Posted originally on the Archive_of_Our_Own at https://archiveofourown.org/
works/2375720.
  Rating:
      Explicit
  Archive Warning:
      Underage
  Category:
      M/M
  Fandom:
      Sherlock_(TV)
  Relationship:
      Sherlock_Holmes/John_Watson
  Character:
      Sherlock_Holmes, John_Watson, Mycroft_Holmes
  Additional Tags:
      Teenlock, BAMF_John, Military_John, First_Kiss, First_Time, Virgin
      Sherlock, Virgin_John, Coming_In_Pants, Couch_Cuddles, Hand_Jobs, Oral
      Sex
  Collections:
      Exchangelock_"What_If"_Exchange_2014
  Stats:
      Published: 2014-09-29 Words: 6622
****** Gone Rogue ******
by testosterone_tea
Summary
     Sherlock can tell that runaway John's life at a military boarding
     school isn't doing him any favours, and offers him a place to stay.
     What he wasn't expecting was exactly how interesting John would turn
     out to be. Or how top secret this boarding school of John's really
     is...
Notes
     This was written for the Exchangelock "What If...?" Gift Exchange. My
     giftee was masked-alias!
     Their prompt was :What if Sherlock deduced that John’s home life was
     beyond terrible, and Sherlock tried to convince Mycroft to help John
     out of his bad situation?
     I know it isn't exactly what was expected. I hope you all like it
     anyway.
See the end of the work for more notes
The outside was so loud.
Inside the compound, it was always quiet. No one inside ever made a loud noise,
and even anger was carried out in silent fury. John had always thought outside
would be the same. He hadn't thought he would have to prepare for this
bombardment upon his senses.
Flashing lights, bright colours and stark contrast assaulted his eyes. The
vehicles roared past, and there was screeching, jangling and murmuring from all
around. Nothing stopped. The entire world around him was moving, at different
speeds and in different directions, for different purposes, but they somehow
all managed to work as one whole. It was absolute chaos, and somehow it worked
like a giant, infernal clock.
John hated it.
There was a space here, with grass, and a place for children to play. It was
still loud with the screams of infants and parents, and still bright. But it
was less crowded, and John could sit here without feeling completely
overwhelmed.
He was starting to consider that coming outside was a bad idea.
He had gone to so much trouble to get out, too, and now it was starting to look
as if he shouldn't have bothered.
He was still sitting there in a bit of a daze when he saw a pair of dark
leather shoes come into his line of sight and looked up.
Inquisitive eyes stared back, eyes that shifted between green, blue and grey.
They were fascinating, and John stared back at them.
"You've run away from home," the boy the eyes belonged to said.
"Yes," John said, frowning. "How did you know that?"
"Well," the boy blinked and shuffled his feet. "I suppose that technically,
you've run away from school. You attend a military academy, obviously. Your
haircut, stance and demeanor all say military. All the military schools in
London are boarding schools, and it's the middle of the day. Obviously you've
run away, because if you were on leave, you would be with family."
John smiled. "What if I didn't have any family?"
"A military academy wouldn't give you leave without cause, so if you had any
family, you would be with them. Not here, alone, in a park."
"How do you know I'm alone?" John asked, blinking.
"Please," the boy said, rolling his eyes. "You look like you have no idea how
you ended up here. Wherever you do live, it's not in London."
London. John knew where that was on a map.
"You can't tell where I'm from then?" John asked.
The boy frowned, nose crinkling up in a rather fascinating way. "No, this
school of yours has washed it all out of you."
This strange boy didn't know just how right he was.
"John," he said, and then held his hand out, because that's how he'd been
taught to do it. "John Watson."
"Sherlock Holmes."
They shook hands, and John marvelled at the feeling of long, thin fingers,
callused in odd ways against his hand. Sherlock seemed to be carrying out a
similar assessment, stopping mid-handshake to feel the calluses on John's hand.
"Strange," Sherlock said. "I could almost swear..."
"Swear what?" John asked, wondering what Sherlock could possibly read from the
feeling of his hand.
"I have to think about it," Sherlock said. "Conflicting data. I'll sort it out.
Don't tell me anything, I want to figure out what it is myself."
John just smiled, relectant to let go of Sherlock's hand.
"John, let me show you London," Sherlock said seriously.
John stood and followed him back out into the fray.
It seemed to make a lot more sense now that he was following Sherlock back
through the crowded streets. Sherlock knew how the chaos worked together, how
it seethed and ebbed. John couldn't make sense of it, but Sherlock knew. And
for some reason, John felt like Sherlock was safe.
And then, suddenly, they were no longer in the rush of people and cars, but in
narrow brick alleys piled up with refuse and hiding shadows that moved, even in
the light of day.
"People forget," Sherlock said over his shoulder. "This is just as much London
as out there."
Sherlock seemed to know these paths just as well as the ones in the open.
Sherlock paused and looked up.
"Give me a boost," he said.
John did as requested, cupping his hands and bracing it with his knee. He knew
how to do this, and he raised Sherlock up steadily. Sherlock made a sound of
triumph, and as John lowered him back down, he brought the end of a ladder with
him.
"Good, John," Sherlock said, pleased. "It would have taken me forever to get up
by myself."
Sherlock scrambled up first, John at his heels. They went up a fire escape
before jumping onto someone's balconey and then hauling themselves up onto a
rooftop.
"This," Sherlock said, "Is the best part of London."
Sherlock and John ran on roads far above the lower levels of London. Sherlock
showed John the way, and John remembered, because that's what he was trained to
do. It was novel, having somewhere other than the compound to memorize and
rememorize.
Sometime in the late afternoon, they came to a window in a house. Sherlock got
a collection of long, flat pieces of metal out of his pocket and jimmied the
lock. John was slightly worried until Sherlock poked his head out.
"This is my house."
"Oh," John said, then awkwardly fit himself through the window and climbed out
into Sherlock's room.
Sherlock's room was cluttered with books and what looked like a mad scientist's
lab. Or, what John would say was a mad scientist's lab, as he'd only seen them
in films. Sherlock looked slightly embarrassed as John looked around.
"It's a bit messy right now," Sherlock said hurriedly. "I used to have an extra
room to put all my experiments and such..."
"But then?" John asked curiously.
"My mum needed it," Sherlock said quietly. "Oh, you must be hungry. Come on."
Now that Sherlock mentioned it, John was starving. He'd been trained to ignore
it if at all possible, because, as he'd been told, food was not always a sure
thing. It was lucky that he'd found himself in a place with food on the
outside.
Sherlock shuffled around the kitchen, pulling things out of the fridge and out
of cupboards. John watched in fascination as all the separate ingredients came
together into something approximating edible. It was different. It wasn't
synthetic. And although some of the tastes were new and strange, it was somehow
more than anything John had ever tasted.
"This is..." John said, not knowing how to explain what he was experiencing.
"It's just a sandwich," Sherlock said, but looked pleased nonetheless.
When they went back up to Sherlock's room, John asked him, "What are you doing
with all that?"
Sherlock was only too happy to explain, telling John what each piece of
equipment was for, and what he was using it for.
"Brilliant," John said.
Sherlock smiled.
Night fell, and John didn't know what to do. He'd stayed with Sherlock the
entire day, but he couldn't help but wonder why Sherlock wanted him to stay so
long. Why had he decided to bring John with him in the first place? Not only
that, regular families had parents and siblings, but Sherlock was alone in this
big house. Where was everyone?
"Not here," Sherlock said, seemingly reading John's mind.
"What?" John asked in surprise.
"If you go to all these rooms, you will see evidence that they live here,"
Sherlock said. "My mum is a scientist, but she's always going on business trips
out of the country, to places she can't tell us about. And she was away so
often that my father began to feel lonely. And my brother hasn't lived here in
a long time, since boarding school."
"So you're here mostly by yourself," John said.
"Mycroft works for the government now, too," Sherlock said. "He hardly ever
visits. As for father... one of my mum's conditions was that he couldn't being
his dalliances here."
John wasn't sure what to say about that. Nobody he knew had families to have
problems with.
"You can stay here if you like," Sherlock said. "I know you've run away because
wherever you were became too much for you to handle. You can stay here as long
as you like. No one will notice."
"But why?" John asked.
"You're something I've never encountered, John. I can't get a read on you.
You're... extraordinary," Sherlock said, and even in the dimming light, John
could see the tops of Sherlock's cheeks flushing.
"I think you're extraordinary, too," John said.
Sherlock's face flushed even further, and he looked away.
"I usually don't need sleep," Sherlock said, after a while. "You can use my
bed. I will probably just stay up and carry out another experiment."
John blinked. He was tired, which was normal for him. He went to sleep and woke
up at the exact same time, but for once in his life, he felt the urge to fight
against that, to stay up and watch Sherlock experiment. It didn't matter if he
didn't understand what Sherlock was doing, just watching him was enough for
John.
"I don't have anything to sleep in," John said.
Sherlock had to go find one of his brother's shirts, because none of Sherlock's
fit John. He turned his back as John changed his clothes, although John
wouldn't have cared at all if Sherlock had seen his body. His body hadn't had
any secrets for a long time.
Sherlock got to work, and John settled down into Sherlock's bed, still watching
as Sherlock carried out his experiment. He knew that he was going to fall
asleep, even if he struggled to stay awake. He still struggled, because he
wanted to see Sherlock as long as it were possible.
He fell asleep to the gentle clinking and rustling sounds of Sherlock moving
around.
John woke up and immediately felt strange. He knew right away that he wasn't in
the barracks back at the compound. There was light coming from somewhere for
one, natural light. The space he occupied had walls that were closer together,
muffling sound rather than amplifying it.
And then he realized there was a warm, soft body wrapped up in his.
Blinking, he looked down and found his nose buried in a riot of dark curls.
Sometime in the night, they'd ended up entwined, John's arms completely
enveloped Sherlock, and his legs had gotten tangled up. He didn't remember
falling asleep with Sherlock, but here they were.
It really was very warm, and comfortable where he was, so John decided to stay
where he was. After all, extracting himself now and pretending it hadn't
happened was futile: it had still happened, whether or not it made things
difficult in the future.
A while after that, Sherlock's breathing changed as he began waking up. John
felt him go from pliant to tense and prepared to draw away.
"John?" Sherlock's voice cracked as he stirred.
"Yeah?" John said softly.
"I – I didn't mean to..." Sherlock said, taking a deep breath. "I was just
tired. I actually fell asleep on that side of the bed."
Sherlock's bed was large enough that the two of them could theoretically have
slept in the same bed without touching one another. Sherlock had somehow ended
up on John's side of the bed, and wrapped around John at that.
"That's alright," John said.
It was a bit different. John didn't think he'd been this close to another human
being before, at least, not without the intent to fight them. This was nice. He
might fall asleep again, just like this.
Sherlock shifted tentatively in his arms, inching his way closer. John sighed
and pulled him in tighter. He felt Sherlock's nose settle into the curve of his
neck, and the gust of warm air trickling over his collarbone every time he
breathed.
How did he get here? Not that he wasn't pleased that this was where he'd ended
up, but when he'd gotten out yesterday, he hadn't expected this. In fact, he'd
been so lost and afraid of the outside world that he'd nearly given up and gone
back.
Eventually, they stirred, getting up and out of bed.
"I'm supposed to be in school right now," Sherlock reported sleepily as he made
them some scrambled eggs in a pan. "But I'd much rather just stay here with
you."
"Won't they notice you're missing?" asked John.
"I'm always missing," Sherlock said, rolling his eyes. "They've given up on
trying to make me stay. My brother's worked out a deal with them, that as long
as I pass the tests at the end of the year, I can graduate."
"Then why do you bother going at all?" John asked curiously.
"You know how I told you when I first met you all those things about you that
you'd never told me?" Sherlock asked.
John nodded. Not quite correct, but very close, considering that Sherlock
couldn't possibly know about the underground compound he'd come from.
"I do that at school, too, for a fee," Sherlock said, holding his head up
proudly. "I'm honing my detective skills.
This was something that John would love to see more of, so he asked, "Can we go
today then? I'd like to see you do that again."
Sherlock flushed, but nodded.
When they arrived at the school, John couldn't help but notice the similarities
between the compound and this place where parents willingly sent their children
to learn. While it was above ground, and teachers never used force on them,
teachers still liked to use students as an example to others. The students'
movements were controlled by harsh-sounding bells. They were punished for
original thinking.
"Can my cousin sit in our class?" Sherlock asked the teacher. "He's staying
with us for a while and wanted to see what schools are like in London."
"Glad to see not all your family members are as frivolous about education as
you, Holmes," the teacher said, but allowed John to stay.
"Idiots," Sherlock mumbled to John quietly, so the teacher wouldn't hear.
"Anyone with any brains can see we're not related."
John watched the teacher teach the students math equations, and wondered what
normal people used them for. For John, being able to calculate where to set a
detonation charge to bring down a bridge was the reason he'd been made to learn
them. He couldn't imagine any of these students needing to blow up a bridge.
At lunch, Sherlock sat in a courtyard, John with him, and it wasn't long before
a girl came up to them and said, "Sherlock Holmes?"
"That's me," Sherlock said, looking down his nose at her.
"I'm told that you can help me," she said.
"Yes," Sherlock said. "I can."
She asked about the current affiliations of the rugby captain, and Sherlock
told her not to bother, because the rugby captain was gay. She sighed but
nodded.
"Try for his friend, the one he's always hanging around. He likes you."
"Oh," she said, looking surprised. "Maybe I will."
Quite a lot of people came to ask Sherlock questions. Some asked about upcoming
tests, others about relationships, and some about their parents. One boy asked
why he should believe Sherlock was telling the truth, and Sherlock deduced him
on the spot, making him stomp off in rage.
"Brilliant," John said, anytime that Sherlock unravelled another mystery.
"One day, I'm going to do this for real mysteries," Sherlock said. "Did I ever
tell you about the time I was involved in a murder case?"
Sherlock told him about the time one of the boys on the swim team drowned, and
that he'd deduced it was a murder.
"However," Sherlock said with a scowl. "The police failed to believe me, and to
this day there is a murderer out there guilty of killing Carl Powers, and he
was never brought to justice."
When they went back home, John was sad to see the day out end. Not only had he
been able to see Sherlock in action, but he was finally getting an idea of what
the outside was like, and how to navigate it. He might never go back to the
compound if he could get used to it this way.
Sherlock made them popcorn and shyly asked John if he would watch a documentary
on bees with him that night. John wondered if his family had ever bothered to
sit down and watch something together. It was sad to think he hadn't. Even in
the compound, they'd all sit down together some nights and watch something on a
projector screen.
"Of course," John said.
Sherlock was immediately enthralled with the documentary, and John was left to
get them properly settled on the couch and get a blanket to put over them, the
popcorn in between them. It wasn't the most exciting of documentaries, but
Sherlock obviously loved it. John watched his face in the dark as the screen
lit it up different colours. Nothing was more facinating to John than Sherlock.
By the time the documentary was done, the popcorn finished and the bowl
somewhere on the floor, Sherlock was all but curled up in John's lap. The next
program came on, although neither of them cared to watch it.
"John?" Sherlock asked in a hesitant voice.
"Yeah?" John whispered back, even though neither of them was watching the telly
anymore.
"There's something I've wanted to try for a while, but I've never had the
chance. Would you mind if I tried it out... on you?"
Ah, another one of Sherlock's experiments. John had actually wanted to
participate last night, when he was watching Sherlock putter around with
various test tubes and microscope slides. But he hadn't wanted to intrude if
Sherlock didn't want him to.
"Of course."
Sherlock leaned up on his knees and took John's face in his hands. He frowned,
tilting his head first one way, then the other, as if trying to figure out some
logistical issue. John waited patiently for Sherlock to decide how he was going
to carry out whatever it was he wanted to try.
John had never been more surprised in his life than when Sherlock leaned
forward suddenly and pressed their mouths together.
Their noses bumped a little, in spite of Sherlock's calculations, and their
teeth clicked together. Sherlock drew back quickly, looking a little
disgruntled.
"That wasn't very good, was it," he said, rubbing at his mouth.
For some reason, John's pulse had started pounding, and there was a squirmy
feeling in his stomach. It hadn't been very good, that was true. But he still
felt like he wanted to do more.
"It wasn't so bad," John said. "Here, you surprised me. Let's just try this a
bit slower."
They moved in together this time, hesitating every so often. John could feel
Sherlock's breath against his mouth, and for some reason, his lips seemed
super-sensitized, as if anticipating something. When they finally came
together, John couldn't help but gasp.
That was much better. John pressed their mouths together again and again, and
every time he did it, it seemed to get a little better. Sherlock had
practically climbed into his lap to get closer, to get his arms around John's
neck. John held him close and kissed Sherlock until he felt like he couldn't
breathe.
He'd seen it in movies. They'd all been told that they didn't have romance in
the compound. He'd listened, simply assuming he were incapable. They'd also
been instructed about sexual urges, and what to do about them. It had been
treated like something done by other people, outside the compound. Not them.
They weren't really people, when it came right down to it.
John had never imagined it was like this.
Sherlock was squirming around in his lap, and it was getting to be more than a
little distracting. John felt like he was burning up, but the blanket that had
been over them was on the floor.
Sherlock broke away, panting. "I think this is more than we bargained for."
John agreed, this was getting slightly out of hand. Sherlock was shivering, and
John felt a tight, throbbing feeling that was starting to ache in a strange
way. It had never been this intense before, this feeling.
Sherlock slid off his lap and leaned back on the couch. His pyjama bottoms were
tented and slightly wet at the front. Sherlock pressed his palm down over his
groin tentatively and let out a hiss of surprise. John stared, transfixed. He
could smell it, the strong musk of sexual arousal in the air, and it was making
the throb in his gut go even deeper.
"That's new," Sherlock said shakily. "I'm not sure this is going to go away on
its own."
John felt his mouth fill with saliva as Sherlock palmed himself again and
shuddered. Sherlock looked up at him in the strange light from the television
and said, "The thing is, I really want to... you know..."
John did know.
He didn't want to get up and try and walk around until the ache in his groin
went away, or to splash water on his face, or take deep breaths. Now that this
feeling was rushing around through his blood and filling him with want, he
wanted to follow this through to completion.
"John," Sherlock said, voice higher than normal. "I know I didn't think this
through properly, like one should when conducting a possibly volatile
experiment, but would you... would you please..."
John scrambled up the length of the couch and settled between Sherlock's spread
legs. The couch probably wasn't the ideal location for this, but this is where
they were. Sherlock's breathing picked up speed and hitched as John hesitantly
ran his hands up Sherlock's thighs.
He pressed his hand gently over the swell in Sherlock's pyjamas, and Sherlock
let out a whimper and curled his legs around John's waist, trying to pull him
in closer. The fabric was thin, worn, and John could tell Sherlock wasn't
wearing pants underneath them. John increased the pressure and rubbed his hand
in a circular motion. Sherlock made a sound, a bit like a mewl, and clutched at
the arm of the couch.
"J-j-john..." he cried, pushing his hips up, rutting into John's hand.
His pyjamas were beginning to get sticky and wet at the front where he was
grinding into John's hand, leaking so much he was soaking the fabric. Sherlock
couldn't control his own body's movements, shivering and writhing as John felt
him through the fabric.
It didn't take long for his movements to get more erratic and for his breath to
come in great gasps. John' rubbed a bit faster and Sherlock clutched at his
wrist.
"John, I'm – I'm – John!–"
John's groin throbbed hard as Sherlock screamed and gasped, soaking his pyjamas
with his release and writhing in ecstasy in John's lap. Sherlock reached up
with a still-trembling hand and touched John, long fingers running up the
length of his cock.
John's world went white.
When he came to, he and Sherlock were still lying on the couch, sticky and
gasping. Embarrassed, he helped Sherlock get up.
"We should get changed," he said, feeling the mess starting to cool.
"Yes," Sherlock said awkwardly.
They both changed their pyjamas and curled up in Sherlock's bed. John could
feel himself starting to become aroused again, being this close to a warm,
rumpled Sherlock.
"John?" Sherlock said, sounding embarrassed.
It turns out he needn't have worried about that, because Sherlock was in a
similar state. This time, he at least managed to get their pyjama bottoms off
before he started touching Sherlock. He squirmed close until their cocks were
rutting up against each other, and Sherlock was grabbing at his arse to pull
him closer.
They had to get cleaned up again after that, and when they fell asleep, this
time they started out wrapped up around each other.
John woke up with his cock in Sherlock's mouth.
All John's brain could scream at him on repeat was warm, wet, Sherlock's mouth.
It didn't take long to tip him over the edge with stimulation like that, and
Sherlock made a face as he wiped at his mouth.
"I thought it would taste better than that," he commented.
"Where did you learn that?" John asked, still shaking slightly in the aftermath
of climax.
"I saw it on the internet," Sherlock admitted. "It seemed like the next logical
step."
John returned the favour, and while he was down there, he saw Sherlock's furled
entrance near his chin and touched it with the tip of his finger. Sherlock
gasped, and John circled it with his fingertips, not trying to breach it, but
exploring it and watching it flutter with every touch. He was so distracted
that he didn't realize Sherlock was trying to warn him of his impending orgasm
and got a mouth full of bitter-tasting release for his trouble.
"I..." Sherlock looked shy as he said this, glancing at John and looking away
again. "I'm not sure I'm ready for the next logical step."
John kissed him, because that was fine with him.
"You taste like come," Sherlock said, but smiled.
Sherlock offered to take John to school again, obviously realizing John had
enjoyed the experience. They set out happily, still a little shy about the
whole situation, but happy nonetheless.
He was distracted. That had to have been why he missed the car coming towards
them and not stopping. Why it was Sherlock's eyes widening in surprise and
terror that made John realize the danger they were in. Without thinking about
it, John braced his body, making a shield in front of Sherlock.
The car hit him, impacting hard against his back. The front crumpled in as it
came up against an immoveable force and then flipped over John and Sherlock,
skidding to a halt halfway down the street upside down.
Sherlock stared as John checked out the damage to himself.
He was going to have one hell of a bruise tomorrow, but other than that, John
was fine. The same couldn't be said for the car, or its driver.
"I have to go," John said, because there wasn't much use trying to hide this
from the people who were probably looking for him.
"We'll go back home," Sherlock said, eyes wide.
"I can't," John said. "They might do something to you."
"They won't, not when Mycroft is my brother," Sherlock said. "I'll ask him to
help."
And then someone yelled, "Stop!"
John turned and saw the soldier. It wasn't one of them, but he was one of the
men that had been training John and his team. Whether there were that many
people out looking for John, or it was just his bad luck that he was in the
area, it didn't matter.
"Run, Sherlock," he said.
And they ran. The man behind them started shooting at them without another
warning. People behind them started screaming as bullets went everywhere.
As they ran, another soldier appeared in front of John. So yes, they had been
out in full force yesterday and it just hadn't occurred to them to search for
him in a regular public school. John slammed his elbow into the man's sternum
and disarmed him. He only had a close-range pistol, but that was fine with
John. John spun, took aim and fired.
The soldier behind them was flung backward as the bullet hit him in the
shoulder.
"Keep running, there'll be more in a moment."
They ran, and Sherlock dragged them down a side alley. John understood, and
boosted Sherlock up to reach one of the fire escape ladders. They escaped into
the hidden pathways of the rooftops. John could hear the commotion down below,
but that they couldn't figure out where he and Sherlock had gone. Not too many
people knew about this path on the rooftops.
They stopped to hide on someone's balcony, over-run with plants as the thrum of
a helicopter went by overhead, searching for them from the air.
"I was right," Sherlock said, as they waited for the helicopter to go sweep
somewhere else.
"What about?" John asked, distracted.
"It was a gun callous," Sherlock said. "When I shook your hand, it was a gun
callous, and I thought that it couldn't possible be a gun callous, because even
military boarding schools don't make their students learn combat training at
such an early age, and often enough that it would create this type of callous.
So I thought that I'd gotten it wrong, and that there was another activity I
didn't know of that would make a similar pattern. But I was right."
"It's not a regular military boarding school, no," John said. "No one knows
about it except a few people, because what they're doing isn't likely something
anyone would agree with."
"You've got some sort of experimental cyborg body," Sherlock said. "Why didn't
I notice when we were..."
"I don't know what they did to us, exactly, but our bodies are made to look
exactly like a normal person's on close examination," John said. "Probably in
case this exact situation occurred."
"But you still..." Sherlock, far from looking terrified, looked fascinated.
"Yes," John felt himself blush. "Parts of me are organic, I'm not completely a
robot."
"So, you're actually a cybernetically-enhanced super-soldier," Sherlock said.
"Yes," John said shortly. "The helicopter is gone."
They managed to get back to the house without incident. Sherlock climbed
through first on John's insistence, and then John ducked through as well.
The sight before him made John roll in front of Sherlock and draw the weapon
he'd stashed in his jeans. The man didn't look at all surprised to see either
of them, was in fact leaning against the doorframe and idly swinging an
umbrella.
"Mycroft," Sherlock said. "What are you doing here?"
John didn't lower the weapon. Sherlock's brother worked with the government,
but suddenly he wondered whether or not he knew about the project that had
turned John into what he was.
"I saw you engaging in some risky behaviour and decided to come home
immediately," Mycroft said, before looking at John. "Drop your weapon, JW-
1007."
"You know what I am, then," John said.
"I do," Mycroft said. "And I'll have you know that this place is going to be
surrounded by troops in a very short while, so I suggest you surrender and
return to base."
"If you know what I am, then you know that from this distance, I can't miss,"
John said conversationally. "And my reflexes are faster than you could ever
hope to beat."
"You're a healer unit," Mycroft said. "You took an oath."
"Yes, an oath that said if I'm threatened I am allowed to use force," John
said. "In the event that I shoot you, then I would be obligated to then patch
you up, but until someone in this room is injured, I am not under oath not to
hurt you."
"That's not very well thought out," Mycroft said, frowning, apparently
unconcerned with his immediate peril.
"It is when you consider that I was meant to be sent into combat alongside
British soldiers," John said. "If I was not allowed to defend myself or the
injured parties from enemy combatants, then we would all just be dead."
"Besides," John continued. "I'm not a robot. I'm not a computer that you can
control or program. I still have human free will and can choose to break that
oath."
"I see," Mycroft said, mouth pinching.
"I thought your name was John," Sherlock said in a small voice.
"It is," John said, tightening his grip on the gun and staring Mycroft down.
"Everyone in my unit calls me John. We all have names with JW initials, but
they are still our names. My ID card says John Watson. It makes it easier to
identify our abilities, but it does not make us less human. No one calls me by
my file number unless they truly believe that I'm an object to be used rather
than a human being with thoughts and feelings of my own."
And that was the main reason that John didn't trust Mycroft. A human being
could be reasoned with and a human life had value. If Mycroft didn't see John
as human, then he didn't believe that John's life needed to be spared.
John's gun didn't waver.
"Please Mycroft," Sherlock said from behind John. "He's not dangerous. This
isn't right at all, you know. You can't do this to people."
"He signed a waiver."
"He's still not a legal adult."
"He doesn't have parents."
"So you decided to turn him into a soldier."
"Well, not me personally."
John knew that Mycroft was actually just stalling for time with this argument.
He had no reason to believe that Mycroft would allow John to leave. John could
feel the steely jaws of the government closing in around them, and he wasn't
even certain he would still be able to escape at this point. He'd thought that
if he and Sherlock could hide out for a while, then he'd be able to sneak out
once the commotion died down. But Mycroft was here, bringing the cavalry in
behind him.
He didn't know whether or not he'd be able to get away now. He'd run straight
into a trap.
"Sorry, Sherlock," he said.
"What?" Sherlock said.
And then John shoved the gun back in his jeans, whirled around, dodged
Sherlock, and dove back out the window.
"John!" Sherlock yelled from behind him.
He couldn't drag Sherlock into this. It was John's life that was in peril, and
Sherlock didn't need to be involved in all this.
There were already helicopters waiting above the house and troops on the
ground. They spotted John as soon as he stepped out the window, and John raised
his hands. There was really no use in resisting. They'd take him back to the
compound, and he'd go back to that everyday monotony, trapped underground.
At least he'd gotten a glimpse of what the outside could be like.
And then he felt a sudden stinging sensation and waited. He'd been hit with a
sleeper dart. Not a normal one that they used on regular humans, one with a
special elixir of chemicals that would put John to sleep. Of course, even those
took several minutes to work.
All too soon, the world began to grow blurry, and just before the darkness
claimed him, he saw Sherlock's face. Sherlock had tried to follow him. John
tried to smile, and didn't know if he'd succeeded when everything faded out.
2 months later...
John sat at one of the tables in the dining hall, cleaning his gun at one of
the tables. There were a few other people sitting around doing the same thing.
It was something like camaraderie, but it seemed a bit dim now that he knew
what it was like outside these walls. John didn't know if he could keep doing
this, day after day.
He still wasn't sure for what end they were destined, but the waiting sure was
monotonous. But if he had to sit here doing nothing but clean and shoot his
gun, and practice different types of stitches on synthetic skin, he think he
might go mad.
It was an old thought, always in the back of his head these days.
"You came back different," they all said.
But not a one asked what had made him that way, no one was curious or asked him
any questions about what it was like on the outside.
John hadn't been punished for his escape, he'd just been brought back. Which,
John supposed, was punishment enough.
And then the lights cut out.
John waited until his eyes adjusted to the dark and then stood. Around him,
everyone else did much the same. Strangely, there was no announcement over the
intercom explaining what the problem was. John looked around and suddenly
realized that not only had the overhead lights gone off, nothing around them
had power.
Which meant – John went towards one of the electomagnetically locked doors and
pulled on it. It swung open, and no alarms went off.
John didn't even think, he went through.
He didn't have time to grab anything else from his room, but he didn't need
them. He'd been taught how to survive without them, so for now he'd have to do
without. For now, this might be his only opportunity to escape.
This wasn't the way he'd left last time, but he knew one thing – they were far
underground and he needed to get to the surface.
The way was obvious, as the widest hallway led him right to a set of elevators.
Also a set of stairs, and John took them, not bothering with the elevators. The
elevators had no power anyway.
It was a long way up, but John had more energy than he'd had ever since being
recaptured.
When he reached the very last level, John looked around and found a door. Was
it a door to the outside? Only one way to find out.
He twisted the knob and the door opens easily.
Sherlock was on the other side.
John nearly went down to one knee in shock, wobbling dangerously and leaning on
the doorframe to support himself.
"Sherlock..." he said, voice rough.
"It took you long enough," Sherlock said. "I thought you weren't coming."
"Sherlock, what have you done?" John asked.
"Getting you out," Sherlock replied easily, as if this entire operation had
been as simple as snapping his fingers. "Mycroft thought I wasn't going to come
after you, but as usual, he underestimated me."
John stumbled forward and grabbed onto the front of Sherlock's coat to keep
standing upright.
"You can't," John heard himself say.
How could Sherlock have done this? Surely Sherlock's brother couldn't get
Sherlock out of this one. Not when Sherlock had broken into a top secret
military base and had taken out one of those secrets with him.
And all for John.
"You know I can't go back with you to London," John said, getting his arms
around Sherlock's back and hugging him. "They'll find me in London. They'll
find me anywhere."
"I've thought of that," Sherlock said. "They won't find us. Why do you think it
took me two months to get to you? I had to make a plan to not only get you out,
but to keep you out."
"But why?" John asked. "Your future..."
"Is here, with you," Sherlock said, putting his arms around John and holding
onto him. "Trust me, I know what I've given up for this, at it was really worth
it."
John couldn't find the words to tell him how much he was grateful to be
rescued, or how much he was scared that Sherlock would regret this later.
Things weren't hard now, but the future was about to become very difficult. And
there wasn't anything Sherlock could do to change it now that he'd done it.
"We have to go," Sherlock said. "They'll figure out how to turn the power back
on any moment."
"If I go, they will consider me a rogue agent," John said.
Sherlock just smiled. "You were already a rogue agent, up here," he tapped his
temple with two fingers. "You were just trapped, and I've come to set you free.
Now, let's go."
John took Sherlock's hand, and squared his shoulders.
"Let's go, then, if you're sure."
"I am."
And they stepped out the door and into the world.
End Notes
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