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thatonekoreangirl-blog-blog · 11 years

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Chapter 4; I want that

Sadly, Sherlock is not mine

I know the chapters have been getting shorter and shorter but hopefully it's more suspenseful for you as you continue to read.

Please feel free to comment to inform me how I'm doing and if you are enjoying this! It helps me to write hehe.

Thank you for reading~ <3

Chapter 4; I want that.

John needed to adjust his eyes. The sun was still at its apex in the sky. The rays were beating down but did nothing to lighten the dark curtains that were casted in the house. He passed a few dark blurs, nodding as he walked along; he could only assume maids and butlers. They offered him tea and scones as he walked by but John politely refused and instead asked where Sherlock's room was. One of the maids, a girl not much younger than he, smiled softly and pointed to his room. A small blush tainted her cheeks as he thanked her and offered her a smile.

The living room was beautiful. It really represented the high-class life that Sherlock was in. The rugs looked like an exotic animal, which he was almost certain was real. The couch was nothing like he had seen, beautiful lightwood curling around the soft, plush mattress. It was like a bed that one could lounge on. He could imagine Sherlock lying on that couch, his limbs too long and lanky, falling off the mattress, his white skin contrasting against the material, his grey eyes flicking up to meet his, his lingering fingers touching John's wrist as he pulled him closer. John closed his eyes and tried to block out the mental images flashing through his head. He hadn't realized he had walked straight up to the couch and had his hand resting on the wood.

"Are you alright?" It was the maid. Her long brown hair was pulled to the side and she had cute small pink lips.

John nodded, 'focus.' She is cute. Sherlock is not. Sherlock is a twat who just threw me into his relationship problems and is probably going to make my life a miserable rollercoaster. John excused himself before walking straight to Sherlock's room. It was time for him to be a bodyguard and not some tourist that came to see a lavished house. John knocked on the door and waited a reply. When he heard nothing, he pushed the door open and was shocked and appalled at the sight.

"Sherlock?"

John rushed over to him, he noted the bottles on the table, the folded papers filled with a white substance, a syringe, haphazardly thrown on the table next to his bed and he was careful to not touch any of it. Sherlock was on his back, his eyes closed. John could feel the cold sweat tinge his skin as he reached over him and checked for Sherlock's inhale or exhale of breath. He found none.

"SOMEONE CALL 911!"

John pulled Sherlock's head back and opened his airway. He began to perform CPR.

'Sherlock, Sherlock, Sherlock, Sherlock.'

John didn't remember much of anything when he was sitting on Sherlock's floor with his head leaning back on the bed. The adrenaline was like a drug, erasing his memories, making it all a blur. He laughed inwardly, how is he was fine in the army yet this imbecilic child could make him feel like he lost control of everything.

John remember pumping the ebony's haired man's chest 30 times before giving him a breath for 2 times. At least he was able to remember basic CPR while the rest of his brain was numb. He remembered being shoved away and sat there watching Sherlock's long limp body being carried out of the room. He licked his lips and cringed at the taste. His first job and he was doing a fantastic f-ing job.

-Bzzzzzzzzzzz Bzzzzzzzzzzzzz

John dug the mobile from his pocket and put it back down. He didn't want to talk to anyone, let alone an unknown number. The caller went to voicemail but they had redialed his number.

-Bzzzzzzzzz Bzzzzzzzzzzzzzzz

This time John pushed the 'End' button, which automatically sent the caller to voicemail. 'Leave me alone.'

-Ping!

John looked at his phone again. A voicemail? No, a text message.

John, it's Mycroft. Answer the bloody phone.

-Bzzzz-

"Hello?"

"John, we knew something like this was coming. We've taken him to the ER and he is having his stomach pumped. I have sent a few movers to collect your things. They should have you moved in by tonight. Also, your family is currently being relocated. Make yourself at home; Sherlock should be back within a week."

John nodded to no one in particular. The world was not spinning, at a standstill, and everything was moving in slow motion. He heard the click of the phone and rested his head on his hands. Why was this affecting him so much? He barely knew this person.

'Because it was a mission and you botched it.' His mind provided for him. It was true, John had never faulted in the army, except for the shot to his upper torso region but that was not his fault. He stood up and stood in a military like fashion. He turned and closed the door behind him, nodding to the few maids who were armed with heavy gloves to clean the mess.

His week felt like years but it also felt like water slipping through his fingers. Time was such a fickle thing, when he was alone he felt as though disappointment was taunting him, poking his wounds and making them throb. Time never felt so slow. But when he was busy helping the movers unload boxes, helping his parents put forks into their new kitchen, hold Harry's hand while she tried to not shake from the withdrawals, time passed so quickly. He even had become friends with some of the maids and butlers, helping them open the curtains and brightening up the house, saying hello as they passed by, and even offering a hand when the cute maid he met the first day was having trouble picking up a vase from the top shelf. They exchanged a moment before she hurried off to fill it with water for the newly cut flowers.

"Emily…" She said softly when he asked her for her name.

It had not occurred to Sherlock that a week had passed (or had it?) when Sherlock was brought home. The taller man did not say a word but limped slightly in pain toward his room and shut it closed. John felt a rush when he saw Sherlock, he's back, he's fine, and he's here. He waited a few minutes before knocking on the door.

"Hey, Sherlock?"

No answer. John opened the door and found Sherlock lying in a fetal position, his back away from John. The curtain had been drawn, making the room dark.

"I see you've become comfortable living my life." A deride from the still figure. John cringed; he was indulging himself to having a roof over his head, eating the food prepared by the cooks, feeling the freedom of having no responsibilities towards expenditures. They stood there in uncomfortable silence, both perfectly still.

"You've grown fat." John almost laughed. Was that supposed to be offensive to him? He had only packed 2 lbs since they had last seen each other.

"You've grown thin." John retorted. He bit the inside of his cheek when he noticed the body curl slightly tighter. It was true, Sherlock's body looked as though he had lost a few pounds, his body was like bones and skin.

"Would you like something to eat?"

Sherlock shook his head no.

"Alright, I'll get you something."

John picked up the phone hanging on the wall and punched 0. He turned toward the wall as the phone rang, looking at the mismatched wallpaper and strange posters on the walls.

"Yes sir, what can I get for you?" John smiled; he knew that voice.

"Emily! Yeah, can I get some soup for Sherlock? And a bit of toast for me? Yeah, with the jam, you know how to make it best."

John hung up the phone and turned towards Sherlock, only to be surprised. Sherlock had sat up in bed and was staring at John.

"Since when did you get so friendly with Emily?"

Was Sherlock psychic? "How did you know that was Emily?"

Sherlock rolled his eyes. "She is the only girl here who is younger than you, I'm assuming you're 26?"

"25."

"Who would be of interest to you considering she is the only younger girl here."

John shook his head in disbelief.

"What if I have a girlfriend? Or like older women?"

Sherlock scoffed as he tried to stand. He winced slightly but was able to walk over to his bookshelf.

"You were at that coffee shop, alone. Your black duffle bag had a patch from the army, an obvious item that shows you just came back from the military. The fact that you were not with a girl, is an obvious statement that you do not have a girlfriend. Also i know you were not waiting for someone as you had just walked there, I saw you bump into that girl before forcing yourself to dish out a few dollars for that coffee. That's the other thing, you don't have money. Women usually find men who are poor or lacking a job uninteresting. It would be very hard for you to find someone that is not so superficial these days. Also, you seem like the uptight, one man, one girl type of person, and you eyeing the coffee attendant was another sure sign that you are single and you enjoy a girl who is shorter than you, a hard worker and someone that smiles quite a bit."

"Stalker."

Sherlock was looking, almost desperately through his bookshelf. Bending and turning his body, John watched as Sherlock's his fingers began to scratch the books searching for something.

"They took the stash you hid there."

Sherlock's fingers froze before he turned around and faced John.

"I was not stalking you, I was just being observant." John noticed the slight shake in Sherlock's voice. The sandy blonde walked over and took his employer by the elbow to lead him to the bed.

"You need to rest."

-knock knock

"Come in."

Emily walked in with a tray of food and waited as John helped Sherlock sit up. She placed the small table on his bed and offered a tray, with toast and jam, to John.

"Thank you." John was ready to make small conversation with her when Sherlock waved his hand and she immediately left the room.

"Ah…" John watched her leave and gave Sherlock a pointed look.

"What was that then?" John said grumpily.

Sherlock picked up his spoon with broth and lifted the spoon up to his chest before pouring the contents back into the bowl.

"They expect me to eat this?" The soup had splattered on the tray, his clothes, on the bed.

"Oi! You're getting everything dirty!" Sherlock frowned at John before dropping the spoon with a loud clatter.

John stared at him. Sherlock was a child! A spoiled rotten child. But John knew this, John signed up for this, he knew this was coming. He sighed before taking a bite of his toast defeated. Sherlock was watching him with larger than usual eyes. Crunch.

John watched as Sherlock lifted a hand, his finger pointed at him.

" I want that."

*Emily is a random character I created.

*Sherlock will not be like this through the whole story. He is just recovering from the addiction and getting his stomach pumped.

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