2 Months Later
John gritted his teeth in pain as he limped out of the Army Hospital with just one thing on his mind-Sherlock. He didn't think of the shrapnel lodged in his hip, he didn't think that he would no longer be an active medic at the front because of his injuries, he didn't think of the syringe of morphine that he used on a daily basis to cut the pain for as he made his way through the city and to the palace John had a one track mind he had to get to Sherlock, for Sherlock was home. The city streets were full of protestors with signs that said, "Down with the Tsar," the more sinister of the signs read, "Death to the Tsar and his German Tsarina."
By the time John reached the servants entrance of the palace he was exhausted and his hands shook with the need for Morphine. He ignored the signs of his body's immortally and made his way to the back door.
One of the washer women saw John approaching and jumped back. "It's okay Nadia, it's me John, John Watson." John said reassuringly.
The woman gasped for John looked like a pale tired specter; his cheeks were sunk in, his face white, his blonde hair dull and lifeless. "John, you gave me quite a fright. Oh here come in the kitchen and sit down, you must be exhausted."
John waved her away impatiently, "I need to see Sherlock, is he here?"
The woman avoided John's gaze and said evasively, "He is here, John, but he can't receive any visitors per his Doctor and Rasputin."
John frowned, "Rasputin, what the hell he is doing with Sherlock?"
Nadia nervously wrung her hands and stammered, "I do not know and I cannot take you to him or I will be severely punished."
John grabbed a hold of Nadia and shook her, "Nadia, you take me to him now or I will hurt you. Do you understand?" John hissed.
Nadia nodded terrified by the anger that distorted John's features, for she had no doubt that he would hurt her unless she acquiesced to his request.
As they quietly crept through the palace halls, John thought that the rooms were unnaturally still. After a few moments John and Nadia stood outside Sherlock's room. John tapped on the door and when he got no answer he tried the door but it was locked. "What is his door locked for?" John demanded.
Nadia looked like she would run away any moment as she backed away from John. Quickly so as not to anger him further, Nadia pulled a key out of her pocket, opened Sherlock's door and then ran down the hall without a backwards glance. John stared after her fleeing figure for a second or two and then opened Sherlock's door. The first thing to assail him as he walked through the door was a putrid smell. John gagged for he knew that smell, it was the smell of a rotting flesh wound. Unbidden rows of wounded soldiers dying on stretchers flashed through John's mind as he sank to the ground. After composing himself John walked over to Sherlock's bed feasting his eyes on the person he had longed to hold in every life time he had experienced.
Sherlock lay curled up in bed with his back towards John, he was shirtless and John stared in fascination at the curves and lines of Sherlock's sleek form. His bumpy spine protruded out like dinosaur bones and John noted with alarm how his white skin seemed to be like taunt canvas and not the supple skin of a human. Someone had cleaned the room recently, however John could tell from the little round circles on Sherlock's back that he had been bled recently.
"Sherlock?" John said as he laid a gentle hand on Sherlock's shoulder.
Sherlock turned over and his eyes grew large when he saw John, "My God, how the devil taunts me. I must say a penance."
John listened to Sherlock's mutterings for a moment and then cut in, "Sherlock, it's me John. I'm really here."
"John, John it can't be true can it?" Sherlock asked as John gathered him in his arms.
"Sherlock, it's me I've come to rescue you." John said soothingly as he rocked Sherlock like an infant.
Sherlock relaxed for a moment or two and then tightened, "John, I'm sick. Rasputin says that my homosexual tendencies are from the devil and that I must repent on my knees and I must fast to rid myself of my unnatural desire for you. I know you must find it repulsive. Poor John, I am so sorry."
John pulled Sherlock's covers down and gasped when he saw the wound on Sherlock's ankle, for it was a festering mess.
"Jesus, Sherlock what have they done to you? I have to get you to safety." John said and without another word John bundled Sherlock up in some blankets and carefully made his way down to the stables where he and Sherlock had hid out a change of clothes for Sherlock, so that he would not have to parade around in royal finery on their jaunts. For a moment, John reminisced on those happy memories thinking that they seemed so far away.
After John changed Sherlock's clothes he noted in despair how they clung loosely to his frame. "Now, how are we going to get out of the city?" John thought for they couldn't take what little horses that remained for they would be spotted immediately. Desperately, John looked around him until he saw a small push cart. "It was not the ideal solution; however it would just have to do," John thought as he piled Sherlock in the cart.
John, you must leave me here, for I'm sick, devil ridded, possessed." Sherlock mumbled as he looked into John's deep blue eyes.
John sighed and knelt down on eye level with Sherlock. Resting his forehead against Sherlock's John put his hand on the back of Sherlock's neck, drew him forward and kissed him deeply. John's breath came out in ragged gasps as he forced his tongue deeper into Sherlock's mouth, only disengaging when neither of them could breathe.
Sherlock looked frightened as he looked over at John. "John, I have passed the demon sickness on to you."
John snorted, "Sherlock, there is no such thing for I want you as much as you want me. I long for you in every lifetime I have ever passed through, so I guess that means we are both sick and no matter what might come our way I will stand with you, by you and follow you into the depths of hell if I must. Sherlock I love you."
