•Teenlock•Parentlock• If All Else Fails

21• When We Meet Again

John woke up, cold. He groaned and pulled the sheets over him, a little alarmed at the lack of clothing he was wearing. But that didn't matter. He was tired, cold and hungry. He noticed, though, that his Sherlock wasn't next to him. It sounded pathetic, he knew that, but he really, really needed him. No reason behind it. What with all the hassle of Irene returning and Molly's little fit, it would have been nice to wake up to someone special
"Sherlock...?" John called out, sleepily covering himself with a duvet and snuggling further into the bed. He heard footsteps.
"Good morning, my love." Sherlock said, coming into the room. He broke into laughter.
"What?" John asked, defensively.
"You." Sherlock smiled, sitting on the bed and stroking John's blonde hair. "You look like a little hedgehog wrapped in a sheet." John stroked Sherlocks bare chest.
"You look like an otter in sweat pants." John retorted, without missing a beat. Sherlock gave a low chuckle.
"You're adorable, hedgehog." He said, climbing in the covers with his boyfriend.
"And you, my otter are unbelievably sexy." John said kissing Sherlock on the tip of his nose. Sherlocks phone bleeped, a text. He peered at it, seeing it was from Lestrade. He picked it up hastily and saw the message read.
'They cannot find Irene or moriarty anywhere. Molly, Mary and I are checking her bolt holes. Go to any we don't know of with John."
John read the message. The thought of possibly solving one of Sherlocks cases with him thrilled him, the fact that, by solving it, he may find his friend either dead- or a murderer- was not so great.

"Time to go be Sherlock Holmes." John said, tying Sherlocks navy blue tie around his neck, affectionately.
"What do you mean?" Sherlock asked, the adorable confused look on his face that John had grown to love.
"Oh stop it." John smiled, fondly. "You love being Sherlock Holmes." He stepped away and fixed his coat. Sherlock let his smile go for a small second while John wasn't looking.
"You'd be surprised." He sighed as he walked out the door, to his motorbike. John, looked up, concerned. What was that supposed to mean? An old song Harrie used to sing to him when he was young came to mind.

'Ill put on a brave face,
Ill smile and wave at you.
Because when my walls are knocked down,
And my intelligence carved away away,
Inside my deep, smart mind,
Is a world filled with hate."
•••••••••••••••••••••••
Sherlock drove to the one place he knew Irene Adler could possibly be. It was a long shot, god knows it was a long shot, but he had to try.
The pair arrived at saint Bart's hospital, ready to find Irene.
"So where exactly are we looking..?" John asked. He was still a little shaken up at the thought of the old rhyme applying to his one true love, but he had to keep his thoughts on Irene now.
"I'm about 700% sure she's on the very top. I'll go up there, you'll guard the stairs just below, to make sure no one gets away. You'll need this." Sherlock handed his boyfriend a small pistol. "In the legs, if you can." He hinted. John smiled dazedly and nodded even more so.

The pair rushed to the top, and just as Sherlock had expected, Irene and Moriarty were at the very top. Just not in the fashion Sherlock had imagined them. James Moriarty had been tied to a large metal pole that was often used as a flag pole for the hospital. Irene was there, a bloody kitchen knife in her hand and a wicked red smile upon her face.
"Hello Irene." Sherlock sad, slowly walking over to her.
"Mr Holmes. Your early. He's not gone yet, he is getting there though." Irene said, her eyes mischievous and loathing. But only loathing when she peered over to Moriarty and his cut stained face. "Blood loss." She remarked. "I was going for lots of blood. Maybe collect some."
"Irene." Sherlock said, his voice dripping with persuasion. "Irene Molly would like to see you." He said softly. This earned a sarcastic snort of laughter from Moriarty's area. Irene scowled at him and plunged the knife into his middle finger
"Shut. Up." She hissed. "No she doesn't. She won't want me back until I kill him." Irene seemed to be speaking to herself- her head- rather than anyone else on the roof.
"Irene look at me." Sherlock could hear police cars below. Why couldn't they just leave us to do it!? He thought to himself. "Come down with me, we'll be okay. I promise you we'll be okay."

John was watching eagerly from the stairs. It was intense Irene was just about to put the knife down when John noticed something. Moriarty was holding his ropes. They were not tied, he could run at any second. He could run and push his Sherlock right off the edge. As if Moriarty could read John's mind, he turned and smiled at the medical student, before dashing at the consulting detective.

A/N
DUN
DUN
DUUUUN!
Holy shit, I was writing this and about half way through I thought of this idea... So much for sticking to the original plan. Oh well. Paris was Fabby and I met some guy who could twerk really well. It was glorious.
I'm really addicted to the Kardashian game. Help.
~izzy~