Oneshots.

the assassin (johnlock)

well, nothing goes as john had planned. they'd never told him he'd be pretty.

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John sits waiting in the empty booth, discreetly reading a newpaper. The newspaper is only a cover, as is the lumpy jacket which hides a small handgun. If someone were to come across John, they'd assume he's an overworked and underpaid buisnessman with too many bags under his eyes and not enough caffeine in his system.

However, that's not the case at all.

John stiffens when the bell above the cafe door jingles, and a tall man walks through the entranceway. John's eyes peek over the newspaper, and he begins to scan every part of the stranger. Dark hair, wearing a black coat and a long neck wrapped in a scarf that's a dark shade of blue. His complexion appears quite pale, but every facial feature is incridible edged, as if his cheekbones were carved thoroughly by a knife. His stature is incredibly straight, and his posture is so straight that it looks as if he believes he is above the rest of the community.

And his eyes. Nearly white if you didn't pay enough attention, but John is looking closely enough to determine that they're the most beautiful shade of pale green with a slight touch of brown.

Now those are eyes you could get lost in.

John quickly glances back down at his paper when the man orders his coffee. Black, two sugars to be persice, which is exactly what John is going for. Percision is key.

The man stalks off to an empty table, and doesn't appear as if he's waiting on anyone. He's very much alone.

"If you're going to continue to stare gawkingly at me, you may as well sit down."

The voice is, for lack of a better word, startling. No one else is in the shop, John observes looking around, but the man couldn't have possibly been speaking to him.

"Yes, I'm talking to you. You're not being very conspicious, that is, unless you had originally intended to read the morning post upside down."

John looks down at his paper, which is indeed upside down. Such an amateur mistake for him to make. John puts down the newspaper and looks over to find the dark curls to match the cold voice. He's looking right at John, his lips curled up slightly in pride of his comment.

Acting on complete impulse and lack of better judgement, he picks up his mug of coffee and leans onto the cane he doesn't really need, stumbling slowly over to the intriguing stranger. He slides into the empty seat with ease and eyes the man in front of him.

"Who are you?" John asks plainly, but the man only grins. "I'm surprised you don't know. They don't tell you much of anything, do they? Almost like they expect you to fail."

"I haven't the slightest clue of what you're talking about."

The man just chuckles. "Unsurprising." He says. John just glares at him. He isn't used to not knowing what's going on, and he doesn't like it one bit. "Who are you?" John asks again, this time more forceful and urgently,as if the lack of information might kill him.

"The name is Sherlock Holmes and I, am the man you are to kill."

John makes a grab for the hidden pocket in his coat, his heart and his head are now racing with an intense shot of adreneline. "You're not going to do that." Sherlock says confidently, grinning even wider. The poor guy doesn't even know what he's in for. John most certainly is going to do that. But he's curious. He keeps a hand on the gun, but bides his time.

"And why is that? It is my job to do so, and frankly, when my company fires a person, they do it quite thoroughly." John states firmly. Sherlock only raises an eyebrow, not even batting an eye. Obviously he's very skeptical on the idea of his own death. "Maybe because you're intrigued, maybe because you hate your job and you're constantly looking for an escape from it, possibly because you're quite horrible at it. It's all written across your face like pieces of a puzzle that no one has bothered to read yet. Your employer isn't very pleasant, but then again, Moriarty never is. But either way, your hand is slowly slipping out of the pocket that is currently hiding a small handgun which you don't intend to use. So, I suggest you stop kidding yourself, take my hand and we shall walk out of here, both of us in one piece. You don't intend to kill me and I don't intend to die."

"You're awfully sure of yourself." John states. "Oh, Mr. Watson, I'm very rarely wrong." The man says with a grin, just as John realizes he has never given Sherlock his name. "If you're able to determine my name from one look, as well as every chapter of my life story, then surely you can deduce that there are no less than a hundred men with big guns outside this shop ready to fire at will if I am to fail at shooting you in the head."

"Friendly tip. If you know you're about to be murdered, come up with a backup plan. I've already assembled no less than six inside my head before I'd entered the shop, including becoming aware of the underground tunnel beneath the basement that lies below this building. I suggest you ditch the jacket and the cane, considering you haven't a use for either, and follow me."

Without a second thought John slips off the jacket and follows after Sherlock, against all of his better judgements. John can see now that other than the piercing eyes and the strong features the man beside him possesses, he without a doubt, incredibly attractive.

Down the stairs they go, and into the silence of the hidden tunnels. And before the night is over John will also learn that the man with the curly hair and the funny jacket is a hell of a good kisser.