Johnlock Fanfiction (yet to be titled)

John lay crumpled outside the door of his flat. He could barely see, black spots covered his vision. He groaned and tried to shift, with no success. Everything hurt, he was sure he had broken bones. “Sherlock,” he whimpered, in a barely heard tone.

Sherlock slammed the laptop and rushed downstairs. He pulled open the front door and knelt down next to John. He looked up and scanned the street for Moriarty or anybody working for him, but it was no use. He knew they’d be gone by now. “Come on, let’s go inside,” and he helped John to his feet.

John rested a hand on Sherlock’s shoulder as he tried to rise to his feet. He could tell his leg was broken, but he tried to push through it. “Sherlock, I’m sorry.” John spoke, mumbling. 

Don’t be. It can’t possibly be your fault. Now, we have to deal with this chip in your brain. Tell me everything you know.” He could tell that John was having trouble, so he said quietly, “Damn the cameras,” and he scooped John up into his arms and kicked the door shut.

John couldn’t really tell if he was flying or if he was in Sherlock’s arms. He asked John what he knew. John didn’t know how to reply. Moriarty abused him, didn’t say much other than that John was stupid to love a man like Sherlock. John didn’t know how to react to that, anyway. “What I know?” John asked in a mere whisper. He tried to open his eyes and look at Sherlock, from what he could see, the man was in distress.

Sherlock looked at John. He felt as if his world was falling apart. This man who had done nothing but good was now suffering because of him. Surely this would never have happened if they had never met. But Sherlock couldn’t bare that thought. He was selfish--he didn’t want to live without ever meeting John and now he couldn’t live if John died. He thought for a second. Moriarty said that the chip would cause some brain damage, but of course he was dumbing it down. It was an explosive. Or possibly an electric shock device. “Never mind. We should get you an x-ray.”

 John tried to shake his head. “We will run out of time to leave London If we take me to a hospital.” He felt he was able to focus more. His eyes stayed open. “Sherlock--I know where the chip is. Maybe you could remove it?” John didn’t want to endure more pain, but he needed the chip out.

“I’m not a surgeon. How could I possibly be able to do that? I could kill you. I--I can’t. You’re the doctor.” Sherlock desperately wanted to help him, but he didn’t want to risk his life.

“I’ll talk you through it. Please, Sherlock?” John looked at the man, willing him to assist.

“But what if something goes wrong? Well-- I guess I’ll do it, John. Because of one thing. And I want to tell you that thing, just so you know. In case you--don’t--” Sherlock stammered. He was getting nervous for more than one reason.

“What, Sherlock?” John looked at him, feeling slight concern.

“I--I love you, John.” He said briefly. “Now, what do I do?”

John stared at Sherlock. He did something he hadn’t done in forever. He smiled. “I love you, too.” He looked around, his heart thundering. “We’re going to need my medkit, it’s under my bed. Could you go get it?”

Sherlock got up and rushed to John’s bed. His face was red and his pulse racing. He tried to mentally calm himself. He found the medkit and hurried it to where John--his John--was laying in pain.

“Okay,” John mumbled. He turned so he was lying on his side, his left temple exposed. “Pull out the small blade in the kit, wipe it and my temple with some alcohol. Ready?” John asked himself, rather than Sherlock.

“No.” Sherlock said. But he did it. He pulled out the blade that made him think of the one that Moriarty was talking about. He opened the alcohol wipe and cleaned the equipment and John’s soon-to-be-operated-on temple.