"Mrs. Hudson has been shot."

It didn't take much more than that to get him racing back to the flat. The voice on the other end of the call explained that she was in critical condition and she was on her way to hospital. He had to get her things and meet her there. It would be dreadful if she woke up all alone.

His muscles ached after he slammed the door on Sherlock. It wasn't like him to be so cavalier about someone he presumably cared about. There was something wrong with him and there wasn't time to hash it out. Mrs. Hudson needed him at her side whether Sherlock decided to come or not.

As he raced down the hallway towards the entrance, John tripped on a soda bottle that had fallen from the bin. It was a spectacular fall with arms flailing and his entire body thudding on the ground. He tried to breathe but the wind with knocked out of him. This was not what he needed.

"Shit," he muttered as he pulled himself up. He felt the side of his head and the side of his hand had bits of blood dripping down. Of course he'd cut himself. What else could go wrong?

As badly as Mrs. Hudson needed him, she'd be much more frightened if he showed with an open wound. He was at a hospital—a bandage wouldn't take long to find. He ducked into the closest empty room and began to rummage through the drawers. There were cotton balls and pads of paper and finally, after what felt like an eternity, there were bandages.

He ripped open two and slapped them on the side of his head until the bleeding seemed to slow to a dull roar. There'd be time for proper medical procedure later.

As he left the room, he heard another door open. The area of the hospital was supposed to be empty—that was the reason they had been in there in the first place. The only person that was around was…

He couldn't believe what he was seeing. Sherlock, who had mere moments ago proclaimed he was far too busy to help his dying friend, was now briskly walking down the hall like he was late for a meeting.

Every fiber in his being told him to chase after Sherlock and tell him off. Someone had to explain to Sherlock that it wasn't acceptable to simply do whatever you pleased every moment of the day. But he stopped himself from shouting out—something told that he should follow Sherlock. There was something odd happening and he needed to figure out what that was and quickly.

John stayed far behind Sherlock as he walked the length of the hospital and headed towards the stairwell. It was as he reached for the handle to the stairwell that Sherlock finally looked around to see if anyone was around. John hardly had an instant to hide behind an open door.

On tip toes he raced behind him and got in the stairwell, positive it would only be a matter of seconds before he was discovered. He gently walked up the metal stairs all while clinging close to the railing. He felt ridiculous but his gut told him that he to continue. Something important was at the end of the journey.

It was at the third floor that he felt the rope wrap around his throat.

The yank of it nearly toppled him to the floor but the attacker kindly pushed John against the railing where he grabbed on for dear life. The brittle strands of the rope dug into his skin and, bit by bit, cut of his airway. He could feel his body grow weaker by the second.

"Sherlock!" he groaned but his voice was far too slight and Sherlock was two flights away.

Just as he was about to pass out he was shoved against the wall. The attacker released the rope but simply pressed a gun against the side of his head. "Let's go," the man said.

"Where?" John asked, his voice hoarse and croaky.

The man didn't answer. He placed a phone to his ear and muttered, "Got the doctor."

He was shoved down the rest of the stairs and out the door that had just come through. Sherlock didn't know he was here, no one did, and now he was going to die in the middle of a hospital.

"Get in the elevator," the man said as he pressed the gun more deeply into John's head.

He didn't argue. There was no use. The man had another gun in his holster and other men in the building that he was communicating with. John's only hope was for Sherlock to somehow intuit that he was in danger and that was wishful thinking, even with Sherlock involved.

With his hands up in surrender, John walked into the elevator. Immediately the man pressed for the highest floor. That appeared to be where Sherlock was headed. Maybe it wasn't so ridiculous after all. Maybe it wasn't a lost cause.

John's heart dropped the moment the doors opened. All he saw was the long black coat and the shimmer of black shoes under the fluorescent lights. Sherlock was feet from the rooftop access door. He was unconscious but didn't appear beaten.

"What did you do to him?" John asked.

The man pushed him ahead. "Shut up."

"Is he alive?" John asked.

The man smacked John in the back of the head with the gun. "He's fine. Keeping walking."

He was pink. He was breathing. There wasn't any blood. It was a good sign. John rubbed the back of his head as they walked through the rooftop doors. The bright light of morning attacked his senses.

John stepped out onto the roof with cautious steps. Why had Sherlock been so keen to get up here? What was happening that was so important as to hold John hostage and bring him to the roof at gunpoint.

"John…" a voice said in the distance.

He felt his whole body tense as the man spoke.

"So nice to see you again."

Those dead eyes. That snarling smile.

"Why?" John asked.

"Why?"

"Yes," he said as the anxiety began to crescendo. "Why are you doing this?"

"And what am I doing?"

"You knocked him unconscious," John said.

"Oh Sherlock," he said. "He'll be fine. Ten minutes tops. I just needed to distract him a bit—he's a hard man to sidetrack."

"Sidetrack?"

He walked closer to John and came in close, too close. "I wanted you. I settle for Sherlock but I want you."

"I don't have anything you want."

Moriarty snarled at the thought. "Yes you do."

John held his tongue.

Moriarty tapped his finger against John's chest. "You have his heart."


This isn't going to be a long story but I wanted to split it up so it gets updated more often!

What does Moriarty have in mind? What will John do to save Sherlock's life?