PEAKY BLINDERS IMAGINES

John Shelby - 'Lost in London'

The streets of London buzzed with a life that was nothing like the grimy, familiar backstreets of Small Heath. You tugged your coat tighter around yourself, trying to ignore the growing ache in your legs. The night air was thick with smoke, shouts, and the clatter of horses' hooves on cobblestone. Somewhere, far off, a clock tower chimed.

"John," you breathed, catching up to him, "are you sure this is the right way?"

John turned, a flash of a grin lighting his face despite the frustration simmering beneath it. His cap was pulled low, the collar of his coat high. "'Course I'm sure, love. Just... the streets are a bit different here, that's all."

You narrowed your eyes at him, unconvinced. You both knew the truth: you were hopelessly lost.

You were supposed to meet Tommy hours ago, but after a deal went sideways, you'd barely escaped a brawl in one of Sabini's clubs. The plan was to lay low and regroup — simple enough. Only John, stubborn as he was, refused to ask for directions.

Your stomach twisted with nerves as you glanced around. Groups of men loitered on corners, their eyes following you and John with interest. London wasn't like Birmingham; here, the name "Shelby" didn't carry the same weight. Not yet, anyway.

John must have noticed your unease because he slipped his hand into yours, rough fingers curling protectively around yours. "Stay close to me, yeah?" he murmured, softer now.

"I always do," you replied, your voice barely above a whisper.

For a few precious minutes, it was just the two of you, your steps falling into an easy rhythm. You almost forgot you were lost, almost forgot the danger. Until you turned a corner — and found yourself face-to-face with three men, dressed sharp, but with an unmistakable air of menace.

Sabini's boys.

"Well, well," one of them drawled, stepping forward. His gold tooth glinted under the streetlamp. "Look what we got 'ere. One of Tommy Shelby's little brothers... and his pretty bird."

John stiffened beside you. His grip on your hand tightened just a fraction. "Keep walkin'," he muttered under his breath.

But you both knew it wasn't going to be that easy.

"Oi, we're just being friendly," another man sneered, reaching out — reaching for you. Before his fingers could brush you, John was moving.

Faster than you could react, John shoved you behind him, putting himself between you and the gang. His body was tense, ready to spring.

"You touch her," John said, voice low and dangerous, "and I'll fuckin' kill you."

The leader laughed, a harsh, ugly sound. "Big talk, Shelby. You're a long way from home. No brothers to save you here."

You saw the moment it shifted from words to action. The glint of a knife. The lunge forward.

John met it head-on.

It was a blur of fists and snarling curses. You backed up against the wall, heart pounding painfully against your ribs. John fought like a man possessed — every swing, every block fueled by pure, raw fury. You wanted to scream, to run, to help — but you knew better. John needed you out of the way.

One of the men tried to grab you again. You ducked under his arm, adrenaline giving you speed. John caught him mid-movement, slamming him hard into the wall.

"DON'T. FUCKIN'. TOUCH HER!" John roared, punctuating every word with a brutal punch.

When it was over, the gang lay groaning on the ground, bloody and beaten. John turned to you, chest heaving.

"You alright, love?" His voice cracked with the intensity of it all.

You nodded shakily. "John..."

Without another word, he crossed the space between you, gathering you into his arms. He held you like he never wanted to let go. You buried your face into his chest, breathing him in — sweat, blood, smoke — and something unmistakably John.

"I'm sorry," he murmured into your hair. "Should've kept you safer."

"You did," you said fiercely, pulling back just enough to look at him. His lip was split, a bruise already blooming along his jaw, but his blue eyes — those brilliant, reckless eyes — were clear and full of you.

Before you could think better of it, you reached up and kissed him.

It wasn't a soft kiss. It was desperate, messy, full of all the terror and relief still coursing through your veins. John kissed you back like a man drowning, one hand cradling the back of your head, the other gripping your waist.

When you finally broke apart, both gasping for air, he rested his forehead against yours.

"Swear to God, Y/N, I'd burn this whole bloody city to the ground before I let anyone hurt you."

You smiled through the sting of tears. "I know."

He brushed a thumb gently over your cheek. "Marry me."

You blinked, thinking you must've misheard over the pounding in your ears. "What?"

"Marry me," John said again, steady this time. "Soon as we get back. Before Tommy ropes me into some other stupid bloody mess."

You laughed, a choked, breathless sound. "You're insane."

He grinned, that wicked Shelby smile that had made you fall for him in the first place. "Yeah. But you love me for it."

You framed his bruised face with your hands. "I do."

And somewhere, in the middle of that dirty London street, with enemies at your feet and the future uncertain, you promised yourself you always would.

John kissed you again, slower this time, a silent vow between the two of you. Then he slung an arm around your shoulders and started walking, limping slightly but refusing to let go of you.

"C'mon, Mrs. Shelby-to-be," he said, his voice lighter now despite everything. "Let's go find Tommy before he sends half of Birmingham after us."

You leaned into his side, heart full. Lost or not, as long as you were with John, you were home.