Sherlock Holmes and the Case of the Claymore

Chapter 18

Sherlock had just come down off a high and his skin was starting to itch. “God, this is maddening,” Sherlock thought as he scratched at his arms until they bled. When Sherlock heard the Shaman and John come through the front door, he quickly pulled down his sleeves and sat quietly in a meditative pose. “Sherlock?” John called as he softly entered the room. Sherlock ignored him and kept up the faux meditation, hoping John would go away. When Sherlock felt someone grab the back of his neck, he yelped in surprise.

John held tightly on to the back of Sherlock’s neck, “Sherlock, did you forget that I can hear your heart beat? You little shit,” he whispered. “I’ll give you five seconds to get up and come to the front room with me and if you don’t I just might make you do a three way because I know how much you enjoyed the last one.”

Sherlock looked up at John with tears in his eyes, “John, what are you talking about?”

John laughed. “Sherlock, I know when you are fake crying, just quit screwing around and join us. I’ll give you a few minutes to compose yourself and if you’re not out and in the living room, I will drag you in there myself. So, get with it. Oh and by the way, I know you’ve been using again and that had better stop, or I’ll have you locked away in the dungeon.”

Sherlock watched as John departed and wasn’t sure whether he was turned on or angry. “Angry sex with John,” Sherlock thought as he felt that warm pinching feeling pool around his lower extremities. “Oh John, I need you for a sec.” Sherlock called out.

John threw open the door; he was thoroughly pissed by this time. “What is it?”

Sherlock stuck out his lip and in his most pouty voiced he simpered, “John, come over here I need your help with this.” Sherlock said as he pointed between his legs.

John’s eyes instantly dilated as he glanced where Sherlock was pointing. “Sherlock,” John said as he put his hand roughly between Sherlock’s legs, “we’ve got bigger problems than you and I right now. Throw some cold water on yourself and get out there, NOW.”

Sherlock stood up and walked over and pressed his body up against John’s, “Bigger problems than this?” Sherlock whispered as he moved his body to where John could feel the hardness between his legs. As John struggled to control himself, Sherlock reveled in John’s discomfort. John looked at Sherlock in disbelief and hissed, “You little piss ant, I will deal with you later.”

Sherlock clucked his tongue, “Yes, Doctor.”

John walked out and slammed the fragile door, leaving Sherlock to laugh at his struggle for control.

When Sherlock joined the Shaman and John in the front room, he looked bored, yet alert. “Damn, look at him,” John thought angrily. The anger only lasted for a second as another thought wound its way into John’s mind, “Did Sherlock even care for him? Was he even capable of such an emotion, or am I the ultimate puzzle, something to solve and then toss aside.” The thought made John want to hide under the house like he used to do as a child, so that he could avoid a beating.

“John? John? JOHN,” the Shaman said as he tried to bring John back to the present.

John blinked and shook his head, “Sorry, please tell Sherlock what you told me this morning.”

The Shaman looked at Sherlock with his opaque blue eyes, “Sherlock, the plague horse has entered your world. The city you call London is in a panic as thousands die from the Black Death.”

Sherlock crossed his legs and leaned back on the sitting cushion, “So, what am I supposed to do about it?”

John walked over and knocked Sherlock’s legs to the ground, “Show some respect, Sherlock. Mycroft, Molly, and Mrs. Hudson are all at risk, for all I know they are dead already.”

Sherlock sighed, for he wasn’t through tormenting John yet, “What does it matter? If they were exposed to this Black Death, they are probably already dead. What can I do? Nothing, so it’s boring, you’re boring. This whole conversation is BORING.” Sherlock said as he propped his legs up again on the cushion.

John’s face looked like he had been slapped. “Sherlock, we can’t wait for the snow storm to let up. We are leaving tomorrow for battle and since you aren’t taking this whole thing seriously, you can just remain here.”

Sherlock knew from John’s tone of voice that he had gone too far and yet it didn’t stop him from putting in one last jab at John as he left the room, “Whatever you say, John, for you always know best.”

John didn’t reply he just looked glassy eyed towards the chair that Sherlock had occupied and then turned his attention to the Shaman.

The Shaman and John left, leaving Sherlock to contemplate the situation on his own. After a few musings, Sherlock became bored with battle plans and fell asleep. When he awoke someone must have carried him to bed for it was dark and Sherlock was tucked in tightly. He smiled when he felt John’s kiss on his cheek, “Goodnight, Sherlock,” John said as he jabbed a needle into Sherlock’s neck.

“Are you sure he’ll be okay?” John asked frantically.

The Shaman nodded, “He might wake up with a slight headache, but he will be fine. I will watch after him. Good luck in battle, John Watson.”

John smiled sadly, “Yes, Godspeed.”

When Sherlock woke up the next day it must have been about noon, judging from the light the shone in through the windows. Sherlock held his head in his hands, “Jesus, what happened?” Sherlock thought and then he remembered John jabbing him in the neck with something. Just as Sherlock was about to jump up and leave the room, the Shaman came in with a servant, “Sherlock, you must rest. The headache will pass in a few hours, but until then rest.” The Shaman said as he motioned for the servant to put a cool cloth on Sherlock’s forehead.

Sherlock sat up, ignoring the dizziness that assailed him, “Where is John?”

The Shaman gazed into Sherlock’s eyes, “They have all gone to battle.”

Sherlock tried to stand and his own voice sounded like a freight train, “How long ago? I must join them.”

The Shaman gently pushed Sherlock to the bed, “Rest.”

Sherlock glanced wide eyed up at the Shaman, “If something happens to him I will be lost.”

The Shaman nodded, “It is always easier to express feelings for a loved one when that person is absent. John knows what he faces and he has left a letter for you to give you strength. Now, rest you can read the letter when you wake up.”

Sherlock felt as if someone had jerked the rug out from underneath him, “What letter? I want to see it now.”

The Shaman shook his head, “After John has made the sacrifice I will show it to you.”

Sherlock felt the blood drain from his face as he bravely forced out the words, “What sacrifice?”