A Righteous Return - AU - Locked to seaweed_writes

[ihadabadday]

Once Upon a Time in a kingdom far away and filled with magic and dragons, there was a King and his Wizard. Together they did great things, bringing peace to the world and to its people. They were the best of friends, as close as any two men could be. Until one day the King was gravely injured defending his Wizard...

He gasped as the arrow struck his shoulder. Just between the gap in his armor. Too low to be anything but fatal. He knew that. But he was the King of England. He wielded Excalibur. He would not go down with out a fight. Of course /he/ would call him foolish for this. For defending him in this way. He was a sorcerer, a wizard, after all.

His knees gave out as the blood loss started to affect him. He barely noticed as strong arms came around him.

"It's okay." He assured the man, "You'll be okay. If... I'll return." He coughed a bit, feeling the pain. But it was all okay. His friend. His Wizard was alive. He pressed Excalibur into the man's hands.

"Return this to the Lady of the Lake. Please. It needs to be safe." He knew what would happen if it was in the wrong hands.

He didn't have much time. He knew that. He reached up and touched his Wizard's face. "Find me again." He managed before he closed his eyes, arm falling limply to his side.

The King of the Brits, of England, was gone.

---

John shot up in bed, gasping for breath. He pressed a hand to his face and took a deep breath. Another nightmare. So many had piled up over the years. Loosing Arthur, the two Great Wars. Even recent events were enough to make him frightened. He got out of bed and walked over to the window. After opening the blinds, he stared out at the blinking lights. Albion had changed so much in recent time. Just the past hundred years alone. He let out a sigh.

There had been one time in all these years the had started to feel Arthur return. During the second Great War... The need for him was great then than it had been years earlier during the first. He pressed a fist to the window and sighed. "Arthur, we need you..." There was the unspoken, I need you. It was always unspoken. He had never dared tell the King. He couldn't, not when he had a Queen that adored him so and who he adored in return.

He let out a long held breath and looked back out to the night sky. He didn't need this flatshare, but it was convenient to be around people again.

---

He had been living with Sherlock Holmes for three months now. Just long enough to know he could stand the man, but not long enough to really know how he felt about the man. Other than... Okay.

John had left Sherlock lying on the couch when he went off to work. The A&E. He loved working in emergency medicine. He could help people and keep an eye out for Arthur and the Knights.

Of course, this was the day when a psych patient broke out and started to wave a scalpel at everyone. John stepped in front of a nurse only to get stabbed in the neck. He put his hand up to press against the wound, trembling. Oh, shock. He slowly sunk to the ground as he heard his coworkers starting to swarm.

And it was about fifteen minutes later that Sherlock's mobile started going off.

Comments

[seaweed_writes]

The actual spell doesn't take long, and it seems to take a lifetime. When it is done, John collapses in a heap on the floor. Carefully, Sherlock lifted John into his arms and carried him to their bed, tucking him in tightly.

He yelled down to Greg to start the watch and that he was relieved of duty, then went back to the bedroom and looked over John. He appeared to be sleeping peacefully, but there was a fine sheen of sweat on his brow.

Oh so gently, Sherlock wiped the sweat from his brow and settled into his watch. He had his computer to give him something to do, but more often than not, he found that he couldn't concentrate, he was too worried about John.

The hours passed so slowly, but he never slept, never ate, never left John's side except to use the loo a few times, and even then he kept the door open and was in there as little time as he could be.

He paced, he sat, he worried, he pondered, he planned for the worst, plotting escape routes and backup plans and backup plans to those backup plans

But nothing ever came to fruition. It was 49 hours, 36 minutes, and 10 seconds after he collapsed that John came to and groggily sat up in bed.

"John." Sherlock's voice was harsh from lack of use and his parched dry throat. "You need food, and water. I knew you would be awake soon, so I took the liberty of ordering your favorite Indian food. And I have some water here on the counter. Take a few sips but not too much at first."

Even though Sherlock was parched and his throat dry, he held up the glass and gently put it to John's lips, not even thinking of himself, only ever of John.

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He gratefully drank the water. John hated how weak he felt. After a bit, he looked at Sherlock and touched his hand. "You look like hell. Get some rest." He told the other man.

John was glad that Sherlock had stayed by his side. But he never wanted it at the Expense of his flatmate's health. But he also knew there was no arguing with Sherlock.

[seaweed_writes]

Sherlock was exhausted. He had stayed up two or three days in a row for a case before, but that was mostly before John, when he used cocaine to help him through those long hours.

Now, he didn't want to think about the temptation. It had been there, as he sat and waited and John slept. But he hadn't succumbed. He was stronger than that, he had to believe it.

"You need food." He didn't even give John a ressponse, just sat the glass down on the bedside table where John could reach it and went to the kitchen. He warmed up John's Indian food, then brought it to him, setting it on his lap with a towel under it so it wouldn't burn him.

"Eat, John."

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John took the meal from Sherlock and smiled at him. "Thank you. Are you going to eat?" He asked.

There was still much they didn't know about one another. But he was going to stay by Sherlock. Stand by him. God help him, but he knew he loved this man. This brilliant, amazing man.

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Sherlock shook his head. "You need to worry about yourself, John. You just expended a lot of energy." He was silent for a few minutes, letting John eat before he continued his thought.

"Did you feel any other.. awakenings? Are there other knights that are close, in London?"

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He paused in eating his butter chicken and closed his eyes. After a moment he looked at Sherlock.

"There are a handful of points. It will take a bit for them to wake. I cannot tell who yet, as my magic is still weak."

[seaweed_writes]

"And as you use it more, your magic will strengthen." He said, more of a comment than a question. "A bit is a very imprecise amount of time. Can you be a bit more specific than.. a bit and a handful of people?"

Sherlock craved knowing what was going on, knowing all of the pawns that were in play on the field, but right now, he needed more data. John was being unintentionally obtuse, and while Sherlock knew it wasn't his fault, it was very frustrating to have no more information than he did 48 hours ago when John started his spell.

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John looked at him. "I know. But it's drained right now. Which is part of the reason I can't tell you anything more." He answered.

He finished his food and set it to the side. "Give me about twelve hours and I should be able to tell you more. But for now I need to use the loo."

He got up and on unsteady legs made his way to the bathroom. John shut the door and looked at himself in the mirror. There was an amber tinge to his eyes. Well shit. John was struck with a vision. The knights, all of them, laying dead and Arthur, his Arthur, laying with Excalibur sticking out of his chest.

John stumbled back from the sink and collapsed against the wall.

[seaweed_writes]

There really wasn't anything Sherlock could do or say, so he just let John wobble towards the loo and shut the door. He sighed and ran a hand across his face. Well, he'd cocked that up nicely. John didn't sound too happy with what he had said, thought Sherlock wasn't sure why. He never did understand how others felt.

He was still pondering what he had said when he heard a crash in the loo. In a heartbeat, he was up and to the door in a couple of long strides. He jerked the door open- thankfully he had closed it but not locked it and found John against the wall- he had knocked over some items on the sink.

Sherlock ignored them and kneeled by John, running his hand through his hair. "John. John. What is it?" He looked like he was a million kilometers away, just staring out into blank space.

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He snapped back to reality and looked up. Panic was obvious on his face. Oh god. He then realized that Sherlock was here. He was here. Swallowing, he grabbed onto Sherlock and held him tightly.

"I... Morgana found me." He whispered, "She gave me a vision of your knights slain and you dying with Excalibur through your chest." He gasped.

"Oh god. I'm not strong enough to face her right now."

[seaweed_writes]

John looked positivly wrecked, and it sent a violent shiver of fear bursting through Sherlock's body. He had never, ever seen John so afraid before.

"It's just a vision." He said, wrapping his arms around John and holding him tightly, rocking very slightly back and forth. "It isn't a prediction, or a sure sign of what is to come. She is just playing on your fears."

He held his lover closer to him, running his hand through the sandy hair and gently kissing his sweaty brow. "You may not be strong enough to face her alone right now, but you are not alone. You have me. You will always have me, John. I will never leave your side. You are mine, and I am yours. Forever."

[ihadabadday]

John clung to Sherlock, taking deep breaths to calm himself down. God. He was a wreck. How could he protect Sherlock like this?

The blonde pulled back and smiled at Sherlock. He touched his cheek. "I love you."

[seaweed_writes]

"John. It's alright. You are facing a very powerful foe. You shouldn't have to face her alone, and you won't. We also have our brave Sir Galahad to help us." He saw how John was judging himself and tried his best to help calm his lover down.

"And I, you, my powerful wizard." He smirked, then kissed John full on the lips. "Whatever is coming, we face it head on, together. We are more powerful than the sum of our parts, and I know that we can defeat any foe."

[ihadabadday]

He melted at this kiss and returning of the sentiment. John smiled. "God. You're amazing." He whispered. Really couldn't help himself at all.

John wanted to touch and see all of Sherlock. Hear him gasp and beg. But no doubt his lover would say no.

[seaweed_writes]

For someone who was as verse as reading people as Sherlock was, it was easy to see the desire written all over John's face. His deep blue eyes were dark, his breath short. But he was worried that John was still too weak for anything physical.

"Lay back." Sherlock put his hand on John's chest, splaying his fingers out and gently pressing him back down towards the bed. "You need to rest. I can take care of you."

[ihadabadday]

"B... But what about you?" He asked as he allowed himself to be pushed back. John's mind was starting to bugger off as he thought about Sherlock.

Those fingers and mouth. God damn it. He was wrecked for anyone else, ever.

He shifted a bit, feeling himself grow hard.

[seaweed_writes]

Sherlock shook his head. "I already told you that you need to worry about yourself, John. Need I repeat myself again?" He chided John, but there was no venom behind it.

He pulled John's shirt off, tossing it off the bed. It gave him full access to his chest, and he took advantage of it. Sherlock leaned down and licked at John's nipple, sucking at it until it became hard, then he moved to the over one, and gave it a similar treatment.

"John." He said low, almost a growl.

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Oh god...

John dropped his head back, gasping. Christ. What was he going to do with this man. This amazing, ridiculous man. He reached out and ran a hand through those gorgeous curls.

Yes.

He shuddered and gave a small moan. Yes. Oh yes. "Sherlock..."

[seaweed_writes]

"Yes, John?" Sherlock asked with a smirk, knowing that it hadn't been a question. "If you have something to say, then say it now."

As he spoke he trailed his hand down John's chest, over his stomach, still mostly toned with just the tiniest hint of softness to it, and to the waistband of his trousers, where he played with the button and flies, but he didn't undo it yet.

[ihadabadday]

"Please. Anything..." he begged.

John shuddered and squirmed a bit. Fuck. He wanted and wanted. Sherlock was good. So good. He shook his head and panted. Fuck. Dear god.

[seaweed_writes]

"Anything?" Sherlock asked, almost purring. He played with John's trousers for a moment more, before he finally undid the button and flies, but he didn't pull the trousers down yet. Instead, he reached in and rubbed the palm of his hand against the tented front of John's pants.

"Hmmm. It seems like we have a bit of an issue here, don't we?" He asked with a smirk.

[ihadabadday]

John groaned when Sherlock touched him. Oh god. Maybe he was much too weak to do anything but lie here... But it felt so good.

"Sherlock... Don't stop. Please." He begged.

[seaweed_writes]

"Never." Sherlock leaned up and whispered in John's ear.

He pulled his hand out of John's trousers, but only long enough to pull them and his pants down at the same time, not all the way off his legs, but halfway down, so John was stuck where he was, totally at Sherlock's mercy.

"So many things I could do.." He purred. Lick, bite, suck, rub, jerk, or.. nothing." He teased, even though he had just said that he wouldn't stop.

"Oh, what should I do?" He put on a fake sound of despair, as if he couldn't choose, but the smile on his face showed that he knew exactly what he wanted to do to this man.

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He shivered at that single world. He knew it meant more than the sex, but oh... John swallowed and shifted. Oh he wanted and was so hard and trapped.

John whined. "Sh... Sherlock. Anything. Anything at all." He gasped.

[seaweed_writes]

His kisses we soft and gentle, starting around John's still peaked nipples and moving down the sparsely haired chest, over his stomach, and down the small trail of curly hair that led from his belly to the next of hair between his legs.

Sherlock nuzzled into it, taking in his musky scent, it was tea and antiseptic and wool sweaters and JOHN.

It was all John.

He groaned softly at the smell, unconsciously rubbing his still clothed length against the bed, rutting as he used every single one of his senses to catalog John.