Johnlock One-shots

286.A Story

John's POV

Every hero has a story.

Every hero has a story, no matter how big, or small, or dramatic and sad. They all have a story. They all have something to tell.

Most of them also have a love interest. The one they save and hold in their arms and kiss. The love interest is usually the damsel in distress.

Lots of heros have super powers. Their powers can range from anything. From super strength, to super brilliance. Their powers earn them the name superhero.

Right now, I'm going to tell all of you the story of a superhero.

It started out a few days ago, I was walking with my new husband. I was carrying Rosamund, our daughter, and he was carrying Hamish, our son. We were just coming back from Julian's birthday party, he was their friend.

It was about ten, and Rosie was sleeping against my shoulder. Hamish was clinging onto Sherlock's shirt, sucking on his pacifier and in an almost asleep state.

Sherlock looked down at me and smiled warmly. We were so in love. He was, most certainly, the most beautiful human I will ever come across.

Sherlock leant down and kissed the corner of my lips. I kissed him in response, smiling.

That's when Sherlock was shoved against a wall, and a man was holding a knife to his neck.

“Give me the baby.”

That sent shivers through me. Hamish was an absolutely beautiful baby. He had those beautiful eyes Sherlock had, a cute nose, chubby cheeks, curly hair, and an adorable little body. I wasn't surprised someone wanted to take him.

Sherlock was holding the now crying boy to his chest and trying to kick away the man, not letting him take Hamish.

Now, I, after years of being married to Sherlock and not as much crime happening, had pretty much all my military skills fade away from me.

Plus, I was holding Rosamund. I couldn't do much. I looked down and fished in my pocket for my knife, then I heard the sound of a gunshot and felt something hitting my face. I reached up and grabbed Hamish, who Sherlock threw to me.

“Run! John! Run!” Sherlock yelled, grabbing onto his chest and sinking against the wall.

“Help!” I yelled, running off with the children, hearing bullets whizz beside my head. All of them missed me and the babies. “Help! He shot my husband! Call the police! An ambulance!” I turned the corner and bumped into a woman, making Rosie burst out in sobs. I told her what was happening and she called the police.

Sherlock, this is why you're a hero.

He saved my son, and when I was running he pulled down the attacker and started beating him until his arm wasn't moving anymore.

The attacker laid on the ground, dazed with my husband's dead body next to him. The ambulance and a few police cars came, and that's when I went back out, still trying to calm my children.

They told me Sherlock was dead.

This is why he's a superhero.

We went to his funeral, and we were looking at his body laying in the casket. His eyes opened and he looked up at me, I had my hand over his and he squeezed it.

For a moment, I thought I was only daydreaming, but Sherlock sat up and got out of the coffin.

“Hello, John.”

That's all he said, and he fixed his tie, looking out to the stunned crowd of people that had come to mourn his death. He looked over to the little strollers with our kids, went to them, and started to comfort them, stop them from crying.

It was a miracle. He died, he woke, he went straight to being the best father in the world.

“Hamie,” he whispered, kissing the boy's cheeks a few times and smiling at him. “I want to go home. Do you want to go home?”

Hamish giggled and played with Sherlock's curls. He looked at Rosamund and asked her the same questions, then he looked at me. “John--”

“I do.” I said, nodding. “Let's go home.”