On The Run | with pulling_rank

[the_new_sexy]

Follows this.


"I can handle doing the surgery, John," Sherlock says. John is all but a dead weight in his arms, and he's more than a little grateful they didn't decide to go farther into the woods.

He sees the headlight of a car up in the treeline. Nearly there.

"I need you to tell me what I'm going to have to do," he adds. "Can't sleep now."

Comments

[pulling_rank]

"Mm, you're going to have to cut out the infection. S'not going to be pretty at all. I'll try to-try to walk you through that. After you have to pack the wound with gauze to prevent further infection."

His steps falter and he groans as it jostles his arm.

[the_new_sexy]

Sherlock pulls the gun out of his pocket as they get closer to the road. He waits for a stream of cars to go by before propping John against a tree.

"Hold onto this," he says. "I won't be a minute."

[pulling_rank]

"Yes, I'll just wait here, shall I?" It wasn't as if he could do much else.

So he keeps to focusing on keeping his feet up under him.

[the_new_sexy]

Sherlock props him up, then promptly steps into traffic. The car that's coming towards him stops with a horrible screech, and Sherlock steps over to the window and points the gun at the driver and his wife. Oh, and in the back, two children. They don't matter.

"Get out of the car," he barks. "Get out! Right now!"

They don't hesitate. The little girl starts crying, and her mother pulls her out of the back seat. They dash away from the car, and Sherlock runs back to John.

"Come on, John. This way."

[pulling_rank]

Dimly, John thinks he can hear the screech, and hear the young girl start crying. He gives Sherlock an incredulous look as he makes his way back.

"Did you just car-jack a family? You can't-" Oh, it doesn't matter anymore does it?

He sees them huddling outside of the lights from the car, and wheezes out an apology. "I'm very sorry for all of this."

[the_new_sexy]

Sherlock has already forgotten the family. His mind is entirely on John, on getting him to safety.

"Stop apologizing," he snaps, keeping the gun trained on the family as he pulls open the door and pushes John inside. The gun remains trained at the father's head until Sherlock is in, the doors are locked, and he gets them onto the road. The car is equipped with GPS location, which is both a blessing and a curse. A blessing because it will get them where they need to go, a curse because it will mean that the police can track where the stolen car is going.

He presses the GPS button. "Hospital," he says.

[pulling_rank]

"You said you wouldn't go to a hospital, Sherlock. You said-" he wheezes it out, but he can't finish.

He lets his head loll back against the seat, too weak to sit up. He looks over, watching Sherlock, not the road, or anything else. Everything they've done. Everything they've been through, and now this.

He's going to die. At least, it seems very possible now, and he isn't ready. He doesn't want to go.

[the_new_sexy]

"Yes, and I also said I'd stop smoking, but---"

He digs into his pocket and produces a half-empty pack of cigarettes. "I'll give them up if you stay alive."

He spares a glance at John. He's too pale. Something tight in Sherlock's chest tightens even more. He can't lose John. He can't. He looks back at the road. The GPS starts directing him.

[pulling_rank]

"Knew you were smoking still. Couldn't expect you to stop after the start of all this," he wheezes. His eyelids flutter, but he forces himself to keep his eyes open.

"And you're not very good at hiding it."

[the_new_sexy]

"I thought I was doing better this time," he says. The GPS tells him to turn right, and he ignores the light, nearly colliding with a taxi coming their way.

"I miss hiding them in the shoe," he says. "It was an excellent place to keep them."

[pulling_rank]

"Try not to kill us both before we get there."

[the_new_sexy]

"That is the plan, you know," he says. He spins the wheel and turns them another sharp left. The GPS says five minutes. Sherlock is certain he can get them there in less.

"It's going to be all right, you know."

[pulling_rank]

"Is that what it's going to be?" He tries to focus on his breathing, but his vision is dimming already. His lips have begun to tingle, and he licks at them to try and wet them.

"Sh-Sherl-" He doesn't manage to finish the sentence before he passes out completely, having gone slack in the passenger seat.

[the_new_sexy]

"John? John!"

No, bad. No, very, very bad. He skids the car to a halt in front of the hospital and races to the passenger seat to lift John up and carry him in.

The next few hours are a blur, almost literally. John is immediately seen by a doctor, taken in to surgery. Sherlock paces in the waiting room, analyzes the people around them, tries to determine danger. He doesn't doubt that Moriarty's men will know they're here soon. He doesn't doubt that they're going to be in real trouble, and soon. He moves the car, ditching it at a shop a few blocks away and runs back. Surgery goes well, apparently, but John isn't out of the woods just yet, so to speak. Two police officers come by to ask Sherlock questions, and he cries convincingly, telling them that John is his partner and they were attacked on the way to the supermarket a few hours ago. They don't appear convinced. The younger policeman is having an affair with the older policeman's wife, but Sherlock keeps that information to himself. John would be proud.

They won't let him see John. He thinks about Sally Donovan, and how Anderson wouldn't let Sherlock see her, too, before the drill-holes all over her body finally killed her. He paces the waiting room and another policeman comes by, followed by another. They're clearly working on a warrant.

He finally throws on a white coat and slips into John's room. From what he knows about medical terminology, John appears to be recovering. He writes a note and puts it in John's hand, in case he wakes up after the police arrive.

One of the doctors lets the police know that John had a gun. Sherlock hides in John's closet while the police search for him. Hiding won't last forever, they know he won't leave. Or if he leaves, he'll be back. A policeman is stationed in front of John's door. Sherlock stays perfectly still, listening to the heart monitor remind him that John is still alive. John. John is still alive.

A nurse enters. Sherlock doesn't recognize him, or the blue liquid he has in a vial to put into John's IV. He steps out of the closet and knocks the nurse out. It's just antibiotic, according to the label. The police storm in, Sherlock feels the cold of the handcuffs on his wrists. John is alone now.

[pulling_rank]

It's a few days later, in between the many doctors, and fleeting spans of consciousness, that John finally and fully wakes up. Heart monitors. The sting of a needle when he moves his arm, and the pull of tape to keep it situated in his arm. He can hear movement in the room around him, hear hushed voices, and hear other monitors and breathing apparatus assisting other patients.

It takes numerous attempts to get himself sitting upright, and more, at various times throughout the day, to find out just what has happened, and a nurse, who seemed touched by Sherlock's theatrics, to give him the note she'd slipped out before it could be noticed by one of the police.

He thanks her, and unfurls the note, heart constricting painfully in his chest. He can hear the monitors speed up, and does his best to calm himself back down.

"Get myself to safety?" He mutters it to himself, looking around. He waits until the nurses have finished their rounds, and starts to unhook himself from the monitors, and various IVs. Putting down the bedrail, he tries to climb out to stand, and would have fallen to the floor, if not for having the nurse who hid the note come in and keep him from sprawling on his face.

"You shouldn't be up."

John shakes his head. "Please, I need to find my-"

"Your partner? I'm sorry, the police have arrested him. You should really be back in be-"

"No. No-" Then it occurs to his fog filled mind that he can use this. "Yes-my partner, yes. He's in danger. He's in danger and I need to find him."

In his current state, it is entirely too easy to look completely pathetic.

"Please."

[the_new_sexy]

Moriarty isn't here yet. Sherlock knows he's in town, knows he's been in town from how the officers stare at him, but he hasn't come by the police station. He hasn't come by and seen the great Sherlock Holmes, captured at last.

What is he waiting for?

John, he realizes. He's waiting for John. But Sherlock has no way to let John know he's in danger if he comes looking for him.

"I need my phone call," he says. "It's been a few days."

"No."

"Yes, and now. You'll be able to hear it."

[pulling_rank]

John is still not in good condition, but he's better. With the help of the nurse, he's managed to get a few supplies that will keep his wound from becoming infected again. He'll be fine.

He manages some cash, not too small, but not very large, buying a few things he'll need. Some of the money goes to a bribe he only hopes works in his favor. He tries not to think about the danger it will put the young man in who took it. He tries to think of it like triage. He's making a decision that will ultimately save Sherlock, but in order to do this, others will die.

He can live with that.

He has his mobile back, but he's put it on silent.

He knows where Sherlock is, but the particulars of getting him out will be difficult. He can't go out in the open. Moriarty will surely already have men in place waiting.

He has to play this from the shadows.

[the_new_sexy]

"Fine, stop complaining," the guard says, pulling open the door for Sherlock.

He has exactly sixteen seconds.

Second one: Step out.

Second two: Headbutt guard.

Second three - Five: Lean down, acquire keys, unlock handcuffs.

Second six: Shoot secondary guard coming down hallway. He misses the shoulder, hits him in the throat. Dead on impact. He tries to remind himself that when he kills it is, as the Woman once said, self defense in advance.

He makes for the window in the office. Door will be too obvious and too well guarded. He can already hear people arriving in response to the gunshots.

Probability this will work: Less than 15%. He has no other choice.

[pulling_rank]

John hears the gunshots, but doesn't run towards the sound or towards the entrance at the building at all. The clothes he's wearing are extremely uncomfortable, and the trousers are ratty. He stays, near the only window leading out to an alley, that he hopes will be what Sherlock uses when he finally demands a phone call.

He knows he won't have to wait for long, and hunches over the cart he pulled out from the back of a bin that has an old, mildewed blanket piled into it. He has a hat pulled low over his face, and with how he's hunched, he looks like any other homeless bloke you might find on the street.

The kid he'd paid to do something simple, to walk out, keep his head down, and try to go into the police station is on his way. He can see him walking now, on his way to do as he was told, not a worry in the world, and John has to force himself to continue watching and not look away.

This is for Sherlock.

The kid, same build as John, same height, and now wearing his clothes, has a red dot traveling up his back. He swallows back an instinctual cry to warn him.

This is for Sherlock.

One shot. Head mostly likely from the spray. People begin to crowd and scream out for help that will do no good at all. The kid had everything. John's gun. His wallet. His fake papers.

[the_new_sexy]

Sherlock gets to the window and looks out just as he sees John heading towards the door. What is he doing? Is he being stupid? He must know they're being watched. Maybe it's the drugs he's on, maybe he's only just gotten out of the hospital.

"John!" Sherlock cries, leaping out of the window and landing, mostly gracefully, on his feet.

He feels the gunshot before he actually hears it. He watches as John crumples at the other end of the alley. Sherlock's jaw goes slack, his chest seizes up. No. No, no, no. It can't be. It can't---it just---no.

Everything suddenly hurts. John couldn't have survived that gunshot. And now he's gone. Everyone Sherlock's ever cared for is gone. He's alone, utterly. And John---

He finds himself falling to his knees in the alleyway, trying desperately to hold onto his own emotions. He cares for John, and he's known that for a while, but now---now John is a past-tense, John is---he's---but he can't be.

[pulling_rank]

John moves as soon as Sherlock crumples, he runs, fast as he is able, and loops his good arm under one of his, to tug him towards the shadow of the building near the cart. He glances around quickly, fearful that someone might have heard Sherlock's cry, but amidst the panic and commotion on the street no one pays two men in an alley any mind.

"Sherlock," he breathes, knowing that his friend will surely already be going into shock from seeing that display. "It's all right. I'm here. I'm right here, but you have to get up, I can't move you on my own, do you understand? We're still in danger."

He's trying not to panic, but they've only got so much time. This will give them only a matter of days, if that, to get away from here. To get ahead of Moriarty.

"Sherlock, please."

[the_new_sexy]

He doesn't have to hear John's voice to know it's him. The warm, John-like scent that belongs to him is suddenly there, right there, and next to him. He feels his arm go around him, and feels that he's got to stay to one side so as not to pull the other, injured arm.

It's John, but---but it---

Shock dissolves quickly, and relief passes over him like iodine over a wound. He recovers his wits and gets up, staying attached to John as they go into the corner of they alley, hidden in a small alcove.

He takes a few deep breaths and looks down at John, unable to erase emotion from his face.

"You knew that boy would be killed," he says.

[pulling_rank]

He doesn't try to extract himself from his grip as they safely duck into a shadowy alcove, nor does he try to pretend he didn't know what would happen to the boy lying dead in front of the station.

"Had to keep an eye on you, didn't I?"

He refused to lose Sherlock. He'd lost everything else. He'd been with Sherlock as his best friend had lost everyone dear to him as well, and he wouldn't allow Moriarty to win. Not this. Never this.

[the_new_sexy]

It's tragic, he thinks, that the part of John who would've died before letting another man fall in his place was gone. Gone forever. Another casualty of Jim Moriarty, but one that Sherlock can live without for the time being. He still has John, John---still alive.

"That---that was good," he says, swallowing awkwardly. John let another man die in order to protect Sherlock. Of course it was good.

He feels the sudden, inexplicable desire to show John that he appreciates his existence. Something like hug him or something else. He has no idea. He lets his eyes drift down to John's mouth and thinks about all of the many, many times he never kissed people because he didn't see a purpose in showing that sort of affection. He understands it now.

He looks over John's shoulder at the chaos in the streets.

"It won't be long until he realizes it isn't you."

[pulling_rank]

John, for his part, does not look back at the street again. He does his best to put the boy lying in a pool of his own blood out of his mind. It will haunt him later, he knows, but he's been here before. Not to save his own life, of course, but to save another's. The medical decision in surgery to work on one man when both patients are in danger of dying.

Sometimes you get lucky, and you have enough time to save both. Other times, you're only just lucky enough to save the one. The one is Sherlock Holmes, and he'll choose him over the rest of the world any day.

"I've got a car, we won't be able to use it for long, but it should get us away from here."