Johnlock oneshots

Red Jacket

(I say 'teen' you say 'lock', alright. 'TEEN')

Blink.

A blow to the stomach

Blink.

The world went momentarily black and spun sickeningly

Blink.

A sharp pain in his lower abdomen.

Sherlock lay against the lockers, curled in foetal position, desperately trying to protect his torso from the annoyingly well aimed kicks being thrown into his stomach. Three against one Sherlock thought with a sneer how challenging of a win this is to them. He gagged as a particularly hard kick went directly into his torso, winding him.

'What was that Holmes? Another comment about my mother? Or my girlfriends 'affair'? Or was that just you, you and your pathetic, worthless little-' he trailed off angrily

It would be against his better judgement to say something now. When have the Holmes family ever listened to better judgement

'Actually it was about the fact that you're using your girlfriend as a beard, probably should get that hearing checked out' he choked out past the bile in his throat.

Sherlock felt a hand grab at his collar and hoist him up. He moaned as his back hit the locker door, his head making a resounding crack as it fell back with the impact. The world was spinning, his consciousness was fazing in and out with every punch. If he didn't get away now, he was going to-

'don't you ever-' Moran's face was inches away from his, his voice was a deathly whisper but his eyes showed fear. Pathetic. '-say that again'

He pulled his arm back, clearly meaning to throw another punch. Sherlock closed his eyes and prayed for it to be a quick death. He could see his grave-stone now -'William Sherlock Scott Holmes, 17 years old, may he rest very different to how he lived. Free of his duty as a punching bag'. He felt the air rush past his ears, the impact was coming, surely it was only inches from his fac-

'Hey!'

a voice sounded from down the hall and Sherlock heard footsteps thunder towards them. He felt himself slide to the floor as Moran let go of his collar, freeing him. Through the haze clouding his brain he could just make out a small blond shape, wearing the same red jacket as Moran, Anderson and Brown. Great, another's come to join in. Joy to the world.

'What the fuck are you doing?' the blob spoke again

'Stay out of it Watson' Moran spoke through gritted teeth, Anderson and Brown flitted about him nervously. Clearly 'Watson' intimidated them.

Sherlock forced his eyes open. The blond boy looked at him out of the corner of his eyes. He squared his shoulders 'No'

There was a authority in his voice that even Sherlock knew was not to be reckoned with. Apparently however, idiots like Moran needed another reminder. He swung his arm round at Watson, only for him to meet it in the air and grab onto Moran's wrist with what looked like brute strength, he struggled to rid himself of the blonde's grasp while the smaller boy simply stared at him in the eye.  Watson pulled him closer

'Okay, you leave now or I'll pull you off the team. You forget, Sebastian, that im the captain now. You-' he jabbed a finger in his chest '-got kicked off'

He released Moran's wrist 'Go'

Sherlock watched with amazement as the three boys stalked off (Moran grumbling about 'pretty boy Watson thinking he's so strong and clever with his new captain status'). The blond boy had a presence, every muscle spoke power. When the boys were safely out of reach, he spun to Sherlock worriedly. He knelt down and spoke softly