Good Old Fashioned Nightmare

Part 6

     John’s head nestled on Sherlock’s shoulder as they rested from their exertions.  They’d had sex, and John had bottomed.  Sherlock had been gentle, tenderly working John open and going slow.  Once they’d established a steady rhythm, Sherlock came into John with a low cry and considerately reached around to finish him off.  John kept the pace light and hummed and moaned in all the right places.  He hoped it would convince Sherlock, at least, to drop his guard. 

     Sherlock kissed him contentedly afterwards, but seemed to find sex a somnambulant as he dropped into a doze directly after.  Who would have known all it took to get Sherlock Holmes to sleep was a good shag.   So, seducing him had been the right move.  John tested the depth of the detective’s slumber by picking up Sherlock’s wrist and placing it back on his own chest.  He murmured a bit but didn’t wake up.

    John carefully got out of bed and tiptoed into the bathroom.  He looked at himself in the mirror, noted the black collar around his neck and thought fiercely about how much he needed it off, now.  The thought of it hanging over him like the sword of Damocles, waiting to blow his head off if he made the wrong move, made him furious at Sherlock all over again.  It had to go.

      For the second time that day, he washed himself off as best as he could.  If Sherlock woke now, he’d just see him washing up.  He dressed back in jeans and a jumper.

     He went into the kitchen and set to work.  First, he’d need to pierce a small hole into the tea tin big enough to thread the small hose from the blood pressure bulb into.  Turning his back to the center of the kitchen, and possibly cameras, he dropped the tea tin into the front of his jumper.  It made a bit of a bulge but he could hide it with his arm in case Mycroft’s people were paying attention. 

   Mentally, we went over the steps needed to make the simple, booby trap.  He just had to place a small stub of candle on the bottom of the tin, and drop a small pile of flour near it.  Pressurized flour particles were highly flammable. He’d need a puff of air to blow a small amount of flour into the burning flame of a candle and he’d have a bright, burst of flame.  Of course he’d have to light the candle somehow without Sherlock noticing and leave the little bomb in a place where he might lean over without realizing and….  Well, that was a hell of a lot of if’s, John thought. 

    He’d last left the medical kit upstairs so he made his way back to his room. He picked up the pen from his desk and slid it into his front pocket.  The med kit nestled in the wardrobe under some boots so he hooked a finger through it and slid in fully dressed under the covers.  He hoped, if any one was watching,  it would look like he just wanted a nap.  He rolled over onto his side and under the blanket he used the little pair of trauma scissors he found in the kit, another gap in Sherlock’s mind palace, to punch a hole in the tea tin.  It was hard work as the scissors didn’t have a sharp tip and John had to rely on sheer strength to do the work.  He drove the pen in the hole he’d made to round it out and make it big enough for the small hose to fit.   He then cut the bulb from the blood pressure cuff and threaded it into the tin.  He had a little bellows.  Halfway there!       

     He lie in bed a bit longer to keep up the ruse of resting.  When he thought he’d been there long enough, he tucked the tea packets and tin back into his jumper and went back downstairs.  When he got to the kitchen, Sherlock was again sitting in front of the computer but back in his usual spot facing away from the counter.  John took it as a sign of trust.  Without hesitation, he went to the cupboard and pretended to pull down the tea.  He set the electric kettle boiling and with his back to Sherlock, pulled the modified tin and tea packets from under his jumper and put them on the counter.  Sherlock said nothing so John assumed his attention really was on his laptop and he hadn’t seen. 

     Candles wouldn’t be a problem as they sometimes lost power and kept a supply in one of the kitchen drawers.  Matches too. 

     Sherlock hummed a bit to himself as he surfed the web, until they both were startled by a buzzing from Sherlock’s phone.  Lestrade’s name popped up on the window and Sherlock swiftly snatched it up to answer. 

     He paused a moment listening to a voice on the other end and snapped to attention,  “You what?” he bellowed to John’s surprise.  “You idiots!  He yelled again.  You’re going to let him go?” 

     Sherlock paused again and John knew exactly who “him” was.  Moriarty. “Of course he’s got an alibi, the pays people by the hundreds to provide him with credible alibis.  I’m coming to the Yard!  Hold him until I get there.  I need to speak to him…  Yes!  I’ll be there in twenty minutes,” he ended the call and turned to John who looked at him with enquiry.  The hopeful little bomb sat on the counter behind him with its tiny little hole turned away from Sherlock.  John had tucked the little bellows inside the tin until he could finalize his trap.

     “So we’re going to the Yard?” he asked letting a tiny trill of hope shoot through him.    

     “I’m afraid I’ll have to restrain you while I’m away, John,” Sherlock said moving quickly around the kitchen and gathering up his gloves, coat and phone.  “Come into our bedroom,” he said grabbing John by the upper arm and ushering him into the tousled bed.  The term “our bedroom” hadn’t escaped John’s notice. 

     “Lie face down, John,” he said motioning for him to comply.

     “Sherlock, I’m not…”

     “Now, John. I’ve got to get to Scotland Yard before they release him!” Sherlock said producing a set of padded leather cuffs from his closet.  Where did he keep getting all this stuff from?  John wondered.  How long had he been preparing for this?

     “I’ll be back soon,” he said as he trussed John up to the bed securing his wrists behind his back, a tad uncomfortably, and his ankles spread wide to the foot of the bed.  He finally hooked a collapsible “D” ring to the collar and secured a bit of rope through it and tying it to the head of the bed.  The whole effect didn’t allow for much movement or he’d choke.  He tested the cuffs and ankle restraints and found them tightly secured.  Sherlock had tied them in a way he wouldn’t be getting free from any time soon.  As long as he stayed on his belly, he’d be comfortable enough. 

      John sighed.  He’d been so close to completing his trap.  He’d just have to wait this out and try again when Sherlock returned. “Hurry back,” he said weakly.  “Otherwise I’ll piss the bed.” 

    Sherlock ran a distracted hand through John’s hair and left the room.  “Soon, John,” he said and left him alone with his thoughts.