Molly became a Pirate Pt.2

    

So yeah, y'know how life is.

-shakes fist at sky- FIE THIS LIFE!

Sad, sad stuff. So I wrote some (minor) angst today, if the stuff that puts me to sleep counts as angst.

(oops.)

Molly became a pirate a second time and this time around you get more of her bloody doctor!! (yay!)

And lots and lots of evilness

(muahahahahah)

Enjoy the lameness!

                 
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      The enemy’s four escorts sank within minutes, the minutes filled with the agonizing cries of the drowning royal navy. Some managed to climb aboard the Scarlet letter for safety, but many more were drowned instead. This left Sherlock wondering how Lestrade had gotten his men out without the ship to their rear seeing them, but he had little time to as he ran back to the hull and began giving orders to pull up anchor and get out of there as fast as possible before Moriarty’s crew knew what was happening and gather their wits to fire upon them.

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     John’s fingers were cramping. He was clinging to the now-sailing ship, the outside of it more specifically, and pressing his ear to the wet wood of the boat in an effort to listen to the conversation inside. Somehow he had managed to hold his position for the night, though, now that it was morning,  he was exhausted. The room was quiet, and he decided he’d just drop onto the balcony for a chance at rest. As soon as he had begun to inch over, however, Moriarty’s raised voice from inside the cabin came to him. John considered his options, sick of sticking to the side of the ship, and realized, with the way that Moriarty sounded, that Molly was possibly in danger. So he stuck with his intended course and, after a moment of struggling along, dropped to the balcony.

     He grimaced at the loud noise and the sudden silence from inside the cabin. John almost slapped himself, but then pulled it together and crouched low in anticipation of the enemy opening the door. It happened none too soon, and John launched himself at the opening, which was made possible by a large sailor who came down with a lightning hard right from John. The doctor sprung into the cabin, swinging and hitting a second sailor with left that was just as heavy, then turned and delivered another right to a third. In the pause in which the enemies were attempting to regroup or pick themselves up off the floor, John chanced a glance around the cabin. Molly was tied to a post on the left, staring wide-eyed at him. Moriarty stood before her and John noticed the massive bruise beginning to form on her face.

     Feeling his face heat up with anger, he dodged a blow from an oncoming enemy and rammed up against him, driving him back into another behind him. John jumped out from underneath them and hit another one coming on. He had only two more between him and Molly, both of which he took down with heavy blows. Seeing as he had downed all the men in the cabin but the captain, he rushed at Moriarty with a cry and, with a massive blow, knocked the man nearly senseless.

     Still, all his enemies had regrouped and now the biggest one grabbed him from behind. John struggled and flailed, but to no avail as the others came and helped to pin him down. Just as they were binding John’s hands behind his back, Moriarty found his feet and grinned at the doctor. “Good!” He congratulated, blinking his right eye, which undoubtedly smarted from the quickly-forming welt beneath it. “Very good!”

     John was breathing hard but managed to maintain a steady glower until one of the sailors helping to tie his hands yanked his arms up in the air and he gave a cry, doubling over as if it would help.

     “The hold, Captain?” One of the sailors asked.

     “Ehhh…No.” Moriarty grinned, and Molly whipped her gaze up to look at him, knowing what that meant. “Keep him in here. I want everyone out but Seb.”

     Seb hauled John to his feet as everyone else left the cabin and Moriarty clucked his tongue, putting his hands in his pockets and stepping forward to examine John, who glowered at him. “Fiesty, aren’t you?” Moriarty asked. In answer, John spat at him. “I see.” Moriarty smiled, then peered closer. “We’ve met before, haven’t we?” John only glowered at him. Seb, however, twisted his arms harder behind his back.

     “He asked you a question.” The sailor hissed, to which John gave a small cry and a short,

    “Yes.”

    “I thought so.” Moriarty mused, glancing at Seb, who loosened his grip. “Molly.” He turned back to the captain, whose eyes were wide and on the verge of shining, “Do you know Johnny boy here?”

    She shook her head and otherwise didn’t say anything.

    “Wrong answer!” Moriarty cackled, and smacked her with the biggest backhand slap she had ever felt. At that, John’s blood ran hot and he twisted away from Seb with such force that the sailor had no choice but to let go, then sprang up and launched himself at Moriarty, knocking him away from Molly. Before he could do better, though, Seb came up behind him and delivered a kick so hard to the back of his head that John would have passed out, had Seb not then been grabbing him by the back of his shirt and dragging him away. As John was pulled off of Moriarty, the enemy captain looked up and grinned.               

     “You do!!” He cried, as if very pleased to know this, “Very good!” Molly opened her eyes and very slightly shook her head, but Moriarty didn’t notice, or didn’t choose to. He was too busy standing and walking over to John to employ this very exciting new development.

     “So if I did this,” Here he wound up and rammed a fist into John’s gut as hard as he could, then whipped around to gauge Molly’s reaction. She, however, had hardened her resolve, and had seen John take worse hits, so kept her face emotionless. Moriarty made an apologetic face. “Well, of course, he’s fine.” He made a noise at Molly. “Awkward…” Without another word he then pulled a gun from his pocket, and without looking, pointed it at John’s head, who realized the danger and began flailing in an effort to release himself from Seb’s grip. Molly’s eyes widened considerably, and Moriarty grinned. “Better.” He applauded, “Let’s try this again.”

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     Sherlock was calm, to some extent. They were still in sight of the Scarlett letter. They had managed to swing away, as if they meant to run, but as soon as the enemy ship had begun on its course, had followed in wary pursuit. Sherlock sighed and drummed his fingers on the steering wheel, feeling a little jumpy even as the sun warmed his back. He wasn’t sure what to credit his uneasiness to unless it was the fact that Lestrade was nowhere to be seen on the ship or anywhere surrounding it. All of his men had made it back on, but none had seen what had happened to the boatswain. He had brushed it off though, seeing movement behind the Scarlet Letter just as they had been setting out, and only hoped that Lestrade had somehow climbed on. If not, he had just abandoned him and the trusty boatswain who Sherlock had always considered a friend would have drowned long ago. Sherlock brushed the notion aside, somehow feeling that Lestrade was, indeed, on the enemy ship, and safe for that matter. Indeed, Sherlock hadn’t instructed him as he had John to keep Molly well, and so, his conscience at least a little clear, Sherlock tucked the disturbing issue away and concentrated on steering.

     

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     John was just happy that the pain was being administered to him instead of his captain. Molly, however, wasn’t. Her lips were pursed tightly though she refused to break down and whenever the two allies managed to lock gazes she would just shake her head. With every passing second, John couldn’t help feeling disappointed with himself. He’d given Moriarty leverage. Molly had had this under control. It would have been better if he hadn't even dropped in. Moriarty had not shot John, as promised, but he looked like he was planning on it, as Molly refused to talk and John refused to beg for mercy. The interrogation was not going well, and Moriarty’s patience was being tried. As soon as Seb’s yearning to break John’s ribs had passed, Moriarty signaled to him and he stepped aside.

     “Anything to say, Miss Hooper?” Moriarty addressed Molly, who stared at him and didn’t answer. “Good then.” Moriarty held his gun up and aimed again at John, who looked up and swore before looking away again and squirming as if in an effort to free himself. Moriarty made a point at cocking the gun slowly. The click sounded loud to all four. Molly made a brave face and stared hard at Moriarty as John made a weak attempt at a laugh.

     “Good then, what, Mr. Moriarty? You kill me, and what leverage have you left? You kill me, then the captain here has nothing to lose and-”

     “Last chance, Molly.” Moriarty’s voice was low and dangerous. Molly forced her eyes to stay dry and pursed her lips. “You don’t talk, I aim for his head. You talk now, I aim somewhere else.”

     “Like where?” Molly forced, her voice hoarse.

     Moriarty shrugged. “Won’t kill him, my dear.”

     There was a long pause. Moriarty finally shrugged and shifted the gun in his hand, turning and aiming harder at John.

      “Stop, stop!” Molly cried and Moriarty, without looking at her, grinned. There was a pause, where Molly looked like she was reconsidering her life’s choices and John looked up at her, eyes wide, not even sure what it was that she was about to spill.

     “Go on.” Moriarty probed.

     Molly took a deep breath and looked him dead in the eye. “The map is on the mainland.”

     Moriarty froze, then laughed. He pulled the trigger on his gun and the bang hurt all of their ears. John gave a sudden and loud cry of pain as the bullet ripped directly into his shoulder. He doubled over, clenching away the sudden pain and fighting back a cry as Moriarty strode up to Molly and pointed the gun at her head. “Say that again!” He shouted. John took a glance up to see what was going on and froze upon realizing that Molly was being threatened with a gun. He tried to struggle free of the ropes holding him to the post behind him but was intercepted by the smashing pain in his shoulder. He gave another cry as Moriarty cocked the gun and pressed it to Molly’s forehead. She winced and John screamed as he struggled to get free.

      “Say that again.” Moriarty’s tone was low.

     “The map is back in England.” Molly reiterated, keeping her stare at him fearless and void of emotion. Moriarty scowled and lowered his gun.

     “You wouldn’t happen to remember any of it, now, would you, Miss Hooper?”

     Molly set her jaw and didn’t answer. Moriarty raised his gun again, this time pointing it at John. “Not going to miss this time.” He warned. John had looked up and now closed his eyes, his head half-turned away in his effort to struggle free. Moriarty cocked his head. “Is John Watson’s life worth it, Molly dear?”

     “Stop, stop, alright!” Molly gasped, “I’ll show you, just stop.”

     John opened his eyes and looked up, his face expressing the shock of that last statement. “Molly, Molly no-”

     “Please untie the captain, Seb.” Moriarty ordered, keeping his gun now trained on her. As Seb moved to obey, Molly looked up at John and she could clearly see the flush on his face as he suddenly turned away.  Molly felt a sudden anger at the doctor. She had had nothing to lose but her life and he had to come in and give Moriarty leverage that he so desperately needed. She glared at him the whole time she was prodded out of the room. Whilst she walked out, Moriarty turned and looked at John. “Not so tough now, eh, Johnny?” Then he followed the two out and slammed the door shut behind him, leaving the doctor alone to his thoughts and pain.

    

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     The room was silent as Molly drew up the map. Seb had a gun pointed to the back of her head, but more ominous was the promise from Moriarty to instantly dispatch John if she stopped drawing for even a second. She worked quickly, the route not being too hard, and once she had finished with the main path, turned to Moriarty and beckoned him over. She then proceeded to point out booby traps and other odds and ends to him, even drawing them in. Once she had finally finished, she leaned back and handed her pencil to Moriarty.

     “Done?” Moriarty asked.

     She nodded. “Done.”

     “All of it?” He asked.

     She nodded whilst glaring at him. “All of it.”

     “We’ll make sure in good old America, now won’t we?” Moriarty smiled at her, but she sensed the threat.

     “I suppose so.” She forced back, suddenly thinking of Sherlock and her crew.

     “Good.” He congratulated, “Seb, please make our guest back at home.”

     They dragged Molly back to the captain’s cabin. John lifted his head as they came in, and it was no secret that he was looking Molly over for any kind of scrape or even bruise. When he deduced that she was unhurt, he closed his eyes. Molly instantly whirled out of Seb’s grasp and stepped past him to Moriarty.

     “Five minutes to tend to him.” She demanded. Moriarty’s gaze widened at the sudden request and for a moment seemed surprised. Then he shrugged and gestured to her doctor in permission to her request. Seb let go of her as she wrenched away and strode over to John, untucking her shirt from her belt as she went. She instantly knelt and slapped John so hard that he gasped in pain and surprise and looked up. She proceeded to rip the bottom of her shirt off and, balling it up, pressed it to his bloody shoulder. He gave another cry but she pushed harder and his cry turned into a plea for mercy.

     “Molly, Molly, please, stop.” She eased on the pressure and he closed his eyes against the pain, his grip slipping from her sleeve.

     “John Watson, you are in every way a mutineer and deserve just the fate of one.” She hissed, slamming the ball of now bloody fabric back into his shoulder. He gave another cry.

     “Captain, p-please.” When she pushed harder, he gave another cry and gasped, “If anything, I realize I’ve only made everything worse, and I’m sorry.”

     He looked up, his brown eyes sincere, and the two froze for a moment looking at each other. Then Molly looked away and, a little more gently, pressed the linen to his bleeding shoulder, trying to stem the blood-flow.

     Moriarty held to his vow of five minutes, and Molly had managed to stop the blood at least a little bit before her time was up and Seb roughly dragged her away and retied her to her former post.

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Haha see? Lameness!

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You know what time it is!

Yeah! PirateLock!

                                                 

Molly became a Pirate AU

Heaven can wait?
What the heck is this movie??
Anyways.... One day, i was thinking.
Talking to myself, to be exact. And I said, "Self, you are on the wonderful website of pinterest. Why not look up all the heartbreaking Sherlolly fanart?"
So I did. This is what I found:

Perfect artistry done by the wonderful artbylexie :)

                                 



Ta da!!! Smoochie smoochies featuring your favorite ship!
:)

      The captain scurried up the stairs, her hair blowing in the late-morning breeze as the frenzied cry of “All hands on deck!!” came from her first mate who was hard at the wheel. She jumped up to join him and instantly placed her hand on his shoulder as she gazed back behind them.

     “What is it?” She asked, and he handed her a spy-glass.

     “See for yourself.” He said curtly, and she instantly opened the glass and peered through it. Her audible gasp was heard by only her first mate and before he could say anything to her she had shoved the spy-glass at him and was stumbling down the steps onto the deck. The Captain was in the most frantic frenzy any of the crew had ever seen her in, that is, if they took time to stop what they were doing and take notice.

     “Loose the topsail! Loose the main course! Loose every single sail on this bucket, if it can attach and further our speed I want it up!” Her frenzied orders continued on and on until she stepped back up to where her first-mate manned the wheel to catch her breath.

     “Molly.” She refused to turn to her first-mate, who sighed, his next statement barely to be heard over the whipping wind. “You know you can’t run.”

The captain paused, then called over her shoulder, “I want you three in my quarters in 3 minutes,” the skipped down the stairs and was gone from the first-mate’s sight.

                                  *********

     They gathered around the captain’s door exactly 3 minutes later. The first mate took a deep breath before knocking hard, and the two men behind him exchanged a nervous glance. No one had ever seen the captain’s quarters. They were anxious as to what they would find. The door was flung open and the Captain, who had opened it, turned on her heel without missing a beat or formally asking them in and returned to the table which was situated in the middle of the room. 

     Her three friends, never having seen her in such a frenzy, exchanged glances before cautiously entering. The doctor of the ship, Dr. Watson, respectfully closed the door behind them and the three gathered around the table, opposite their Captain, and waited for her to speak. There was a long pause which she broke by whipping her gaze up.

     “Aright.” Her voice sounded hoarse to her friends as she looked up, her bright brown eyes showing her desperation. “I need the three of you to come up with a plan and now.” When her friends simply exchanged glances, she turned to her first mate. “Sherlock. Go.”

     Contrary to what any of them expected, his gaze went blank and he stared at her. “Fine.” Disappointment thudded in her voice and she turned to the next man.      “Lestrade?” The boatswain glanced at the furiously thinking Sherlock before opening his mouth. “We could catch them by surprise,” He suggested, “Swing around and intercept them at the last moment.”

     She only sighed and dropped her head. “I called you gents in here to propose actions that I haven’t yet come up with, aright??”

     “All due respect, Captain,” The doctor cut in, casting a glance at Lestrade before continuing, “You haven’t exactly informed us about what you have or have not thought of. Maybe if you told us what you have come up with?”

     “Turning and taking on 5 English navy ships, for one.” Her first mate spoke for her, casting a fake smile at the three others who stared at him, “For a second, she had considered trying to outrun them, but by all accounts we are still 3 days away from our destination, and thus cannot outrun them.” He placed his hands behind his back. “Our captain has thought of faking a sickness and raising a quarantine flag so that we will not be boarded. The Captain has thought of handing herself over to the English navy, which of course, is absurd, and-”

     “And unless you 3 can come up with a solution from your bloody pirate heads that is any better, it is what I have settled for and I shall not change my mind.”

     An audible gasp went through the room, but Molly did not recant. She stood from where she bent over the table. “I will not see this ship blasted apart and my crew killed if I can help it.” She paused, taking in all of their shocked expressions and sighed, clasping her hands in front of her. “Gentlemen, we are clearly outnumbered. They will wipe us out faster than it takes to blow out a candle and I won’t let that happen.”

     “Captain,” The doctor stepped forward, “Even if you do hand yourself over, either you swing over and have absolutely no warranty that they won’t catch the rest of us and blow us to bits, or, you bring the ship to a stop and we’re as good as captured anyways.” It was clear to everyone that he was just trying to talk her out of it as he continued, leaning on the table, “I swear, there has to be another way.”

     Their gazes locked and Molly chewed her lip as she stared at him. “Then do share.” Her tone was low but desperate. The doctor swallowed.

     “Molly. You know who it is?”

     “Of course I know, John, otherwise I wouldn’t be going to such bloody drastic measures.”

     “Listen!” John snapped, and Molly bit her lip, taking a deep breath as if the full consequences of handing herself over had just hit her. “You can’t do that.” John reasoned as he struggled to keep his voice steady. “You can’t.”

     Molly took heavy breaths as she evaluated her crew. “Any other suggestions?”        When no one responded, she said as calmly as possible, “Then unless you three come up with any more ideas that will not end in the destruction of this ship and crew,” And here she looked each of them in the eye, “Get out of my sight.”

     John frowned. “But-”

     “GET OUT!”

     She didn’t need to repeat herself as the three instantly filed out, John casting a hurt look behind him as he left, shutting the door behind him.

    

                               *********

     The three gathered behind the wheel to discuss the meeting even as Sherlock, being second in command, tried to maintain order on the deck as the rest of the crew frantically scurried about, knowing full well what was going to happen when they were caught. John was the first to state it out loud.

     “You know he’s going to kill us all.”

     “Oh, really?” Sherlock, at the helm, raised an eyebrow all too skeptically, “I wasn’t sure, thank you, Doctor.”

     “We have to think of something!” the doctor exclaimed, clearly perplexed.

     “Do you think we’re not??” Sherlock snapped, “I am literally wracking my brain for a solution, does it look to you as if I am doing anything different?” John pursed his lips but the first mate hadn’t finished. “Did you think for an instant that I would let the Captain condemn herself like that? Do you? What do you take me for? A mutineer?? There is nothing we can do, John- NOTHING.”

     John took the unexpected burst of emotion with no more than a blink and when Sherlock had finished, coolly returned his friend’s stare. 

     Sherlock half-turned to Lestrade, then said coolly, “Nothing, at least, as far as Molly getting onto that ship.”

     Sensing that something else was up, John and Lestrade exchanged a glance. “What does that mean?” Lestrade posed the question for both of them. Sherlock stared at the deck for a moment, his eyes wide and his brain clocking at at least a hundred miles an hour. After a simple moment, he turned to Lestrade.

     “I need you to rally 5 of the fastest swimmers on this boat. Go.” Lestrade, knowing better than to ask, was gone in seconds. John, still confused, looked at Sherlock.

     “You’re going to try and rescue her?”

     Sherlock returned his attention to the helm, altering their course a little bit. “Not me. You.”

     John’s mouth was instantly open in protest but the first-mate didn’t give him a chance, “Listen to me, I have to stay aboard the ship and steer her after you, I need someone to be on board to make sure no harm comes to Molly. You know what he would do to her- I need you there to protect her, do you understand?”

      As the explanation had come, John’s protestation had died away and he met Sherlock’s icy gaze with his own, crushing down his fear of the enemy captain as deep as he possibly could and simply nodding.

      Sherlock watched him closely. “You will protect her?”

      John paused for a moment before answering, “With my life.”

      Lestrade was back then, the five men assembled at the foot of the stairs as he climbed up them to rejoin the two friends. “Right,” He huffed, “here they are.”

Sherlock nodded to the sailors and turned back to his two friends. “Well done. Here’s what we’re going to do.”

                              *******

      It felt like days for the Scarlet Letter and her four escorts to finally catch up to them. Everyone on the ship was anticipating it. As it was nearing sunset, Molly eventually came out of the cabin, looking tired and worn, but laughing all the same and trying to raise her troops’ spirits as she went. No one but the boatswain, the first-mate, the doctor and the six sailors knew what she planned to risk to save her ship and her men.

      The Scarlet and her friends were only a couple of leagues off their bow when Sherlock, still at the helm, turned and gave a discreet nod to Lestrade, who stood beside him. Lestrade nodded back and hurried downstairs to get his faithful swimmers who waited, decked with backpacks that contained enough dynamite to blow a hole in a ship big enough to sink it. 

     John, seeing the signal, drew Molly aside to distract her as Lestrade and his 5 men scurried up on deck and dashed into her quarters. On any normal given day, the captain’s quarters were strictly off limits unless one somehow managed to merit an invitation inside. This was no normal day, however, and they slipped inside without so much as a sound and without the captain noticing.

     As John brought his captain back around the mast, his cheeks practically burning with shame at the trick, Sherlock prayed against the captain’s suspicions as she watched John, trying to make some sort of explanation to his strange behavior around her. Sherlock found himself nearly moaning. Pull it together Watson, He urged silently, almost wishing that they were telepathic. They were close, and when John glanced at Sherlock, the first mate gave him such a meaningful and disdainful look that John instantly changed the subject, making sure that Molly was well invested before glancing back up at Sherlock who nodded and gave him an inconspicuous smile.

     Finally the anticipated moment arrived, with the Scarlet and company flanking them on all sides. Here Sherlock was beginning to sweat. He had anticipated that they would be flanked on both sides by the ships but not on all sides. This was wrong. He could only imagine Lestrade’s similar dismay at the plan’s ultimate failure.

    Failure? He shoved the word out of his mind. No, not failure. It would work out. Seeing Molly emerge from the captain’s quarters and eye the Scarlet letter as if she meant to make her move as soon as they weighed anchor, Sherlock abandoned his post for a moment to scurry down and intercept her. It has to.

     There suddenly came a loud cry from the Scarlet Letter, a command to yield or they would be blown out of the water. The entire crew stood listening, the blood having drained from their faces, as the warning was repeated. Molly jumped up onto the rail, not even having to grab onto anything for balance as she replied in a loud voice, “Who be the captain of this ship?”

     She didn’t have to ask. Everyone knew. The captain, dressed in a dark blue overcoat, stepped up onto his own rail and mirrored her pose.

     “Tha’d be me.” He greeted her, and the two locked gazes. When Molly’s words stuck in her throat, he offered a loud, “Hi!”

     Molly found her courage and forced out, “Mr. Moriarty, would you be open to having me come and negotiate the release of my ship and crew unto freedom?”

     The entire deck of Molly’s Baker went silent as Moriarty studied her. “Why should I?” He asked, “I don’t think you’re in much of a position to be negotiating, Miss Hooper.”

     “It’s me you want!” Molly cried. She then composed herself and called out to him, “I am asking that you take me and leave my ship and crew unharmed.”

     There was a gasp from all of the crew except for Sherlock and John, who exchanged grim glances. Moriarty looked pleasantly surprised, and cocked his head.

     “Indeed?”

     “Yes.” Molly’s gaze to the enemy was like steel. “You must leave my ship and crew unharmed.” She repeated.

      Moriarty stared at her for a long moment. Then he inclined his head. “Very well, Molly Hooper.”

      “Do I have your word?” Molly was going to extra lengths.

      Moriarty smiled. Then he removed his hat and, pressing it to his chest, bowed, almost mockingly. “You have my word.”

      “You must swear by it.” Molly wasn’t finished, for she had dealt with him and his double-crossing ways before. “Do you swear to leave my ship and crew unharmed?”

     Moriarty smiled again, as if enjoying her distress and answered without a beat, “I swear.”

     Molly took a deep breath then, and caught the rope that was tossed to her from the enemy ship. Her crew didn’t move, and most looked at Sherlock, as if expecting him to try and stop her. He noticed John’s ill-timed move for the captain’s quarters and stepped up to Molly to provide a distraction for the doctor’s move. He grabbed her wrist just as she was about to jump off. She turned, her face angry, and tried to pull away.

     “No, Molly, no, listen to me,” Sherlock was feigning panic, but didn’t have to act hard when he thought about what awaited her on that ship, “You don’t have to do this. Let me help, please, I-”

      “Sherlock,” She warned, “Let go.”

      “No.” As their gazes locked, he gulped, feeling a massive lump in his throat that he’d never experienced before. “You can’t leave me.”

      “Sherlock.” Molly’s eyes had filled with tears.

      “No. No. I need to…”

      “Need what, Sherlock?” Molly obviously wanted this done as soon as possible, but a hard-fought tear suddenly streaked down her face.

      “I need you.” He gasped.

      The following silence was terrible, made perfect only by Molly's leaning forward and kissing him. Sherlock thought he was going to fall over from the overwhelming feeling that was assaulting him but before he could even grab her to stop her, she had broken away and jumped off her ship to swing over to The Scarlet Letter. Moriarty’s men were instantly on top of her and she was dragged out of the crew’s sight. Molly's ship was silent for a very long time after she had been long gone from sight. The silence, then was broken by a massive boom, and Sherlock grinned.

John is pissed

      

A short(ish) Sherlock fanfic :) The title tells all.

Disclaimer: John gets pissed

                                    

                                            #########

          
              “Attention, troops!”

          Everyone looked up from what they were doing as the lieutenant’s loud voice sounded in the large tent.  “Everyone in here,” He continued, “is to be out of this base by noon.” Some of the soldiers exchanged glances. “We’re heading for an outpost 80 miles northwest of here. So pack everything up. Is that understood?”

          Everyone nodded. I looked up at the lieutenant to find that he watched me.

          “That means you too.” He addressed me. “They need a doctor more than anything.” I nodded obediently and the lieutenant took a last look around before commanding, “Snap to it and pack up!”

           He turned and left the tent, and the other 20 or so around me began to stand and talk amongst themselves. Steven, on the cot next to mine, stood as well and murmured something under his breath.

         “Bloody work,” He grumbled loud enough so that only I could hear. "An outpost 80 miles from here.” I looked up at him.

           “It’s not that bad.” When he looked at me, I smiled. “’Least you’re not reassigned to Taiwan.” He didn’t laugh and studied me. “Reassignment make you happy, Watson?” I shrugged and grinned. “I haven’t left this post in at least a year. Somewhere new will be nice for a change.”

     Steve sighed. “I wish I could be stuck here for a year.”

     I laughed at the dejected face he was making and stood.

     “You signed up, didn’t you?”

     Steve groaned. “Stop being so happy.” He fell back on his bed. “You’re making me sick.”  Again I laughed and was happy to note that he gave a good-natured smile.

         30 minutes before noon, everyone was out of the tent and stood at attention, waiting for the lieutenant’s return. As we waited, some new recruits came up and began to move into our previously occupied tent that we stood next to, giving us awed looks as they ducked inside. As I was closest to the entrance, I took the most looks, especially directed at the white and red armband on my left sleeve. The last young recruit seemed to stare a long time, and I couldn’t help but grin when I caught his eye, and winked at him. He blushed, then smiled back and ducked inside.

       The lieutenant soon arrived, and so we all piled into 5 jeeps and were on our way. A while into the 10 hour drive, about 3 or 4 hours out, just when we were considering sleeping after much joking and talking, the jeep we rode in came to a very abrupt stop that launched us all forwards, then back into our seats. I peered into the driver’s seat and glanced at the long dirt road ahead.

     “What’s the matter?” I asked Jean, the driver.

     Expectantly we watched him as he scanned the road ahead, breathless. “I thought…. I thought…” He gasped for air as the other four transports passed us. A small silence ensued as we watched them drive away, then Will, in the passenger seat, probed, “thought what?”

    Jean’s breathing became even more labored and a sweat covered his forehead.

     I frowned.

    “Will.” I commanded, “Trade with me.”

     Obediently he climbed out of his seat to join us in the back, and as soon as he made room, I clambered up front.

     As I crouched in the passenger seat, Jean looked wildly up at me. “I saw something, Watson, I swear I did!”

     “What was it?” I asked calmly. He didn’t answer for a moment and just stared at the road. “Jean.”

     “I don’t know, John. It was something.”

     “John?” Hudson, in the back, sounded scared.

      I shook my head and placed my hand on Jean’s shoulder. “Hey, take a deep breath and calm down-” Before I could comfort him much, we heard a massive boom. I whipped my gaze left to see that a small mushroom shaped cloud rose from the road a good while ahead. Another boom sounded and a second cloud appeared beside the first.

      Tyler, in the back, swore loudly and as what looked like a third jeep blew up, I dropped back into the passenger seat and opened my door. “Everyone out. Now.” I ordered, and was hastily obeyed. I turned the Jeep off and we all closed the doors. 

      After they salvaged as many weapons and as much water as they could, I ordered them over to the nearest sand- dune. They took off, carrying Jean among them, and as they went, I took the machine gun that I had grabbed and began to pelt the Jeep with bullets. I popped the tires and fried the engine and did everything in my power to make it look like the Jeep had been abandoned for weeks. I took huge handfuls of sand and threw it over the car and smashed the windows before I finally turned and raced after the others.

     They had picked a good sand-dune, and from behind it, we watched and waited as the smoke from the explosions vanished in the heat, and as the sun bore hard down on us, tried to tend to Jean.

     Sooner than I had hoped, Hudson pointed out quite a few army trucks not ours driving down the road, soon to pass our dune. Lined like ducks, they all came to a stop in front of our jeep. As we watched in anticipation, two figures emerged from the first and stepped around to examine our Jeep.

     After a few breathtaking moments, they yelled something to the others in the trucks, and soon more and more people climbed out of the trucks and, all armed, spread out in search of us.

     My heart dropped to my gut. No, no, no! I thought. Didn’t it look abandoned to you??

     My mind racing, I motioned everyone back behind cover. In silence, I thought. I wracked my brain for every option of escape. Why was it that I couldn’t come up with anything?

                                                 ######

        “Sherlock?” I took the stairs two at a time, nearly slamming into the wall as I rounded the corner, so great was my hurry. “Sherlock??” As I took the final steps to the flat, I slowed and sighed before stopping. Sherlock sat in front of the desk, safe and sound, his hands joined beneath his chin. “Sherlock?” I asked for the third time, “are you okay?”

         “Mmmhmm…” he took one of his hands from under his chin and slowly pressed a button on the computer in front of him.

          Now more relieved than anything else, I took a step in and placed my hands on my hips. “I was getting worried!” I exclaimed. “You weren’t answering my calls, you weren’t answering my texts….” He didn’t even look up. “Are you even listening?”

         “Mmmm…” Again he reached over to the computer and pressed the same button repeatedly.

        “What are you doing?” Out of curiosity, I stepped over to where he sat. “Is that my computer?”

        “Mmmmhmm.”

       “You have your own computer.”

       “In the kitchen.”

       I studied him, then leaned on the chair to look over his shoulder. When I saw what he was doing, my heart stopped dead in its tracks.

       “Oh no. No, no, no….”

       I lunged forward to close the laptop, but he was quicker than me and whisked it out of reach, to his right, looking at me as he did.

       “Why ever not?” He asked innocently.

       “Because… you’re not…” I lunged over his lap, but still my arm came short of the computer that he held aloof. “supposed to!”

       I pulled off of his lap, seeing my efforts useless, and looked at him.

      “Sherlock, give it back!”

       He made a face at me. I rolled my eyes.

       “Please?”

       “Mmm…. No.”

       “Sherlock!”

       Angrily I again lunged for the computer, now scrambling over his lap to reach it.

       Casually he reached over with his free hand and snatched it out of reach the other way. I went sprawling into the wall as he stood with the laptop in both hands and continued to read what I’d typed.

        “Sherlock!” I sagged pitifully against the wall. “Please!!”

        He looked at me innocently. “But I like it.”

        “No, no…” I clambered to my feet and again lunged for it. But he pushed me away with one hand and continued to hold the laptop aloof with the other.

         “Come on…” I gasped, and now out of patience, I grabbed his arm that he blocked me with and deftly twisted it behind his back. He let out a grunt and a gasp, and now behind him, I grabbed for the computer again. But he kept it ever out of reach, now around to his front. In now full-out anger, I twisted his arm harder and harder until Sherlock began to giggle at the pain.

        “John… John!” For as he laughed my fury build up even further in me, and I twisted ever harder.

        “Ow, OW!” He laughed, “That hurts, can you stop please?” I didn’t bother to reply, and, gritting my teeth, twisted with all my strength, furious.

        “Ah, ahhhhh! I’m sorry, what was it that you wanted??”

        “Put the laptop down.” I hissed.

        Rapidly he set it down on the desk, and after one last jerk to his arm, I wrenched him towards me and backwards, then watched him trip over my chair and smash against the wall as I stepped up and coolly closed the laptop. Behind me, he groaned, then giggled.

        “But, John….” He moaned, “I liked it.”

        I whirled and pointed at him. “No you didn’t.”

        He lay on his back on the floor and looked pitifully up at me. “I did.”

      I sighed. “Stop.”

      “Stop what?”

      “That face. It makes me feel bad for you when I’m not.”

      “But there was more!” He groaned up at the ceiling. “You never ever tell me what went on over there and I almost had all of the story! Would you…. Just…”

      I moved to the desk and shifted some paper around aimlessly.

      “…Tell me the rest of the story?”

      I tilted my head back and groaned up at the ceiling.

      “Just at least if the soldier was good or bad.”

      “He was the enemy, of course.” I looked over at Sherlock, who sat upright now.

      “And?” He probed.

      “And what?” I snapped.

      “What happened then?”

      “You don’t care and you wouldn’t like the story if I told you.”

      “No?”

      “NO.”

      I glared at him, the word almost coming out a yell.

      Sherlock studied me, then cocked his head slightly.

      “Don’t ask again, please.” I forced my tone to be neutral. “If I find you in my word documents again, I swear, I will destroy this laptop.”

      He studied me in silence for a very long time.

      I returned his look until it made me feel guilty, then I picked up the computer and turned into the kitchen. I set it down on the table lining the wall, then set to making a little lunch. I had been hungry before, but now had mostly lost my appetite, still I set making grilled cheese for something to do.

      I heard Sherlock shift where he sat, and when he spoke his voice was quiet.

      “John?”

      I sighed.

      “My Physical Therapist,” I began, “told me that if I wrote about everything that happened in Afghanistan it would help me to forget it.”

      “Did it work?”

       The answer came out short and fast before I could stop it. “No.”

       There was a short silence.

       “I am sorry for being nosy.” His voice showed that he hadn’t moved. “Do you forgive me?”

        I thought. “Maybe.”

        In the long silence that followed, I finished cooking my grilled cheese, and after plating some up, stepped back into the flat. I looked at Sherlock, who hadn’t left from where he’d previously sat. He noted my gaze, and looked up.

      “Since I started it….” He began cautiously, and as he did I stepped over to the desk. “Would you let me finish it?”

      I nearly dropped my plate, but managed to contain the wave of choking emotions from all directions by closing my eyes. “Sherlock.” I fought to keep my voice even. “I don’t want to yell at you again. So there’s grilled cheese in the kitchen.”

       He thought for a moment. “But… John… Please?”

     I set my plate on the desk and turned away. “I will hit you.” I choked. “I’m sorry now, but I will if you ask once more. Please help yourself.”

     “John-”

     “William Sherlock Scott Holmes!!” Again I yelled, clenching up with all my strength, trying to contain the urge to turn and punch the flatmate staring in confusion at my back.

     “Stop. Please, stop.” And before he could say another word I grabbed my plate and moved to the door.

     “John!” An alarmed Sherlock exclaimed, but I paid him no heed and stepped through the landing. I stomped up the steps, fighting down every emotion as I went on my way to my room.

     I could barely make out any emotions any more except for maybe an intense and boiling anger. Those were the worst years of my life. Could he take anything truly serious seriously? I wanted to throw my plate of cheese out the window as hard as I could and run back downstairs to throttle Sherlock. But I didn’t. I resisted my instincts and counted slowly to 10. By that time, I had calmed somewhat, and though still tormented by my experiences in the field as if I was still there, I took a deep breath, relieved that I wasn’t quite so angry.

     By this point Sherlock had wisely held in any comments from downstairs, as that would push me over the breaking edge no doubt, and before he could even consider it, I pushed the door to my room open and stepped inside, resolving to hit him once I had myself figured out.

                                                    #######

     I came downstairs after an uneventful afternoon on my computer to an empty flat. I searched for my flatmate for a while before noticing the piece of paper sitting on my armchair. I picked it up, turned it over just in case it was from someone other than Sherlock, and unfolded it to read:

     

      John,

     I am a truly inconsiderate friend and am sorry.

     What happened in Afghanistan was serious and real and I apologize for making light of that fact. I hope you will forgive me. I bought milk to make up, if only a little.

     Off on a case, call if you have an emotional breakdown.

    SH

    

     I smiled, grateful for the apology. It had made me feel a little better. And milk? Well, I must have been mad for him to go there. Milk was reserved for the severest apologies. I re-read the note, smiling still. I was grateful. But he should have left out the part about me having an emotional breakdown.

     I was still going to hit him.

                                                     (End)

Happy Fourth! Photo creds: Piper Kunst