The Inevitable: Johnlock Fanfiction

They're Always Watching

POV: Watson

I shudder at the seemingly playful threat in the note, I fold it back into the envelope, before stuffing it in my jacket. Moriarty is a dangerous man, and with a swallow, I remember that he is Sherlock's greatest enemy. Moriarty will stop at nothing until Sherlock's dignity is wiped off the earth, his reputation, his friends, and watch his entire life tear down. I squint my eyes shut, blocking out the memory of him falling off the hospital. I know it's not real, but it still haunts me. The possibility of never seeing the clever man again gnaws painfully at my heart.

This is all a game to Moriarty, and I can't risk that Moriarty does get bored, and decides to do something truly lethal. Sherlock and I know well that even though his web of men may be dismantled, he could still re-establish most of those connections. He could easily kill us, but it isn't worth it to get rid of us before making us suffer.

"John?" A faint voice asks, snapping me back into reality.

"Yeah, I'll be there in a second. I just had to find a good place to put the file." I respond quickly, hiding the dread in my voice.

There is only one positive side to this steep situation, Moriarty wants to watch us dance like puppets. So we need to give him a show, and that hopefully bides us the time we desperately need.  

Swallowing the last of my pride, I walk out of the room. Sherlock is sitting on his armchair, with an amused expression. His hands are folded on his leg, and he is sitting elegantly, with snow in his hair.

"Why were you looking through my room?"

I blush furiously, wondering if he could read my mind completely. I walk over to him, and I sit on the arm of the chair. I lean in slightly, as if to grab the pencil on the table near him. Taking a deep breath, I try to steady my nerves. Sherlock turns his head to look at me, and his eyes shine with confusion when I move even closer. He exhales, and my mind clouds slightly with the delicious smell of evergreen.

I need to do this, I think, as I struggle to look at him on the spot above his eyes. I can't afford to look into his eyes, his gorgeous, green, ocean eyes. My eyes flicker down to his lips, the perfect cupid bow lips. They are red and flushed from the chase, and they look so tempting. I swallow, my throat suddenly feeling dry. I open my mouth, and quickly shut it again, too nervous for the words about to spill out of my mouth. How do I tell this gorgeous man that despite our strictly platonic relationship, I need him to kiss me for the amusement of Moriarty?

"What. Are. You. Doing. John?" Sherlock enunciates, his eyes locking onto mine.

I unconsciously run my lip across my dry lips, trying to force the words out. My phone suddenly rings, and I almost jump away in relief. Walking back several places, I pick it up.

"Dr. Watson, please step outside of Baker Street. I need to discuss with you a rather important issue. Please do not inform Sherlock that you are meeting with me. I'd rather not attract his attention right now" A crisp voice comes over the phone, and Mycroft's voice sends a shiver down my spine. When has him calling ever been good news?

"All right, I'm coming." I shut my phone, before looking at Sherlock. I put a worried face on, "I need to go to the surgery, it's an emergency."

He nods without a further question, and I sigh in relief. I guess the worry must have shone through my features, though it had nothing to do with the supposed emergency.

I grab my coat and rush out of the apartment. Instead of seeing a black car with Anthea, I see a taxi driver. Furrowing my brows slightly, I jump into the cab. This is unlike Mycroft, he must be trying extra hard to avoid Sherlock.