The Bounties on His Head (JohnLock AU)

How'd You Find Me?

A/N Hey My Lovelies!!! sorry this update took a while!! Been a busy few days...suddenly everyone wants to hang out with me...how dreadfully boring lol...Anyways...Here you go!!! Enjoy<3

Sherlock was drifting, lost in the fear and panic that had taken over his mind, when the sound of someone trying to get in his room pulled him back to his mind. He scrambled to his feet and grabbed the nearest object, which was a lamp, and brandished it as a weapon. It would do him little good against a gun or knife, but he felt better being armed.

The door swung open to reveal a man, average height and greying, hiding behind what looked like a police-issue baton, with a grim expression on his face.

"Sherlock Holmes?" Former soldier, anger issues, abused by his father. Sherlock winced and shook his head as his anxious mind started screaming deductions about the man.

"How did you find me?"

"A little bird told me where you were." Sherlock chuckled, but didn't lower his weapon. He adjusted his grip on the lamp's stand and glared at the intruder, trying to gauge who had sent him.

"Who sent you?" The man looked shocked for a moment, as though he didn't know that Sherlock was bound to have more than one person on his tail. "Was it Lestrade? Mycroft? Moriarty?" The man's micro-expressions told Sherlock all he needed to know. "So Lestrade then." The man's face changed to something that might have been amusement and Sherlock adjusted his grip on the lamp again. "You must be the Bounty Hunter my brother warned me about."

"That's me. You going to come in peacefully?" Something vile screamed in the back of Sherlock's mind and he allowed it a voice.

"Will you kill me if I don't?" He didn't bother hiding the hope that filled his voice and was shocked when the man's face softened. Not opposed to assisted suicide then. May come in handy.

"New Scotland Yard wants you alive-"

"Fortunately, James Moriarty is impartial about that." A new voice came from behind the man and he spun, his baton swinging wildly as he did.

Sherlock stumbled farther back as the Bounty hunter attacked the new person, exchanging a few blows before gaining the upper hand and pinning a small blonde woman to the wall. Sherlock watched in awe as the man's lip quirked up in a dangerous smirk.

"Mary Morstan, should have known you'd catch wind of this one."

"John Watson, long time, no see. How's things?"

"Oh, you know; same old, same old."

"That's lovely. Now, leave."

"Sorry Sweetheart, this is my collar." The woman, Mary, broke free of John's grip and pushed him back roughly, sending him stumbling. She turned on Sherlock and drew her own weapon, this time, Sherlock found himself staring down the barrel of a gun.

"You're coming with me."

"N-No-" John attacked Mary, easily dispatching her weapon and sending her sprawling. Sherlock yelped and swung the lamp when he felt a hand roughly grab his elbow.

The lamp connected with the side of John's head, and Sherlock used that chance to escape. He scrambled away from the pair that wanted to either kill him or put him in prison and ran for the door.

He didn't get very far.

Pain flowered in his knee and he crumbled, hitting the floor hard. Shot? No, didn't hear a bullet. A rough hand grabbed his elbow and hauled him to his feet. John. Baton to the knee. He gasped as John dragged him out of the room, the pair of them stumbling into the parking lot. Sherlock fell against the hood of a nearby car, his knee throbbing painfully.

"Get up."

"I can't!"

"Oh, for fuck sakes-"

"You broke my bloody knee-" Sherlock's complaint was cut short when a bullet shattered the mirror of the car he was leaning against. He yelped and tried to duck, but was hauled upright by John again. The man was strong, and easily supported Sherlock's weight as he hauled him behind the car. "Let me go!" Sherlock squirmed, trying to push himself out of John's grasp.

He whimpered when a strong fist gripped his hair, tugging harshly so his head was tilted back at an uncomfortable angle.

"Stop fighting me." The low growl John's voice had taken on made Sherlock's entire body tense. He gasped and whimpered, struggling against the urge to bow his head and obey mindlessly. Dammit, this is unexpected. The man clearly had dominant tendencies. Bit not good under the circumstances.

Another bullet shattered the window above them, and the hand gripping his hair disappeared.

John reached into his jacket and pulled out his own gun, muttering curses as more shots where fired. He shifted so he was crouching beside Sherlock and fired a shot of his own back at their attacker.

"When I tell you, run to the black car across from us and get in." It took Sherlock far too long to register that John was speaking to him.

"I-I don't-" John turned on him, frustration and adrenaline plain in his eyes.

"Listen, I don't rightly care if you want to die. What I do care about is making a commission off you, and I won't be able to do that if she kills you. So just nut up, and do as I fucking say!" A bullet ricocheting off the car next to Sherlock's ear punctuated the words and he reluctantly nodded.

John turned back to fire another couple of shots before barking a command to run back at Sherlock, who instantly obeyed.

He scrambled into the car, slamming the door behind him and yelping as a bullet struck the glass, leaving a startling mark inches away from his face. Bullet-proof glass.

He watched John make his way to the other side of the car, still firing at Mary until he reeled back, face contorted in agony as he fell. Shot, hit in the shoulder. Could bleed out in 15 minutes if not tended to ASAP.

He weighed his options briefly before clambering across the seat and pushing the door open, nearly falling to the pavement. He scrambled over to where John was lying, tugging at his arms and shirt until the man got the hint and shuffled back, still firing back at Mary.

Once John was safe behind the car, Sherlock pulled open the back door and helped the man in before climbing into the driver's seat. John dropped the keys into his lap and he started the car, bullets still thudding into the glass of the windshield.

Mary stood where the car had been, watching Sherlock backing away from her with a cold, empty smile that recalled too many horrific memories.

The cold smile of James Moriarty as he goaded Moran's cruelty on, the blankness in his eyes as Sherlock screamed in agony.

I can see why he chose her. Very much alike, they are.