Ch. 17
John never thought a ten minute car ride home would have taken this long. It seemed as if the powers of the universe were against them getting home, because they hit every fucking red light. Seriously? John thought.
"Problem?" Sherlock teased.
"Yes...and there isn't anyone else that can solve it but you," John said, smirking a little.
"Ah...a challenge, then?" Sherlock asked.
"Eh...you won't find it too difficult to figure out," John said, grinning.
"There hasn't been one yet," Sherlock said.
"Just get home, yeah?" John said. He was getting antsy now. As soon as Sherlock pulled the truck into the driveway, John hopped out and went to unlock the door. Before John opened to go inside, Sherlock pulled him by the arm into him and kissed John deeply. John found his head going fuzzy and going weak at the knees. He fumbled behind him for the door, not wanting to break away from the detective for anything. He finally got the door open and they stumbled inside. Sherlock kicked the door shut, and began removing John's jacket and his scarf. John did the same to Sherlock's coat, loving the feeling of his hands traveling down his arms. They were so wrapped up in each other and the moment, they didn't see anything out of the ordinary. Until...
"Sorry to break this up...," a voice said, startling both men.
"Shit, what the--?" Sherlock said, face falling as he looked toward the living room, where a man in all black stood, holding a semi automatic weapon. Sherlock narrowed his eyes at the man. John started toward the man, clearly outraged, but Sherlock held out his arm to stop him. "Mr. E.?" he asked.
"No. I'm his go to guy, to take care of certain problems he finds...troublesome," the man said.
"The only problem here is you," John spat.
The man laughed and introduced himself. "My name is Mister Three. I suggest you try nothing, but it doesn't matter in the end. Both of you will die tonight,"
"Oh, that's not going to happen," Sherlock said, taking a small step towards the man. The man shuffled his gun around and he looked startled for a moment. Sherlock, what the hell are you doing? John thought.
"Is that so?" Mr. Three asked, sarcastically.
"Oh, yes. You have two choices; One: You can leave now and keep your face the way it is. Or, two: We can rearrange it and you will be arrested. I'm sure Mr. E. wouldn't want his boyfriend's pretty face messed up, now would he?" Sherlock asked, smirking. John walked to stand beside Sherlock, smirking too.
"You two have some balls, I can tell ya that. But, having balls gets you nowhere when you are standing at the end of a gun, now does it?" Mr. Three said, pointing it at them.
"Oh, I don't know about that...," Sherlock said. He knew John was angry. He could practically feel it. He knew from John being in the military, guns do not frighten him...they piss him off. At the speed of lightning, John stepped in between Sherlock and Mr. Three, kicked the gun out of his hand, had him on the ground in a chokehold until he passed out. John threw him on the ground with a thump. He kicked him in the ribs for good measure.
"Asshole," John spat. He walked back over to Sherlock and took his face in his hands. "Are you alright?"
"My hero," Sherlock said, smirking. "I have to say...that was pretty hot,"
"Yeah, well...," John said, blushing a little. "Had to learn combat training, no matter what position I held. What do we do with him?"
"Get him the hell out of here. How did he even get in?" Sherlock asked, looking around for any windows open. He ran upstairs, taking the stairs two at a time. He flipped on the light, and looked in each room for any open windows. He finally found one in the spare bedroom. Ugh, dull, Sherlock thought. He walked over and shut it tightly, locking it.
