John couldn't believe they were breaking into Tony Garrideb's flat, especially after virtually pushing the agoraphobic out and into the waiting taxi. He considered – again – why exactly it was he followed Sherlock into…
A noise checked his thoughts. Someone else was breaking in. The man didn't bother looking around, just went straight over to a corner and measured an apparently meaningful distance up and across, and began to cut into the plaster.
"I assume whatever you have hidden there is worth prison, Evans?"
He was quick, John had to give him that. It was his one clear thought as the bullet seared into his thigh. Evans had turned and fired twice even before Sherlock finished speaking.
Something crashed into the burglar's head, though John didn't register what. Then Sherlock was at his side.
"John, are you OK? Say something?" There was a world of concern in that voice.
'Sociopath, my arse' thought John, though he muttered "Just a scratch" through gritted teeth and set about staunching the bleeding.
Sherlock glared at the unfortunate Evans - just regaining consciousness - contemplating murder.
The fangirl author yawned and checked the time. Cursing, she went to find her long-suffering husband. "I know it's late, darling, but I want to post this tonight. You said you'd be my beta….?"