AN///
Guise I did a dance thing on a stage and didn't freak the f+ck out :) yay me!!!

John lay in the hospital bed, a beeping sound next to him. He felt like an injured animal, laying on the side of the road, bleeding helplessly. He knew what was happening. They'd arrest Sherlock. He'd be locked up forever. That mind...his mind... Would be enclosed up in a jail forever. John groaned painfully at the thought. His beautiful brain was ruined just to save him. He wasn't worth it.
"Yes you are." A deep voice said. John opened his eyes to see the face he knew and loved.
"Sherlock." He breathed, his ribs hurting. Sherlock put his left hand on John's cheek.
"Don't speak. I'll tell you everything in a minute." Sherlock said, stroking John's hair. "Just let me enjoy you while you can't outsmart me." He chuckled sadly.
"You'll be enjoying me for a long time then." John croaked. He winced as his throat started to burn.
There was silence for a few moments as the two boys held hands. Sherlock spoke first.
"They're not prosecuting me. They thanked me. It's plain disgusting isn't it." Sherlock spat. "They want me to find Moriarty for them, he's missing." John gasped, causing his lungs to burn. "Shh." Sherlock cooed. He paused before saying quietly: "I'm a murderer." John shook his head, closing his eyes. He was to pained to speak. But he felt Sherlock knew what he was thinking. "I am." Sherlock insisted. "I killed a man. I ended a life. My job was to prevent that..."
"Stop." John croaked. "You did it to save me. He was a Psychopath, Sherlock." Sherlock opened his mouth but was interrupted by a Greg, Molly and Mary at the door.
"John!" Mary exclaimed, tears brimming at her eyes, she ran to him and hugged him, Sherlock kept hold of his hand. "Oh my gosh look at you!" She cried. "You're all bashed up!" She sniffed and started to cry.
"Mary!" Molly said, blushing. "Not helping." She walked over to John and ran her hand through his hair. "You're so brave." She murmured to him. "And your Sherlock's a hero!"
••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••
Sherlock wrapped his coat around him, it smelt of John, as he had been wearing it the hours previous. He buried himself into the collar, he lost himself in the scent of his boyfriend. Sherlock's feet rested on the side of John's hospital bed. He was lying cozily beneath the sheets, dreaming. Sherlock was sat in the uncomfortable wooden chair, freezing his ass off while the hospital technicians tried to fix the heating. Sherlock could do it in a second, but he liked having his coat around him, it was his armour.

"You're still here?" A familiar high voice said from behind Sherlock. Molly came into view, her eyes tired and her face pale. Worried about her cousin. No such thing as sleep. Sherlock Deduced.
"Yes." Sherlock said, looking at her closely.
"Would you like to come to Ballet with me?" She asked, nervously. Sherlocks heart raced. It had been years since he had done ballet. He left at 14, when he was in grade 6, and still remembered all the dances. (Not that he ever practised them... Obviously)
"I'd love that Molly." He smiled, patting her shoulder awkwardly. "When is it?"
"Well... I don't do lessons. I just go to Baskerville Uni and muck about in the dance rooms." She blushed amazingly red, which in Molly's case was unbelievably red. "So... Now, I guess."
Sherlock looked at his John, and back to his friend. "He won't mind, will he?" Sherlock asked himself more than Molly. Molly shrugged, the fake smile still plastered on her face. Sherlock saw all she wanted to do was cry.
Sherlock left a note John's bedside table.
•Gone to Dance with Molly. Get some sleep. I love you.•
And he and Molly left.
•••••••••••••••••••••••••••••
John woke up from his hideous nightmare, screaming for Sherlock. Once he realised His boyfriend was nowhere in sight he turned on his lamp, to see a small note written in a hurry, in Sherlocks handwriting. John read the note and held it to his chest. Sherlock was capable of emotion after all. John forgot all his nightmare, and cautiously let his mind wander into a deep sleep.
#
"No no no!" Sherlock scalded. It's grande plié and then to brava!"
"Sorry!" Molly chuckled. "I'm wasn't aware Ballet meant so much to you!"
"It doesn't." Sherlock pouted, indignantly. "I was correcting you."
"You're very good!" Molly said, patting his upper arm. Sherlock shone with pride, wanting to give a compliment in return.

A flashback occurred. Sherlock was 7, maybe 8. He cowered in the corner, wailing in frustration, pain and fear, while his father flung fists at him, furious.
"You shall not tell lies Sherlock Holmes!" He had shouted, coldly.

18 year old Sherlock drew at deep breath and smiled at his friend. "You're... Getting there." He said, truthfully.
Molly smiled a tight smile, she knew that smile. All her life she'd known Sherlock, and all her life she'd known of his troubled past.
•
A/N
Whenever I look at the title of this chapter my brain just goes "Is secondary, it's time to do it now and do it loud, Killjoys... MAKE SOME NOISE" damn my killjoy brain XD
I know in the show that Sherlocks parents are practically flawless and fabulous (much like Queen Tyler) but in my book they are going to be lil shits so sorry.
#ReallyNeedALife
Sherlockian LURRRRRVE
~Izzy~