Chains (Johnlock)

Chapter 4

Chapter 4

John's P.O.V. (4 1/2 months later)

Letter after letter. John had written to Sherlock many times in the past, what has it been, 4 months? He was beginning to feel very discouraged. Nobody had been picking up his letters.

Of course the doctor knew that Sherlock was dead. He had felt for Sherlock's pulse himself. But he had a small hope that maybe the detective was the mysterious one stealing the letters.

Sadly, he had returned to the hospital to work. Although, his ex-girlfriend didn't understand that he wasn't returning to her. In fact, he couldn't stand the women. Then again, he hated everything now days.

Although Sarah still had a giant crush on John, even after the Blind Banker incident. She fancied John, and was not to shy about it. To make it worse, the woman was completely delusional. After the incident, she wasn't the same. Something changed in the girl, but he didn't know what.

John internally groaned as he stepped back into the building. He needed money, even if it meant handling Sarah, who just happened to be his bloody boss.

"Hey John. Are you busy tonight?" She said flirtatiously.

"Yes." Short and- ok well not sweet. But you get the point. Sarah didn't.

"But Johhhn. You are always busy? What happened to you and me?" She pouted.
The no-longer-to-kind doctor looked at her and said bluntly,
"Yes I am always busy. And you and I were never to serious. We went on one date. And Sherlo- he was there. That was the only reason I enjoyed it. Now stop with this unprofessional display of emotion and let me do my damn work!" Shit, that probably just ended this career. By the end of this rant though, John felt cold and distant. The behavior reminded him of his detective. What the hell is happening to me?

Sarah looked like he had just punched her in the face. John wanted to apologize, but couldn't. So he just walked into his office and plopped down on the seat, waiting for this awful day to be over. Sadly for Dr. Watson, that wasn't even close to the beginning of his woes.

Sarah's P.O.V.

Tears trickled slowly down her gentle face and landed on the desk below. A simple 'Sorry, I'm busy' or 'Sorry, I'm not interested' would have sufficed. Suddenly, the sadness turned into anger. Who does that bastard think he is? He wont get away with hurting me like this.

A wicked smile crept across her pink lips as she began to formulate a plan of vengeance. Oh, you will regret every time you hurt me, John Watson. She plucked out a piece of paper and began to plan. Just because she has a pretty face, doesn't mean she still has a pretty heart.

Sherlock's P.O.V.

He held the gun up, pointed at the back of Ginny Lock's head. "Please don't. I'll do anything, just don't shoot." She begged, sobbing hysterically. Sherlock rolled his eyes.

"As lovely as that sounds," he punched her in the head, getting the woman's blood on his pale knuckles, "I must decline." He pulled the black trigger, then called Mycroft. "I'm done. The blonde is dead. You can get some men out here to clean it up."

"You're not done. That was just the first page. We just found the last seven." Mycroft droned with a bored tone, fully knowing that the eerie silence on the other end was his brother composing himself. Sherlock balled his hands into tight fists, although he wasn't to angered. Less boredom.

"Seven. The other seven. You bloody-" Sherlock began to yell.

"Yes, yes I know. Can we skip the drama? Anyways both you and I know you are happy to have more to do. You love this kind of stuff. We can meet at your tomb and I will give you the rest of the paperwork." The older brother sighed.

"I'll meet you there within an hour." Sherlock said and ended the call before his brother could respond. It was true, he did quite enjoy this sort of thing. As he had said to John once before, he was married to his work. It's his one love.

Well, there is John.

Shut up emotions, you are pointless. Caring is a disadvantage.

Please, you know you care deeply for John.

STOP.

Bastard. Sherlock sighed. He seemed to argue with himself a lot recently. His emotions have been leaking through the wall he had built up when he was just a boy. Sherlock smiled as he recalled a fond memory of his childhood. His last one with his brother, in fact.

**Flashback to 7 years old**

I ran around with my wooden sword and captains hat. My big brother lazily swung my extra sword, and I easily disarmed him. "Now ye better go and walk the plank!" I shouted happily with a cheesy fake pirate accent.

"Alright, you win, Captain Holmes." Mycroft walked onto the bed and jumped off, then hid under a light blue blanket, as thought he had sunk.

"Mycroft?"

"Yes?"

"Can I be a pirate when I'm older?" I asked clutching my sword hopefully.

"Hmmm... Well you are good with a sword. Maybe, little brother." Mycroft smiled, genuinely smiled at me.

**End of Flashback**

That was the last time the Holmes brothers created a good memory. One week after that, their father was killed. No one knows by whom, and the only two people clever enough to figure it out were to young at the time, not developed enough to look for answers. That was when Sherlock built his emotional block, which cancelled out any human emotions such as love, sympathy, and caring. The day he became a sociopath. His dream of becoming a pirate was also replaced with the idea of becoming a consulting detective.

Sherlock arrived at the cemetery and saw his brother standing there. "Give me the papers."

"Yes yes. Calm down." Mycroft handed Sherlock the papers with the other seven people. Sherlock perused the pages of the seven men and women. He sighed.

"What? I thought you enjoyed this sort?" Mycroft said with concern hidden deep in his voice.

"This is going to take me more than double the time it took me to get those three. Mycroft, that's another year." Sherlock moaned.

"This is about John isn't it? You care for him, don't you?" The older brother stated. It wasn't much of a question. In fact, it was even quite obvious. The younger Holmes brother looked down at his grave, smiling at the letters left from John over the past three months. Sherlock shook his head snapping out of the vulnerable state.

"No." He lied smoothly, keeping his emotionless façade.

"Tell yourself whatever you like. Both you and I know that you have feelings towards the man." Mycroft said with narrowed eyes.

"He is my best friend, that is all. I will begin again tomorrow. And Mycroft...?" Sherlock said the last part nervously.

"Yes?"

"Can you check up on him?" He looked hesitant for the first time in a long time. "Please?"

Mycroft looked at his younger brother with a mix of concern and sympathy. "Okay." And with that he walked off, leaving Sherlock alone with the giant pile of letters. He decided to read the latest one.

Dear Sherlock Holmes,

What is wrong with me? I feel so angry, sad, and hopeless without you! Sarah wont stop truing to get me to go out with her again. (Sherlock got quite irritated at this for some odd reason) Mrs. Hudson stays away from me these days. I fear that I may remind her of her husband.
My heart is hollow and frozen. In all honesty, I am completely fine with it. Maybe that is what scares me. I thought I could maybe fix myself, but I now know I am beyond repair. That day you fell, you carried my heart with you. It died with you, Sherlock. Sorry these letters are becoming shorter, but they get harder and harder to write.

Forever Your Blogger, Doctor, and Friend,
John H. Watson.

A drop of water fell onto the page. Sherlock looked up, searching for a rain cloud. Although, there wasn't a single raincloud in sight. He realized it was his tears.

Screw it. I'm getting to my John as soon as possible. With that thought, he took off and restarted the search.

Name: Jacob Hart
Age: 29
Gender: Male
Height: Unknown
Weight: Unknown
Hair Color: Light Brown
Eye Color: Brown
Notes: Anger Issues
Brother to Martha Hart (Always paired together).

Time to go eliminate these bastards and get it over with. He called a taxi and remembered something John had said a few times and muttered to himself with a faint smile. "Let's kill two birds with one stone."