Love is a Much More Vicious Motivator (Teenlock AU)

Chapter 17

Hey guys,

It's Chard23 here, E's beta. I want to apologise for the delay in getting this to you, it's completely my fault - E's had it written for weeks. Don't bite her head off, go for me instead! It's been a combination of factors which have delayed me, but most are over and done with now so hopefully the next chapter will get to you a whole lot more quickly.

In the meantime, please enjoy reading this chapter - I know I have!

Much love,

~The Cause

***

The referee blew his whistle to signal the end of the half time break. A couple of substitutions had been made, Charlie on the opposite wing taken off for Luke, and James at number eight swapped with Pierre, a hulking player of supreme fitness and speed.

The other team had kick off, so they scattered across their half of the pitch, to receive. The whistle pierced the air, and the opposition gave the ball a short chip, forcing Chris to react fast. He caught the ball, but had no time to prepare for the impact of one of the opposition's monstrous prop forwards, and was mowed over. His head snapped backwards against the grass, but he wasn't deterred and protected the ball, playing it to Henry when it was secure.

Play moved on, but Chris had taken a big hit and took a while getting up, leaving the next ruck short despite John and Ben's combined efforts. Henry had to pile in in his place so Sherlock nipped in as scrum half and pulled the ball away from danger. He had never been in this position before, and didn't know much about it, so he did what his instincts told him to. He ran.

This, apparently, was not what the opposition were expecting, and Sherlock easily spotted the space they left in their line. He danced through, flitting to the left to avoid a crunching tackle from one of their locks, and found himself in space. The try came easily, the ball once again nestling in between the posts. Douglas kicked the conversion, and the two teams jogged back to halfway.

Sherlock was buzzing, adrenaline feeding him confidence; nervousness had plagued him beforehand, but so far he had barely been tackled, and had breezed in a total of five tries. He was starting to wonder what all the fuss had been about, so when the kickoff came straight to him, he was too busy planning his next try to be surprised that they had deliberately kicked to Lauriston's fastest player.

That was ultimately his undoing.

The kick hung in the air, almost seeming to hesitate, and Sherlock kept his eyes on it, unblinking. As the ball slotted into his waiting arms, Sherlock glanced down at the immediate threat, already mentally plotting the dancing path he would take to the try line. The number eight, who Sherlock had tackled earlier in the game, was much, much closer than he had expected, looming in his field of vision. As the enormous frame bore down on him, the thought flew through Sherlock's mind that the opposition had carefully planned this, placing their fastest forward directly in front of him. Then they collided, with the thwack of the irresistible force meeting the immovable object, and all conscious thought fled his mind.

The number eight lifted him off his feet, as though he weighed nothing, and twisted him in the air so his head was angled towards the ground.

Sherlock had no idea how to react; he had seen this move in books, read about it, but never seen it in real life, viewed, as it was, with revulsion by all who played the sport. A spear tackle. A straight red card offence. This didn't seem to bother the number eight, or even cross his mind, as he pushed down, forcing Sherlock into the hard ground head first.

Sherlock's vision blurred as his body crunched down on his head and neck. He may have let out a small cry of pain, but he couldn't be sure, and he lay still for a moment, dazed and unthinking, trying to work out what had just happened and whether or not his neck was broken.