One-Shots

I'm Home [Johnlock post Rechienbarch]

John

John let out a short sigh as he came to a stop, clenching his fists inside his pockets and sniffling. It was rather cold outside as it was England, and that did not help his runny nose. "Hey, Sherlock. I just...wanted to come by and say hello..." John paused briefly before scoffing at himself, clicking his tongue and looking up at the sky for a moment. "Who am I kidding. I always come to visit, don't I?" John looked back down at the polished grave stone, the name Sherlock carved neatly into it. "You know, I thought I was getting better. That I could move on...but I've just been having a really bad week," John shook his head and reached out to place a hand on the gravestone, flinching slightly as the cold marble made contact with his hand. "The first day I came to visit I asked for one more- one more miracle," John paused and sucked in a large breath. "but I knew it was stupid. And I know I'm stupid for still believing you're alive. Sherlock Holmes would not die like that. Sherlock Holmes was not a fraud and god forbid anyone think of him as one!" John let a small sob escape him, caressing the top of the gravestone with his thumb. "So please...stop. Being. Dead, okay? Do that for me, would you? Because God am I lost without you, Sherlock Holmes. I'm...so lost," John let his hand fall from the stone and wiped at his eyes before putting his hand back in his pocket and turning away, beginning his walk home.

Sherlock

Sherlock watched John leave with a sad smile on his face, shaking his head afterwards. He couldn't see him yet. At least, he shouldn't see him, but the sudden text message he got half an hour later was enough to send him into a fit of blind rage,

Got your little boyfriend and house keeper.
Tick-tock

- Moriarty XX

Stuffing his phone back into his pocket, Sherlock began sprinting towards 221B. He had to save John! And Mrs. Hudson, of course. Calling a cab, Sherlock hopped into the back seat. "221B Baker Street. Step on it!" Sherlock said urgently. The driver stepped hard on the gas and they took off towards Baker Street. They reached their destination in around five minutes, and Sherlock threw a couple notes at the driver before cautiously approaching the door, pushing it open just enough that he could squeeze through.

Sherlock quietly made his way upstairs though the stairs did still creak under what very little weight he had. Sherlock pushed open the door to the flat, his eyes immediately landing on John and Mrs. Hudson who were both tied to chairs with a man Sherlock believed to be dead standing between them. But no, it was impossible. Sherlock had watched Jim shoot himself, had seen the body afterwards. There's no way anyone could have survived that, so why was Jim here? "Ah, Sherlock! Finally, I was beginning to worry~" Moriarty chirped in a sing-song voice, twirling a gun on his finger.

"Moriarty," Sherlock spat, narrowing his eyes at him before looking over Mrs. Hudson briefly. She didn't look to be badly injured, only a slight bruise on he arm. But John...Sherlock looked angrily at Moriarty, a murderous look on his features. "You shot him. Why?" Sherlock asked, attempting to keep a steady tone as he stared at John's leg, ignoring John's stare and questioning eyes.

"Oh I'm sure you can deduce that. Give it a try," Moriarty encouraged, smiling brightly in amusement. Sherlock took a moment before rattling off his deductions.

"Well, obviously John is a trained military doctor. He knows how to kill a person with just his hand and knows where to punch and kick to win. He also tried to escape, either to warn Mrs. Hudson, or to free himself, though it was most likely the first one. Obviously the Military taught him how to get out of rope, and so it would be easy for him to run away, but with his leg like that you would have a greater chance at catching him." Sherlock looked from where he was examining the door way and back to Moriarty.