SHERLOCK 🌟SMUTSHORTS🌟

3.I'LL NEVER WANT YOU (ONE SHOT)

[oh my god this is my favorite one >•<]

This was cutting it far too close.

Yes, alright, the case was the life-or-death kidnapping of a teen by a homicidal maniac, but John's situation was about to become life-or-death too.

"Can you stop thinking about food for a single second of the day, John?!" Sherlock yelled at the whiteboard, "Your incessant tapping is distracting."

John stopped pounding the table with his finger and glared at the back of Sherlock's head, specifically his very fragile and breakable neck. "Then let me go eat."

"Don't be ridiculous. Donovan brought you food an hour ago. That's more than enough."

John turned his glare to the 'food' lying on the table next to him. One small, dried out piece of sugary vending machine cake covered in a questionable coating of greenish colored frosting. He bared his teeth at it and shoved it towards Sherlock's end of the table.

"I need real food, Sherlock." Sherlock continued to glare at the board. "You don't need me here staring at a map. Why am I even-" John sighed and pinched the bridge of his nose. Frustration rolled off every syllable as he said, "You just assume I'll follow you around like- like your pet. I mean- would it kill you to say the word please? I swear I have never once heard you say it sincerely." His argument fell on deaf ears. "Never mind. I'm going down to the Thai place by the- "

"By the donut shop. Oh. Oh! OH!" Sherlock jumped and clapped as the pieces fell into place, spinning to grab his coat off the chair. "Come along, John!"

John froze, awestruck at his stroke of bad luck.

"John?" Sherlock paused to eye him and said, rather carefully, "Need I remind you of your sentiment towards this teen? As you said, repeatedly, he's just some child who hasn't seen the terrors of the world and is probably crying for his mum or something similar. Really, when I was nineteen I had already-"

"You weren't kidnapped by a homicidal psychopath!"

Sherlock smirked at the response and John shook his head. Right. Hell, there was a kid to think about. Life-or-death, missing for three days, nineteen year old kid. John had been hungry for five. So only nearly life-or-death.

"Shouldn't you call Lestrade?" John asked, jogging after him. No cops were visible in the department. Most were out canvasing.

"You can text him on the way!"

John probably would have been more than willing to do just that if he knew where the bloody hell they were going. That and the hunger was starting to budge into his mind, making everything just the slightest bit hazy when it came to mental processes. As his reasoning clouded over, everything outside himself crystallized.

The sky was dark and the moon was dim but it could have been high noon for all it mattered. He was directly on the coattails of his long-legged flatmate, darting past every type of restaurant, through alleyways, over trashcans and around the homeless -so many meal opportunities passed.

Then, suddenly smacked by the overpowering need to acquire his target, he darted past Sherlock and bolted around the corner. He could smell the kid a mile away. Literally, a mile away.

He sped and dove for the back of the donut shop -Really? A donut shop?- and lunged for the door to the basement without waiting for his royal highness. The kid was there, still breathing and mostly intact -held up only by ropes. John ripped those down easy enough and caught the falling human. When the kid was in his arms he realized how stupid that had been.