A/N: Hi everyone! This is going to be an actual story, not just oneshots. Enjoy :). Oh yeah, this switches perspectives (between John and Sherlock) quite a bit, so try to pay attention.

"Run, John!" And so he did. He ran as fast as he could, his breath coming in raggedy gasps. John was running so fast that he didn't see the body, lying in wait. He didn't see the gun pointed at him, or the bullet hurdling towards his chest.

"John…?" Sherlock didn't see his blogger anywhere. And then he realized where the gunshot had come from. "NOOO!" Sherlock sprinted back into the alley, not caring how much trash he stepped in.

His chest hurt so much…it was burning with a searing pain…worse than a thousand suns…he was slowly losing consciousness…

"John! NO! Don't die, please, please, please…" A tear trickled down his face. Sherlock called 911 and began the CPR process. Obviously just pumping his chest wouldn't work…Sherlock leaned in and dispersed air into John's lungs.

John's eyelids fluttered open. He felt Sherlock squeezing his hand and telling him to just hold on until the ambulance came.

Sherlock was crying for real when the ambulance came. He watched as they loaded John onto a bright orange stretcher. The paramedics let Sherlock sit in the back with John. He held John's rough, weathered hand all the way to the hospital, absentmindedly stroking it with his thumb. Once in the hospital, Sherlock kissed the sleeping John softly. "Please stay."

John felt himself waking up. He was surrounded by white and a sterile stench. Where was he? Why did…FUCKING GOD OW…his chest hurt so badly? I was shot…Sherlock and I were running and then someone ambushed me. Where was Sherlock? Was he hurt too? No…he…did he kiss me? If he did, it felt…exhilarating. "S-Sherlock?" He croaked.

Sherlock's head snapped up. "John? Are you awake?" The detective's eyes were still red from crying.

"Yes." John decided not to mention the kiss. It might have been the drugs screwing with his head. "Am I going to be okay?"

Sherlock almost started crying again. John looked so innocent…like a child with cancer who didn't know they were receiving a death sentence. "I…I don't know. The bullet missed your heart but…" His sentence trailed off. Haha. How ironic. He had been in this position not that long ago, but he had been the one laying on the hospital bed. And they had both gotten wounds to the chest, nearly missing the heart. The detective must have accidentally laughed out loud, because John had an odd look on his face. "I'm sorry it's just…this is so ironic, because three months ago, I was the one lying in the hospital bed."

"Ahh…" And Mary had put him there. Mary! Where was Mary? "Where's Mary?"

"Mary is…" He had totally forgotten about Mary. How she was the one who had shot his precious John, how they had dragged her away.

"Is what?" A look of shock came over John's features. "She shot me, didn't she? Just like she shot you."