Survival Of The Fittest [Johnlock]

2: A Name...

Another thing I've learnt about life as it is now: nothing ever goes to plan. Well, for me at least. And it makes me sad to know that now I'm travelling with this man I still have that curse and because of it, his plans are not working out.

Currently, we're both kneeling on the side of the road. The Jeep is a few metres away. Our hands are on the back of our heads and two men stand before us. One has a gun aimed at Sherlock's head and the other has one aimed at mine. They jumped us while we were sleeping and in our half awake state, overpowered us easily before either of us could point our weapons at them.

I survived the army to be shot at gun point in the middle of no where. Lovely way to go.

"I told you if I ever saw you again, I'd shot you in the head" The man with the gun says to my companion. The quiet man sticks to what he does best and doesn't breathe a word. The gun is pressed closer to his head and the man holding it snarls. "I told you that, didn't I, Sherlock?"

Sherlock? Is that his name?

Unique and beautiful. Just as I expected. Not that now is the time to be thinking that...

"Yes, you did" 'Sherlock' answers.

"And do you understand why I'm not going to do that?"

Wait. So he's not going to kill us? Or, at least, he's not going to kill the man kneeling beside me. Sherlock, I remind myself. I can finally put a name to that beautiful face.

"Because, like your mother, you're a fool that gives into sentiment" comes the murmured reply that would sound innocent if it weren't for the slight hint of sarcasm.

The gun that is pressed against my head disappears and I look up to see our captors for the first time. The gun aimed at my com- I mean, Sherlock's head is also lowered and, like me, he raises his head to look at the people before us.

One of them is a tall man, dressed in a button up flannel top and what appeared to be swimming trunks. The clothes looked out of place on the man and I guessed before the world changed he was the type to wear suits, or at least something more up class than what he has on now. His hair was brown and he had a pointy nose that looked like someone might have broken it. He stood straight, again reminding me of a posh totty. Everything about him just screams power. He was the one that had a gun to Sherlock's head.

The other man was a large, body builder type that you see in front of magazines because they have so many muscles that they looked almost deformed. He had dark skin and a shaved head, with sunken eyes that just seemed to bore into me. His large hand was still wrapped around his gun and he was watching me, as if waiting for me to make a sudden move so he could have the excuse to shoot me.

What lovely people.

A snort comes the man with the pointed nose and he looks down at Sherlock, smirking in a way that gave the impression he thought himself above everyone - especially the man that he had in front of him.

"Where are you going?" The man asks, looking up at the sky and squinting at the brightness of the sun.

Sherlock looks down, jaw clenching. It's the most I've seen him react to something, ever.

Signing, the man looks away from the sky and back to curly haired man. "Don't make me ask again, Sherlock..."

I watch as the Adam's apple under Sherlock's skin bobs as he swallows nervously.

"I'm going to see Etienne" 

Etienne...

Does this mean that Etienne is the patient Sherlock has for me?

The man hums and snaps his fingers. Immediately, the coloured man begins to walk away to what I assume is the car they're using. It's facing the opposite direction to ours and looks much more well kept. The large man who just moments ago had a gun to held up to my head climbs into the drivers seat and stares forward, waiting.

That's when I feel a sharp pain across the side of my head and when I  look up I see the man glaring at me, as if I had committed a terrible act but watching this man climb into the car.

"And who are you?"

"John" I answer immediately, mind going back to how he said that he wasn't going to kill Sherlock. He hadn't said a word about what he planned to do with me.

"And why are you travelling with this man?" He points to Sherlock.

I shrug. "I believe he kidnapped me because he needs up help"

Dark, icy eyes run over my face before the man lets out a small noise of understanding and straightens. He looks at Sherlock before raising his gun and smacking Sherlock straight across the head with it. I watch, horrified, as that beautiful face plants itself into the dusty road.

Without another word the man begins to walk away. I wait until he's walking past the hood of the Jeep before I launch myself towards Sherlock to feel for a pulse.

As I do, I find myself thinking about how odd it was that I'd become so used to thinking the name Sherlock already.