Data Doesn't Lie (Johnlock)

Chapter 18

JOHN

  I'd never seen Sherlock move so frantically in my life. He was absolutely terrified, and who wouldn't be? "Off the streets, John! Now!" The paper nearly fluttered to the ground, but I managed to make a grab at it as Sherlock dragged me into the nearest alley, wrenching out his mobile and dialing his brother's number. I tried to pay attention to what he told Mycroft, I honestly did, but found that I could not. Moriarty's note glared up at me, and even though I couldn't tell if it was truly him, my knees almost buckled. I clung to Sherlock's arm for support, and realized he was trembling ever so slightly.

  He spoke a million words a second into his mobile, struggling to explain everything that had just happened. I caught my breath bit by bit, staring down at the bloodred ink. "Sherlock," I whispered to him, "How do we even know it's the real him?" He didn't even glance at me, whispering hurriedly as to our location. Mycroft's voice waved over the phone in soothing, surprisingly docile tones, trying to calm Sherlock down. "Don't hang up," he insisted softly, and promised to send a car. Sherlock's arm made its way around my waist, pulling me as close as possible and keeping me at his side. He was still shivering. I can't recall much of what happened after, other than Sherlock pulling me deeper into the dark side of the alleyway and waiting in stunned silence until a slick, black car rolled up next to us. No one approached us, no one showed their face. 

 To our surprise, the eldest Holmes brother himself sat one of the backseats, his hand twitching not-so-discreetly in what could register as anxiety. Sherlock didn't stop to complain about the arrangement, , looking around nervously before pushing the both of us into the car in one swoop. Needless to say I was confused and shaken, my head whirring. What had been such a wonderful evening had become a possible flight for our lives from the very enemy that had ripped us apart in the first place. It took me several minutes to steel my nerves.

  "Good to see you're both still in tact," Mycroft commented stiffly, nodding at me. He pressed on directly into the issue, nodding to his driver, who pulled off at an astonishing (most certainly illegal) speed. "I received a text, brother dear," he told Sherlock sternly, pulling out his mobile in a swift motion. Sherlock snatched it from him, though I was in no mood to scold him right now. I stuck close by my detective's side, which was suddenly cold. Luckily Mycroft's phone was unlocked and on the text message screen. In bold, blocky letters read precisely the same message that we'd been given.  "And...so did every other congressman in my branch and others," he concluded. Seeing a twitch in Sherlock's arm, I interpreted his next movement precisely and laid a hand on his before he could toss the device as far away from him as possible. 

  "He sure gets around," I muttered nervously to calm myself down a bit. Sherlock glanced at me with an odd expression on his face before turning back to face his brother. He didn't hand the phone back. A few rushed words traveled between them, but I only half-listened despite my hopes to pay attention. I catch a few stray words and phrases, curling into my detective's side, which his brother seemed not to notice. Whether it was for my comfort or his, I wasn't sure. "Don't you have anybody on this yet?" Sherlock hissed in agitation. "Don't be stupid," responded the eldest Holmes sourly. A tense silence followed after the foul usage of "the S. word." The very air around us seemed to still and stew like bad broth.

"We can't trace it," Mycroft muttered. "Not yet, at least. Until we can, however, I recommend you stay with me. It's the safest option." There was immediate outrage, naturally. "What about work?" I protested. "What about my skull?" Sherlock boomed. "Our clothes," I pointed out further. "My shoes!" Sherlock exclaimed, exasperated. "Mrs.Hudson!" I added. Sherlock's mouth become a thin line. "Yeah, her too."

Mycroft stared at us like we were talking cockroaches, half in amazement and half in disgust. "We can get you shoes, little brother," he said tautly, his brows furrowing in disappointment. His voice softened when he addressed me, however. "And John, I'm sure the clinic will understand." "I'm going to get fired," I disagreed bitterly. The color in Sherlock's face was drained completely, and he looked as if he were about to punch the government advocate in front of him. 

"You must understand, this is a rather serious issue and you two need the utmost amount of protection," Mycroft stated promptly. I understood, I suppose, so I was silent. However, Sherlock could not be bought, still jittery from the message and worried sick despite what he showed. "Yes, Mycroft, because you did such an exquisite job at that before!" The eldest Holmes went dead silent, a fraction of a second taken to show his shame. The air was horribly toxic. Even the driver pursed his lips in appreciation. "I did what I could," Mycroft practically whispered, more to reassure himself than to us, and shook away the thought as quickly as it had been uttered. I pinched Sherlock's arm as a makeshift punishment, to which he actually flinched. 

"You're staying with me," Mycroft decided, the tone in his voice firm and final. This time, it was an order. Sherlock and I fell silent, deciding not to cross his word for our own sake. "There are multiple guest rooms," he continued in a mutter. "Choose whichever two you see fit." A shaky chuckle sounded from nowhere, and it took me a second or so to realize that it had come from my own mouth. Mycroft scowled, though from the corner of my eye I saw Sherlock smile at me. A fraction of the tension keeping us all stiff and silent dissolved as I sat up an inch or so. "We'll only be needing one," I assured Mycroft swiftly, and for a brief moment I felt a tad bit better. Perhaps we might be safe, I dared to think. Perhaps now that we had each other, all could be well. Mycroft nodded absently, seemingly unfazed before he sat deathly still, his gaze snapping back to me with eyes as wide as ping-pong balls. "I see," he stated softly, a twinge of a smirk pulling at the corners of his mouth. It was then that Sherlock laid his head upon my shoulders, nuzzling into my coat with a smile, for warmth or spite or both. Mycroft rolled his eyes wordlessly, and I couldn't help but smile.

  We'll be alright, I told myself calmly. Of course we will. We had made it thus far and survived Moriarty's reign of terror once, coming out victorious and together. Who was to say that our sacrifices would not be considered? That we may not make it out again? No, this time was different, and confirmed in this moment with a sheer glance at my detective who nestled so affectionately into my shoulder. I forced down the anxiety, the fear of His return, and every other dreary feeling that had plagued me for the whole car ride and before. Even Mycroft seemed more lightweight, going over the necessary preparations for our stay out loud in a subtle mumble, as if making a list. I smiled despite myself, though the wind's chill had scarred my cheeks. Somewhere in the back of my head, a soothing melody was lulling me to sleep where I sat; the song from the restaurant, probably. A small sigh escaped my lips, and I rested my head into the velvety cushions of the back seat, all thoughts of Moriarty shoved deliberately to the back of my mind. 

We'll be okay.

Wowza guys I'm sorry for such a long time it took to update I've had such bad writers block recently and when you mix that in with school, work and severe mood swings you get a big steaming pile of bleh. Still, I hope you guys liked this chapter and I'll try to get back to writing ASAP. Poor John has no idea whats coming to him, naive little bab. Teetee a fen, tata for now!

~Shay