For Only You (Teenlock!/Johnlock)

Chapter 21: Richard Brooke

Sherlock's P.O.V

My heartbeat was reaching a startling staccato that was making my head spin like a record, everything seemingly having slowed down into nothing and fell apart completely. It was pure torture having him so close, dredging up the most loathed memories that I thought I had already deleted and pushed from my mind. He wasn't supposed to be here. He was dead!

"Why did you call us here?" I managed to ask after a short pause of trying to remember how to breathe, sounding a lot stronger than I felt inside. Inside... my once-invincible walls were crumbling into dust, memories invading my mind like poison, coursing through every good memory and burning a hole in each one as I remembered the tiny detail of each assault on my body.

Then, he laughed. James Moriarty actually laughed, a psychotic, disturbing sound. "Oh, Sherlock, babe... I never left," he purred, making my stomach twist and turn into knots with nausea. He still used those pet-names. The names that I would have once associated with pathetic romantics, terms of endearment to a loved one- he turned them into something malicious and cruel.

"Just hand over the files," I snapped with scorn, holding out a trembling, impatient hand. That raised an almost impressed look from the disgusting beast, who also decided to snake his filthy arm over my shoulder.

I blinked twice, and he was lying on the floor on his back, pinned there by John's weight, my boyfriend's eyes feral with anger and hatred as his hands curled into tight fists, body curled away from me as he prepared for battle.

"Oh, Johnny boy, you haven't gotten any less predicable have you... Such a shame..." Jim sang sadistically as he smirked, looking back to me with a flame of insanity in his eyes, before yelling at the top of his lungs, "Mr. Laurence!"

The librarian darted around the corner, glasses pressed to his nose, gasping at the sight before him. He looked at me, obviously used to seeing me around, before looking at John, not having seen him many times.

"Mr. Watson! To the prefect's office, right now!" he yelled, hands clutched around one of his treasured books, confused by the situation.

John snarled like a feral animal, hands fisted in Jim's cardigan, before slamming him to the ground with a loud thwack, ripping a loud cry Jim's chest, his face vulnerable and agonised- a facade, of course. The sight only made fury boil deeper within John, evidence clear in the way his body tensed up so viciously, but I pulled him backwards, my familiar hands dragging him away from 'Richard'.

"He wants this. He is trying to get us separated. Don't give him the satisfaction," I whispered quickly as I lifted John into my arms, my eyes avoiding Jim's form at all costs. I couldn't look at him. I couldn't look at him with the knowledge that he was the reason I had pushed away John's efforts to show me what love was like, when it is done properly.

John huffed as his fingers clenched into the fabric of my shirt, nails almost digging into my back. I ignored it and took a moment to try to calm John down; this was not my forte.

After a few short moments, I kissed John's forehead and made my way over to Mr. Laurence, animatedly explaining a fabricated version of the truth to the startled librarian. I managed to convince him to keep quiet, insisting that Jim had started it.

When I turned around, Jim was gone, the only evidence of him ever having been there being the fury that was burning in John's eyes, his body still wired with anger that refused to burn out. I, too, was angry, but I was cautious then anything else; Jim was cruel and he had no boundaries... I would not let him bring harm to John.

John had tortured him, and it was only fitting that James Moriarty sought revenge.

Jim's P.O.V