from. He creaked open the door just a bit and peeked inside.

“Don't hurt him.”

It looked like Sherlock was talking with someone who sat on a throne in a very full of himself and dramatic way.

“Why not?” Asked the person.

“I've been listening to you, I've been coming here every Sunday and John is starting to suspect something. He must think I'm cheating on him or doing something else. I love him with all my heart, and I want him to know this.” Sherlock frowned, staring up at the person. “You keep saying you're going to hurt him, but if you do, our agreement is over!”

Is this what he always does? John thought. He moved in a little more so he could see who was there, then felt something on his back. He'd recognised how a gun barrel felt over the years, so immediately, he held his hands up.

The person with the gun told him to step back. John couldn't believe this was happening. Was he going to be killed?

John stepped back and the person with the gun shut the door.

“What the hell are you doing here and who are you?” Asked a woman that was holding a gun to John's back.

“I-I’m sorry, I just got out of the hospital from a brain injury… I'm very confused and I don't know where I am…” John said, lying. “P-p-please don't kill me… I must've walked to the wrong building. This i-isn’t my home… I'm so sorry...”

“You can't be here.” She said, pushing him against a wall with the gun. John closed his eyes tightly and curled his fingers. “We can't allow you to get away, or remember any of this. Orders from our master told us to properly expose of anybody coming inside the building which shouldn't be.”

“D-don't kill me...” John whispered.

“What's your name?” She asked, but less in a question and more in a demand.

John thought for a moment before answering. “M-my name i-is Jonas…” he said, just grabbing a name from his mind and using it.

“Okay, Jonas. I can't let you go and I'm going to have to kill you..”

That's when they heard Sherlock through the door ask whoever was on the throne. “Who's behind the door?”

She grabbed John, holding a hand in front of his mouth and dragging him away.

Sherlock must've been allowed to check, and he saw John's shoes slowly disappear around the corner. He gasped and started walking over to the corner. Nobody was there, but John was laying down with his back against the wall and a slash in his neck.

“John?” Sherlock asked, stepping closer.

“Sh-Sherlock…”

Sherlock covered his mouth with his hand, staring down at John. He picked up his boyfriend and rushed into the room he was in before.

“Moriarty!” he yelled, “I thought you said you wouldn't kill John! We made an agreement.”

The man on the throne, who was Moriarty, looked down at them. “I didn't kill him.” He said. “I bet Roselend killed him.” He rang a bell and the woman who had John before walked in.

She bowed, looking up at Moriarty, who was in his fluffy King’s outfit, walked down, his robe behind him on the floor. “You were not supposed to kill Doctor Watson,” he said to her, and looked at John, who was dying in Sherlock's arms. “Sherlock made a deal with me and it only works if he is alive.”

She nodded and looked into his eyes. She was shot from behind by one of his snipers and fell on the floor, instantly dead.

This meant Sherlock was free now and Moriarty wouldn't follow him, couldn't control him.

But this also meant Sherlock's only love was dead.

“No, no, no, I'll save him!” Sherlock yelled, running out of the building, carrying John in his arms, clutching him tightly as he ran down the streets.

John was bleeding out and he couldn't breathe. He leant into Sherlock and gripped onto him weakly, but it didn't help much to stop the motion of his moving, which made him feel sick. Sherlock called a cab and kicked the driver out of her seat, starting to speed to the hospital.

She yelled at him, but when she saw John, she understood the panic.

By the time they got to the hospital, John was already dead. Sherlock still walked into the hospital with John in his arms, tears in his eyes. All they could do is give him a room and try to save him. It didn't work though, and Sherlock was allowed to see him once the confirmed his death.

Walking up to the bed slowly, Sherlock tried to hide his tears. Laying under those blankets was the only man he'd ever loved… dead.

Sherlock wiped off his cheeks and sat down on the bed with John, examining the cut on his throat. “Why did you come?” He asked after a few minutes, brushing a strand of hair from John's face. “You could still be alive… why'd you have to follow me?” He asked, setting his hand on John's chest and starting to sob. He couldn't imagine what life would be like without John.

But luckily, he didn't have to find out. Not soon after John's funeral, Sherlock took out a knife and slit his own throat, dying on top John's grave. It was a loss of a good man, but he was happy now, with his lover.