ShErLoCk oNeSiEs

An Evening Of Addictions (Part 2)

Ay

Sooner than I expected, but here you gooo

:)

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Arnold was really grateful this girl had rich folks. This was a Mercedes Benz he was driving, for Christ's sake.

Stolen, granted. But he still had a shred of respect for the bloody car.

It had been a piece of cake getting the girl in the car, all they did was track her footsteps to an alley where she was shooting up, and he had taken her by the arm and shoved her in the backseat.

Easy-peasy.

Arnold tried to ignore the groaning, stinking, half-conscious, high-as-a-kite teenager in the car as he turned left onto a desolate road. And it was rightfully deserted, who'd want to be in such a nondescript street in the middle of the night?

And then he heard a crash rebound off the brick walls of the empty street.

Well, empty, save for that damned detective.

"Damn," Arnold hissed, whipping out his phone. Very few people could pull off a convincing Sherlock Holmes look, and if this was who he thought it was, then he would have to think fast, or he could kiss that ransom money goodbye with his hands in the air. He dialed a number and put the phone to his ear, cupping the mic end close to his mouth. He let out a tense breath as Pat picked up on the second ring.

"Ay, Arnie!" came a carefree voice. "What's up?"

"I need your help, now," said Arnold, urgency gushing out of his mouth. "I've got Sherlock Holmes on my tail, he's gotta go. I'm on work."

"The bloke with the funny hat?" Pat sounded incredulous, like he was shocked that someone like Arnold would be caught in Sherlock Holmes' path. "Say no more, tell me where."

"Hard left from Fullerton Street and don't slow down. You hear?"

"Loud and clear, mate."

~

It was actually Carol who had asked John to dinner after his shift at the hospital, she had made the first move. She really seemed invested in him, giving him easy smiles and sweet easy laughs. John had asked if Friday would be okay, and she had agreed.

He gave himself a little confused smile as he dashed on a bit of a new cologne he had bought and grabbed his coat, finishing his morning tea and waving to Sherlock as he stepped out the door. John actually felt good about this one.

Though his day was no different from the rest, the knowledge that he had a beautiful woman awaiting him for dinner spurred him on, and before he knew it, he was in a taxi, heading to the restaurant with a happy smile on his face.

The date couldn't have gone better, ideally speaking. They drank the good stuff, ate the good stuff, and spent their time at the restaurant entirely undisturbed by any phone calls or texts.

Which is precisely what disturbed John.

Sherlock never, ever allowed John's phone to go five minutes without buzzing when John was out. Whether he was at the store, or the hospital, or on a date, Sherlock would text him. He disliked phone calls, but he always texted.

John decided to let it slide. It worried him, but he let it slide. Maybe Sherlock has a feeling that this could work out, too, he tried to convince himself. Maybe he thinks I should try and enjoy myself.

So they wound up in front of Carol's flat, fingers interlaced and a tangible tension hanging there, a dam of pent up emotion just waiting to be let loose. She gave John a small, coy smile before opening the door, letting John in. He stepped past the threshold only to have arms around him, and lips on him, the feeling in his body brimming on sinful.

A blissful few minutes passed, John's mind devoid of any rational thought as they made their way to the couch, lips locked ever so feverishly.

His fingers had just been hovering over the hem of Carol's blouse when his phone rang.

It sounded so alien for a second that he physically jumped, snapping his head away from Carol to check the number.

Incoming call from Greg Lestrade

It was nearly 1 am. John tried not to acknowledge the billiard ball that dropped to the pits of his stomach as he swiped to accept the call. "Yeah?"

"Hey, John, sorry 'bout calling this late, mate," came the detective inspector's voice. There was something John couldn't put his finger on, some underlying tension.

"Not a problem," said John, disentangling himself from Carol and sitting upright on the sofa, shooting her an apologetic look. "What's wrong?"

Lestrade didn't bother denying it. Instead, he said two words that blew away any chances of staying the night at Carol's. He shot out of the flat like a bullet train, giving a hurried apology and leaving the door open as he left.

"It's Sherlock."

~

The fog had begun to clear from her mind once she heard the words 'Scotland Yard'. She was in deep this time.

"You need to go, now," the man in the trench coat told her. "Don't worry your parents any longer." She only nodded before the man turned back towards the car.

She wasn't usually one for rules, clearly, but now she was scared. She was truly frightened of what could have happened. So she spun on her heel and started walking, speeding rapidly in the opposite direction. She promised herself she wouldn't even look back.

That was before she heard the car slam into the man who had been standing a moment ago.

A horrified cry was ripped from her mouth as she whirled around and caught a glimpse of the man sprawled on the road, and a second car slowly backtracking. She jumped to hide herself, and watched, trembling, as another man got out of the car, walked to the Mercedes and lifted the wounded kidnapper into his own vehicle, backtracking out of the street. They left her mystery saviour behind.

She regained her wits. Without further hesitation, she sprinted to the man's side and took his phone, surprisingly intact, from his weakly curled fingers. She took a breath and dialed Scotland Yard.

On the third ring, someone answered the phone. "This is Detective Inspector Lestrade."

~

John barely made it in time to see Sherlock being lifted onto a stretcher. His heart stopped. Jesus, what the hell happened?

His eyes scanned the area till they located Greg talking to a girl who looked about sixteen or seventeen. She had a blanket around her shoulders.

John knew he should have gone to Greg asking for details of what the devil happened when he was out, but his feet gravitated towards Sherlock, his heart thundering as he saw the deep crimson splashed on the detective's temple. John squeezed his eyes shut as the memories resurfaced, Sherlock's body hitting the pavement, the light gone from his eyes-

John shook his head. No. I refuse, I refuse to let this get me again.

He stood at Sherlock's side until the paramedics were ready to take him into the ambulance. He suddenly panicked, suddenly felt like he was running out of time, and so he brought a hand up and barely caressed Sherlock's tousled curls before the detective was loaded into the ambulance.

"Sherlock." The word barely made it out of his mouth. John didn't realise his hand was still outstretched until Greg came over and told him to sit down.

"He'll pull through, John," said Greg. "You know him, mate, he'd probably outlive God trying to have the last word. If Sherlock Holmes had to go, a car accident wouldn't do it."

John hoped he was right.

God, he hoped Greg was right.

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Yo

I hope y'all aren't bored because don't worry everything is gonna come together

Soon

Um yeah thassit

Peace

:)