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The sounds of footsteps running by could be heard echoing through the barren streets. John darted behind a dumpster, covering his mouth with his elbow in an attempt to stifle his breathing.
He slumped down against the wall as he tried desperately to control his breathing. Another pair of footsteps could be heard from the back of the alley. Dim lighting coming from a flickering lamp post illuminating a tall slender figure, holding a bloody knife.
John peaking around the dumpster to get a glimpse of his pursuer. He bit down on his hand in a poor attempt to quiet his whimper.
Slowly the figure stalked forward towards the dumpster. Drawing the bloodied knife along the brick wall of the alley making an annoying high-pitched sound.
"John," the deep quiet voice of the figure drawled, "Where are you? You should know by now that you can't hide from me, if you show yourself now I promise I won't punish you," the voice stopped as the figure stepped into the light, revealing a sinister smile on their face, "much."
Oh shit,
John thought miserably as the figure turned over the dumpster with inhuman strength revealing John.
John whimpered as the figure grabbed his arm roughly. Desperate to escape, John swung his arm and punched the figure in the face. Instead of blood on his face like John had hoped there’d be, he was met with a cold grin.
Sherlock’s grin turned maniacal when he saw John’s hopeless expression. He swung John around, snaking his other arm around the shorter man’s waist, leaving John flush against Sherlock.
“I must admit you put up quite the chase, John,” Sherlock purred in John's ear, “but you seem to forget, you are
mine
, there is nowhere you can go that I won’t find you.”
John shuddered, hating the way his name sounded coming from his former friend’s mouth.
“I’d say I’m surprised you lasted as long as you did, but I wouldn’t have chosen you if you were that easy,” Sherlock murmured in his ear, “I’m sure you're tired, rest now and we’ll deal with your punishment back home when you wake.”
“No-” John struggled briefly before feeling a slight pinch in his arm, his eyes widened in horror “-you … drugged … me?” his words slurred.
“For your own good, sleep well, John ~”
----- CHAPTER BREAK -----
To be honest, John was seriously expecting to wake in a cellar chained the wall. Returning to conscious in a bed with the blissful smell of tea was a welcome surprise.He rolled over with the intent of getting up when he realized his movements were restricted."What the..?" He mumbled, too exhausted to think clearly.He tried getting up again, once more prevented by a cuff on his wrist chaining him to the bed post.All at once memories of the previous night (he thinks, he has no idea how long her was out for) and he panics.In a panic he looked frantically around the room, realizing that he wasn't in his own bed. Or his own room.The door creaked open and John collapsed on the mattress, hoping that it was Mrs. Hudson at the door and not Sherlock.Of course John wouldn't be so fortunate."I know you're awake, dear.." Sherlock sighed.Instead of answering, John simply burrowed deeper into the covers, hoping this was all just a bad dream. A really bad dream.Sherlock frowned, "I do hope you don't intend to be this difficult for long. It will not help you achieve anything, my John."John growled into the pillow, angry at his once most trusted friend and, dare he say it, significant other. (He still has a hard time admitting it).This time, to Sherlock's delight, John did say something."Go fuck yourself," John hissed into the pillow.Sherlock's joy melted quickly into irritation."Fine then, if you intend to be like that then I'll leave you be."With that final statement Sherlock closed the door, then locked it with an audible click.John sighed in relief and finally allowed a small part of him to relax. The danger was gone now...he hoped.