The Adventure of a Haunting Past

There is a serial killer loose and this time things seem to be personal. At the same time things get increasingly complicated between the two friends. Warnings issued for a spot of violence and a pinch of slash, John/Sherlock.

Prologue: First thing first.

03.00 A.M.

This was the maddest, craziest, most brainless idea Sherlock had ever had. And that was saying something since his ideas in general would make most sane people cry tears of blood. But if this was the case, then why had John let Sherlock lure him into this?

He should just have said: "No Sherlock this is a terrible idea let's stay home and watch Never mind the buzzcock on telly with a nice cup of tea. A nice relaxing, safe night in and if you get bored we can juggle some explosives."

But he hadn't. As always Sherlock's calm reasoning had won him over in the end and now here he was; feeling like a fish on dry land.

John took a sip on his drink, it was green. Why would anyone want to drink something that was green anyway? It is such a vile colour. He had tried to order a pint of bitter but the young bartender hadn't been able to hear him over the insane noise of the night club and in the end had just given him this green sludge. It even tasted horrible, sickly sweet. But Sherlock had said to blend in, so drink it he did.

He was starting to feel a bit tipsy, this was their fourth club for the evening and he hadn't had time to eat anything before Sherlock dragged him out on their resent quest. Feeling utterly bored with this John wondered where the man himself had gone. He scanned the crowd trying to spot either Sherlock or the man they were trying to locate.

Their target for the evening was, according to Detective Inspector Lestrade, working London's night life selling some drug that looked like cocaine but put the user in a coma. After which he, as Donovan had expressed it, sliced and diced until there wasn't much left. The police had been tearing their hair out over the case and they had, after the second victim, asked for help from the worlds only Consulting Detective; Sherlock Holmes. And since where Sherlock went, John followed, here he was. Trying to find one nasty serial killing drug seller in the vast and trawling London night life; he felt like he was looking for a needle in a stack of needles.

They had been on the case for the last couple of days already, being led in circles, John had gotten too little sleep and Sherlock had been his best hyper active self, eyes gleaming and hands drawing huge circles in the air. Tonight he had assured John, the net was closing in and they were on the man's trail. He hoped deeply this would be over soon, the murderer captured and locked away.

John forgot himself and took another sip of his drink, almost chocked and went back to what was his job this evening; keeping a lookout for anything suspicious.

He let his gaze drift over the crowd milling about. The place was huge; six dance floors the girl in the wardrobe with spiky blue hair had told them. That was apparently very impressive as far as these things went. None of the other places they had visited that night was even close to this size; this place felt like a world in itself. In this dark place other laws rules and in the safety of mass people threw away their inhibitions and lost themselves to the night.

There was a steady bas beat thumping, the kind you could feel in your entire body luring you away to faraway places. On the dance floor in front of him the young and hip that only came out at night were moving to the music, their bodies sleek from sweat and taking on strange shapes as the different coloured lights swept over their heads. The place smelled of pheromones, alcohol and sweat; like a piece of metal wrapped in silk.

"What is that vile thing in your hand?" John jumped as Sherlock suddenly stood beside him, one slim elbow resting on the bar and restless eyes scanning the crowd.

"I didn't catch its name but the bartender assured me this is what's in the vogue at the moment. It tastes a bit like apples."

Sherlock just gave him one of those wry looks he had mastered to perfection and John wondered how he could be wearing a suit in a place like this and yet not look out of place. John himself had rarely felt as ill-fitting as he did here; thankfully the drinks had taken away the worst edge on the uncomfortable feeling.

"He is here."

"Who? The killer?" John realised Sherlock didn't mean right beside them but he couldn't help looking around him, this was one nasty chap they were after.

"Yes off course, that is why we are here after all." Sherlock had to lean down to scream in John' ear to be heard over the pounding music.

"And here I was thinking we were out dancing," John said and took the opportunity to rid himself of the horrible beverage. When he turned back Sherlock was looking at him quizzically.

"I didn't take you as the dancing type?"

"A joke Sherlock, it was a joke." Sherlock just did that tiny shake with his head, flinging the dark curls back.

"If you are done joking can we get back to the case...," He didn't wait for an answer or finish the sentence but suddenly fixed his gaze on something and taking a steady grip on John's upper arm pulled him along straight into the dancing crowd.

"There, the man with the dark polo shirt, do you see him?" Sherlock hissed in his ear.

John tried to see where Sherlock was pointing at the same time as he attempted to make apologetic gestures to the people they pushed out of their way as Sherlock pressed a pat through the horde of revealers. He finally turned around as he managed to free himself from Sherlock and careful not slip on the wet floor looked where Sherlock pointed.

"He is going up the stairs now." And John saw him, a nasty looking fellow, closed cropped hair, crooked lips and ears that made him look like a pugilist who had taken one beating too many. Moreover, he was wearing too much clothes compared to the average club goer.

"I see him."

"Good, you follow behind him and I will move around and cut him off from the other side. Do not let him notice you. We need to catch him with the substance on him; otherwise Lestrade won't be able to make an arrest. And don't engage him, he is dangerous." Before John had time to argue Sherlock was lost in the crowd, his slim figure hidden by a moving wall of flesh.

"Don't let the crazy psycho killer spot you, easy for you to say," John muttered to himself as he started towards the stair but it got drowned out in an ear deafening roar as hundreds of people shouted in approval to something the DJ had said over the speakers. The frenzy reached new heights as people threw their arms up in the air and the beat started up even more intense than before. He managed to escape the dance floor just in time; one more second and he might have been lost in the delirium of the crowd forever.

John reached the stairs and dragging a hand along the painted concrete wall he started up after their goal. He shook his head trying to clear it, he wished he hadn't had those drinks, but it had been the only way to stay awake. The wall was cool against his hand and wet from condensation. He ran the last steps not wanting to lose his target from sight.

Once up he found himself on another of the six dance floors, this one with a darker clad audience, he could still feel the music in his body from the big dance floor downstairs but now it was fighting for his attention with something industrial and electronic.

He spun around, where had the man gone? He searched the crowd and a sudden odd movement in the corner of his eye caught his attention. There, a dark figure was leaving the room on the other side, how had he got there so quickly? John raced around the edge of the dance floor not wanting to go in the middle of what seemed like more or less friendly fighting going on; people throwing themselves at each other laughing and then doing it all over again. In the flickering lights from the strobes he almost missed the exit and had to stop himself short, just avoiding tripping over a youngster with a red Mohawk.

After a small, black painted hallway he entered a more dimly lit and quieter part. Music still streamed out of hidden speakers but it was slower, less aggressive and the bar less occupied. The ceiling was low giving a small and cramped feeling and none where dancing. Instead people stood in small clusters talking or lounged on big sofas. He slowed down; eyes trying to see in every direction at once, but the place looked like a mace; pillars and walls making it impossible to get an overview. He started off in a random direction, swearing to himself, how was he supposed to find the man in this?

He rounded the bar and almost tripped over a couple in deep embrace leaning back against the wall. He made a hushed apology that they utterly ignored. He supposed he should text Sherlock but the odds that he would notice in this place were next to zero and he didn't want the man to get away. Who knew, maybe this was the place he had planned to take his next victim. John was high on adrenalin and the excitement that he preferred to pretend he did not need was pumping through him.

He continued deeper into the mace, trying his best not to stare at the people in various states of undress standing about. On one occasion he was sure he spotted the man ahead of him, dark polo shirt just disappearing behind a corner but when he ran up, he couldn't see anyone. It was starting to freak him out and suddenly it struck him that perhaps he was being toyed with. Was the murderer leading him on in this dark mace, did he know he was being followed? In this place no one would hear him scream.

He was sweating cold now but he refused to give up. He should phone Sherlock though he realised, he could use the help and he wasn't stupid after all. He pulled out his phone. It had 15 missed calls and two texts, all from Sherlock –Shit- was the only word John could think. He opened the first text.

Get out now! He knows we are after him.

And the second

John answer your phone! Killer knows we are here, get out

John carefully put the phone back in his pocket, his hands were shaking slightly he noticed with a sort of faraway logic which also told him that he was afraid. This was not good, not good at all.

He was lost in a bloody mace in London's largest night club with a killer who quite likely had at least one if not several knifes on his person, and by the look of the victims knew perfectly well how to handle them. Those boxer's ears probably meant he wasn't that bad in a standard knuckle fight either.

He started to slowly back away, but then how did he know the killer wasn't behind him? The lighting was low and now he thought he saw shadows moving everywhere, vicious shapes out to get him, to slice and dice at him until there was nothing left. He focused on the pounding from the music. A steady background noise, loud enough to make the walls shake slightly and right now he was glad for it. The beat, in sync with his heart calmed him in a weird sort of way.

He turned around and almost lost his new found tranquillity as someone was walking straight towards him. But this man was someone else, slim and obviously drunk, holding on to the wall as he walked. He was wearing nothing on his upper body and big chains circling narrow hips, the other hand trying to wipe away a strand of long black hair. Or, John thought confused, he was waiving the military sign for take cover, but surely that was his own mind playing tricks on him?

But then maybe not he realised, that thin, still red, scar from the clavicle down he had cleaned and stitched himself. The next moment Sherlock was upon him, pulling at his arm and showing him into a small indentation in the wall pressing him further in as he showed him up against the wall. His taller stature leaning down and when John, still in a confused daze, tried to ask where he had been and why he was dressed like this he covered John's mouth with his.

John's brain, which normally functioned quite satisfactory, short circuited, it simply took this opportunity to be elsewhere. John's body on the other hand did what it normally did when someone kissed him, it kissed back. His lips parted slightly as Sherlock pressed towards them, his tongue licked John's lips sending shivers to the rest of his body and his mouth opened on its own accord all the way and he leaned into the kiss. Lips meeting his lips, tongue meeting his tongue.

Hands trailed up his sides, one stopping at his waist doing circles over his shirt and the other came up to his chin, forcing his head slightly to the side, long fingers on his cheek and in his hair, sending shivers through his body. John's hands travelled up a naked back, over scars he by now knew by sight but hadn't touched, not like this. Sherlock's skin was warm and dry and he could feel the muscles underneath.

He might have moaned, but he wasn't sure, as Sherlock pressed him further into the wall, hips grinding towards his, hands travelling down stroking over his hips, pulling him towards him. Lips and tongue never stopping, hot breath meeting his.

John wasn't sure how long they stood there, hungry mouths and hands going everywhere, the rest of the world forgotten in that very basic and human need to touch and be touched. To feel another human respond to your fingers, shiver under your caress. It had been a long time since John had been this physically close to anyone and he had forgotten the sheer pleasure and comfort it was possible to find in another's embrace.

Suddenly the spell broke as Sherlock pulled away picking up his phone raising it to his ear.

"Yes," a small pause.

"Yes, I have him."

Sherlock grew quiet again as the person on the other side said something.

"Off course," And then he hung up.

John's brain took this opportunity to return from its extended holiday. What was going on? He looked as Sherlock pocketed the phone and turned his gaze back to John, he could see his lips, slightly puffy and still wet and suddenly he forgot what he had meant to say.

"That was Lestrade, one of his goons spotted our guy leaving just this second so we are safe for now."

"Lestrade?" John managed to squeeze out.

"Yes, I phoned him when you didn't answer my calls."

"Where did you get those clothes, not to mention a wig?" John knew he was stalling but he needed time to think, some seconds to try and process what had just happened. However, trying to outthink Sherlock was like trying to stop a tsunami with a piece of string and a paper clip.

"It is surprising what people are prepared to do if you offer them a tailored suit in trade," He turned away: "Come now we have a killer to catch" John saw him start of down towards the exit and he managed to compose himself enough to follow.

As they ran down the stairs, two steps at a time Sherlock turned to him:

"Good reflex by the way, I was a bit short on the options in trying to hide you. Had to do the best in the situation but I was afraid you would struggle giving yourself away to the murderer. But seems I underestimated you," Sherlock gave him a nod that John dimly thought was meant to show approval.

"With this intuition we will make a consulting detective out of you in no time."

They exited the club and John followed Sherlock up to a, quite clear to anyone, undercover police vehicle. As they closed in on it the rear doors slid open and Lestrade came out to meet them.

"Everything alright?" He asked taking Sherlock's strange outfit in a stride.

"Indeed, nothing happened, John is as good as new."

Lestrade motioned them to come inside the van and as John entered he smiled at him, "Glad to see nothing happened to you Doctor, would have hated to have you lying in our morgue."

Nothing had happened? John looked over at Sherlock as he threw away the wig, muscles playing under the skin of his still naked torso. He was giving steady instructions to the driver through the metal grid that separated the two compartments. John took hold on one of the handles hanging from the roof as the van rolled into motion. He watched Sherlock's profile trying to untangle a very strange sensation in his stomach.

"You ok?" Lestrade leaned in, questioning look in his eyes.

"Yeah."

"Yeah," The second time it came out a bit more believable and he even nodded with it. Off course he was fine, after all nothing had happened.

More coming soon! If you liked it please leave a comment, will inspire me to update so much faster=).