Chapter Text
John felt an impending sense of doom, a nagging in the back of his brain and a sinking feeling in his stomach. It would have made sense, had it been due to the near death experience he’d just suffered. Being kidnapped and nearly killed would have been a perfect reason for feeling something bad was about to happen. But that wasn’t the reason for his unease at all. It was all due to the pale, dark haired man standing a few feet from him who looked anything but alright.
It wasn’t exactly a rare occurrence, being kidnapped these days. John hated to admit how often it seemed to occur in his and Sherlock’s line of work but it wasn’t exactly pleasant either. Sherlock had been tracking a killer for the past few days and in an attempt to draw him out, the man had kidnapped John during the night. While John had been worried, of course, he also took a great comfort in knowing Sherlock would take the bait. And he had not been wrong; Sherlock had come for him like he always did. Just like John knew he always would.
John should have felt relief and to some measure he did. He felt that edgy sense of excitement that came with a serious adrenaline rush. But rather than making him feel content and as if everything was right with the world, right now it just made him jittery and anxious.
As soon as John had been pulled from the building by Sherlock, mere minutes after his kidnapper had been shot, Sherlock fled the scene. John watched as Sherlock walked down the street with the quick pace of someone guilty and stopped at the end of the street. While a few people at the station insisted that he should go to the hospital, John took off after him, worry filling him. He wasn’t only worried about his partner who had just risked his life to come save him; he was also worried about his little boy. John had at one time found it fairly easy to detach his thoughts about adult Sherlock and little Sherlock, it seemed nearly impossible these days.
When John caught up to Sherlock, he was standing on the edge of the street, looking at the fast, congested traffic in the street. Sherlock’s eyes were glassy and vacant, as if he wished the traffic might swallow him whole. He looked scared…..small…..it wasn’t the look Sherlock should have at all. This was the time that Sherlock should be happy, boasting……gloating about how well he had done. Sherlock was always happy when he solved a case, always eager to point out just how stupid the Yard was and how they had failed to solve the crime. If he wasn’t doing that, then John knew something was terribly wrong.
“Sherlock?” John said tentatively behind Sherlock, trying to catch his attention without startling him. He looked like the slightest provocation would send him over the edge.
Sherlock didn’t answer, didn’t even appear to hear him. “Sherlock, are you okay?” John prodded. He knew that he wasn’t, he just wanted Sherlock to say something. Anything.
“I’m fine” Sherlock answered after a long pause. It was exactly the answer that John expected but at least it meant he was speaking.
“You seem a little….” John started but he didn’t get to finish his thoughts.
“I said, I’m fine” Sherlock snapped back, glancing at John with an angry stare.
John knew when Sherlock said he was fine, it always meant he wasn’t. Sherlock loved to argue and complain; if he was saying he was fine then something was wrong and he just didn’t want to talk about it. “Sherlock, you know you can be honest with me” John said as gently as he could. “If something is wrong, I can help you”
When Sherlock looked back at him, his face was full of even more anger than before. “What I need is for you to leave me alone” he barked “I don’t need you to baby me”
John was so stunned he couldn’t think of single thing to say before Sherlock hailed a cab, jumped inside and slowly worked through the traffic and away from him. John was left standing on the street, a sinking feeling in his stomach. He had been convinced Sherlock was not doing okay; this confirmed it. Sherlock loved being little and he never refused John’s care except for when something was wrong.
I don’t need you to baby me…..the words rang in John’s head and made him feel sad. Any relief and happiness he had felt at being rescued vanished as he had watched his little boy leave, upset and alone. He should have stopped him; why didn’t he? Sherlock could be anywhere and he was smart enough to make sure that John didn’t find him. John’s head was suddenly filled with a million terrible possibilities. When Sherlock was upset, he could be, and usually was, very self-destructive. Usually, John could see the signs of it coming and could head it off but if he wasn’t with him, it was hard to tell how he might react.
John shoved his hands in his pockets, looking around at all of the police crowded around the house that had been the crime scene he’d been a part of and he felt a wave of dizziness come over him. He should have been resting but he couldn’t rest until Sherlock was at home with him.
Knowing he had only one option to find Sherlock before he did some serious damage to himself, John fished his mobile out of his pocket and dialed a seldom used number.
“Mycroft……I need your help” John said, feeling a sinking in the pit of his stomach.
…….
John felt dizzy and tired as he walked into the club but he tried to push it down; Sherlock needed him and he couldn’t sleep until he took care of this. While this was a very upscale club, it was still a club and not the type of place that Sherlock normally frequented. John ignored the strange looks of the people dressed in clothes that cost more than his entire net worth and scanned every face for Sherlock’s. While he hated having to consult Mycroft, he was relieved that he knew where he was and even more relieved Mycroft had managed to get him in.
John looked through the entire bar area and found no trace of Sherlock; he wasn’t exactly hard to spot in a crowd. Walking back toward the more secluded part of the club, John felt his skin begin to crawl with nerves.
At the back of the club there was a dancing floor occupied with several couples dancing in ways he felt guilty for even looking at. John knew immediately that Sherlock wouldn’t be among them; he never danced unless it was to some Disney song. John looked around the room, squinting through the dim lighting at the semi-private booths, most of which were occupied with people engaged in activity that should have been taken somewhere completely private. John had convinced himself he must have gotten here too late, Sherlock must have left already……and then he saw him.
John would have expected if Sherlock had ran away to be alone, if he had gotten drunk. He would have even expected to find him on a drug binge. But the sight in front of him was one he had not expected, not in the least.
Sherlock was sited in one of the corner booths, mostly obscured from view by three very attractive women sitting with him. John felt a strange stirring inside him as he watched the strange scene in front of him. A blonde haired woman sat on his lap, giving him a through snog as she undid the last of his shirt buttons to revel his pale chest. On either side of him were two other women, playing with his hair.
He never even tries and women fall all over him…..was John’s first thought at the scene. That thought didn’t last long though; as he watched the sordid affair and how thoroughly Sherlock appeared to be enjoying himself his emotions went cold. His stomach churned and he felt the strange urge to punch something. Jealously……it was a feeling that he knew well. He was jealous……but of what? He wasn’t jealous of the women, he knew that. He did not want to be the one kissing Sherlock and he was sure that of that. So, what was he jealous of? He was jealous because in some way, Sherlock was looking for comfort and he wasn’t looking for it in John.
“Sherlock Holmes, what are you doing?” without meaning to John’s voice instantly took on some of his ‘soldier’s voice’ Sherlock relished in little space. His fists were knotted up and sweaty and he was glad when Sherlock instantly looked up and at him. It made him a little sick when the woman on Sherlock’s lap glanced back at him with a wicked smile. John’s ire rose; how dare anyone act like that around his little boy……
“John…..what are you doing here?” Sherlock asked, his voice slurred and choppy; drunk, very drunk.
“I’m here to take you home” John said sternly. “What do you think you’re doing here?”
Sherlock laughed drunkenly. “Relax, John…..m’just having some fun” he said.
John didn’t even bother to point out just how much Sherlock didn’t consider getting drunk and having casual encounters with random women ‘fun’. “You’re drunk, and we are going home” John insisted.
“Ah, don’t be so uptight” the woman on Sherlock’s lap teased. “You can join us sweetheart. We’ll share”
John felt anger up to his ears; he was so not jealous and yet somehow he was. He did not like Sherlock in that way but still……he…..didn’t……share…….
“I don’t share” John said, feeling anger coursing through him. “He’s mine”
“John…..”Sherlock said, looking confused and unable to say anything more. He looked torn between anger and a smile.
“Ooh…..possessive” one of the women sitting next to Sherlock teased with a smile. “You better keep him”
Done with all of this jealously and nonsense and completely ready for rest and relaxation, John pulled Sherlock out of the booth. “Come on…..now” he said, his voice angry even though all he felt was sympathy for his flat mate.
John was surprised how quiet and compliant Sherlock was as he led him out of the club; it wasn’t a surprise when Sherlock starting slapping at him weakly the moment they were on the street.
“Hey! Hey! Stop it!” John protested, resisting Sherlock’s punches as much as he could. “What’s wrong with you?”
“There’s nothing wrong with me” Sherlock said, swaying on the spot and looking quite the contrary. “I was doing just fine…..you’re the one that came in like something was wrong.”
“Of course I did” John said, his voice raising. “Because something is wrong. I can tell when you’re not okay and you were definitely not okay when you left that crime scene. Talk to me”
“I don’t want to talk to you!” Sherlock yelled, uncharacteristically angry.
John felt the sting of rejection; why didn’t Sherlock want to talk to him? He was always the first person his little boy ran to; it hurt that that wasn’t the case today. “Why? Why not?” John asked, unable to keep the emotion out of his voice.
“I don’t need to talk” Sherlock insisted. “I need to go back in that club and bloody unwind!”
John was resigned to the fact that Sherlock was not going to talk to him and he tried to bury his disappointment. “Fine…..don’t talk to me” John said, taking Sherlock’s arm firmly.
“But I’m not going to let you go back in there. You are really drunk and I know if you go back in there you’re going to regret what you’ll do. So……we’re going home.”
John hailed a cab and pushed Sherlock in the back, literally kicking and screaming. The moment that John climbed in beside him, he turned away and stared out the window, completely silent and pretending John wasn’t there. And it hurt more than John could have imagined.