Missing Piece - BBC Sherlock (Johnlock) *finally completed*

Chapter 9

Drops of blood led from the doorway into the wide corridor. Sherlock bent over Birch's quivering body. He had a broken nose, drenching his shirt in blood and dripping on the white marble floor. That would make it easy to wipe them away.

The consulting detective rummaged through the bastard's pockets until he found the mobile phone and stowed it in his coat. Destroying it was out of the question. It was still needed to call Birch's men and tell them to get away from John.

Sherlock then proceeded to drag Birch further into the house, closed the front door behind them and stepped accidentally or not so accidentally on the man's hand which earned him a short yelp from Birch. The sound was pleasant to Sherlock's ears.

"Where is John?" he growled at the terrified looking man. He crouched beside Birch, his hands clenched to fists as he tried to ignore the urge to punch that disgusting face again. As he got no answer he repeated his question, more irately this time.

"I- I don't know what you're talking about!" Birch stuttered, eyes wide with fear as he stared at the consulting detective. The hallway was empty except for a few expensive looking paintings on the wall. A stairway opposite of Sherlock's position led down into a wine cellar he presumed.

"For your own well-being I advise you to not play dumb. You should know what I'm capable of since you were the one who consulted and observed me" Sherlock's voice grew low as he spoke, a clear threat lingering in it.

How badly he wanted to hurt Birch. His fingers twitched with the need to lay hand on that bastard. It would be easy to destroy any evidence that he had been here as would be disposing of the body.

It was quite an alluring possibility but Sherlock would never do it. He couldn't do it. Not because he thought it was horrible. Because John wouldn't want him to do it. He couldn't bear to disappoint John again. The sheer thought of those brown eyes looking at Sherlock, hurt and frustrated made him feel cold all over, his heart clenched painfully together. 

The doctor had killed for him before but that was to save his life from imminent danger. Too bad this didn't count as imminent danger.  Sherlock mused but quickly returned his attention to Birch as he began to speak.

"I'll tell you if you let me go" Birch tried to sound convinced and self-confident. One could tell from his tone of voice that he was used to order people around without being disobeyed. Sherlock narrowed his eyes.

"I believe that you're in no position to make demands. What should keep me from killing you right now if you don't tell me immediately where John is held? I'd find out eventually, with or without you telling me. Then let me formulate it like this. Tell me where John is or you'll have no time to regret not having told me or a lot of time while begging me to end this quickly. What shall it be?" Sherlock had placed his foot on top of Birch's hand and slowly added more and more pressure as he said that. Birch made a high pitched noise and tried to remove Sherlock's foot with his free hand.

"Stop! I'll tell you! He's in the basement vault of an empty fabric" Birch told him the address. It wasn't that far away. About twenty minutes if he took a cab. Less if he got one of Mycroft's cars. The driver wouldn't need to worry about being fined.

"Good. Now phone your people and tell them to leave the building" Birch nodded timidly as Sherlock gave him the phone.

"Say anything superfluous and. Well, I guess your imagination is vivid enough to picture what I could do to you" By no means did Sherlock have any intention to let Birch's henchmen go. He simply didn't want any unnecessary interruptions when fetching John. It would be easy enough to find out their identities later on.

Sherlock quickly texted his brother to send a car over after Birch called his man.

"So you're letting me go now, Mr. Holmes? I told you everything" Sherlock gave him a cheesy smile and a hopeful look appeared on Birch's features.

"There's still plenty of time until my lift gets here" Birch's hopeful look died away as quickly as it had come, replaced yet again with a shocked and frightened expression as Sherlock pushed Birch with a powerful thrust of his foot over the edge of the stairway.

Ten minutes later a black car held in front of the door and Sherlock got inside, slamming the door shut and telling the driver the address. The driver ignored most of the traffic lights. Sherlock pulled out his phone and texted Mycroft.

Birch needs medical treatment. Fell down a few stairs. –SH

Still alive? –MH

Yes. You can take care of his conviction now. –SH

Not sure if that can be done right away. I presume he needs to stay in a hospital for some months first. –MH

Probably. I think some of his bones are broken.  –SH

When the car finally stopped in front of the fabric Sherlock told the driver to wait for him to come back with John and ran inside the building. His heart beat anxious anticipation. He didn't want to see the injuries on John's body. He didn't want to see a hurt John yet there was nothing he wanted more than to see him again.

With a trembling hand Sherlock pushed the door that led to the basement vault open and stopping for a split second, fear-struck, before his feet started to move again. John was tied to a chair in the middle of the room. He seemed to be asleep, his head was lowered to his chest.

Sherlock knelt down in front of John and extended one hand to feel his pulse. The consulting detective let out the air he hadn't noticed he had held as he felt John's weak but steady pulse. He moved his still trembling hand to caress the doctor's face, endlessly relieved that John was no longer out of his reach.

"John. It's all right. I came for you" Sherlock's voice didn't sound as steady or reassuring as he wanted it to but that didn't matter at the moment. All that mattered to him right now was in front of him and still breathing.