This is a fic for my friend Becca, loves you!

Anyway, So this is a Sherlock AU where the fall never happenes, and instead, John ran away. Its really angsty for the first bit, but it gets better, and fluffier. Hope you enjoy!

Summary:

Jim lay dead infront of him, another man he'd sentenced to death at the point of a gun. John stood for a moment, shocked into unmoving, unthinking silence. Uncomfortable and eerie, standing in the blood of another man. Then, John did the only thingng he knew how to do, he ran. He ran out othe war, out of his head, out of everything. John ran so far that even the great Mycroft Holmes could not find him. He ran until the day when he found himself face to face with the place where he belonged. For John, in running, had gone toward the only thing he had that had ever made sence. And so, unwittingly, John had run in a circle, a circle that led him right back to Sherlock Holmes.

3 years after the shooting:

John was working as a police officer in South Africa. He was currently seated in the head of a cruser, responding to his first assignment in this regement, a routine car-jacking. He and his partner, officer Stacy, sped down the empty highway, 50 kilometers out of the city, with still another 20 to go at least. The police helecopter sped infront of them, keeping contact by occasionally buzzing through the staticy police radio. John tried to keep his focus on the road, which was hard when he wasn't driving, but he could not force himself to speak with the officer by his side, who looked and sounded a little too much like Lestrad, either. He gazed out the front window, at the black pavement illuminated by the flashing police lights. The landscape was whirring by his passenger window, making his vision blur and his head spin. The last time he'd driven this fast...

The car shot down the highway, out of London, leaving the blood, the cops and his life in the rear veiw mirror. John pressed his foot down harder on the gas, if that was possible, and hit his forehead to the steering wheel, not daring to close his eyes, fearing the images of Jim's face that would be imprinted on the backs of his eyelids. He took a few steading breaths and brought his head up to watch the road. He was about 2hours outside of London at this point, his adrenaline running too high to let him stop driving. But he would eventually have to sleep, and eat. Shit. Sherlock and Mycroft were going to be looking for him everywhere. He pulled his wallet out of his pocket, picking out his credit card, and rolling down the window to throw out the rest. He would get rid of the creditcard after he hit an ATM.

John had stopped in a little town to get a coffee and visit a bank machine. As he unloked the doors of the blue car, he was aware that he would need to be rid of it soon, seeing as it was stolen proporty, but he decided to keep it until he could get a laptop, and maybe some plain tickets to somewhere. John settled back into the seat, turning on the engine, a smile blessed his face when, out of the rear-view mirror, he saw the coffee shop clerk running out with his creditcard. He pulled the car smoothly out of the parkinglot and back onto the highway. About an hour down the road, he turned back off, into the ditch along the side. He reclined his seat, hoping to get a few hours of sleep after the 14hour flee. The rising sun was blocked out by the secluding trees, and John settled back, relaxing for the first time. He had barely closed his eyes, however, when he was jerked awake by the vivid images...

"Okay, he is about 3 klicks ahead of you. He's only going about 150. You should have him withis 10minutes." Cracked through the intercom, pull ing John out of his nightmare. His partner nodded, not that the helecopter could see, and stepped on the gas a little harder.

"Better get suited up, Rookie." John flinched at the nick-name.

"I'm ready."

"You know, these jackers can sometimes get rough." Stacy shot the newcomer a sideways glace.

"I know. I'm fine. I did fight a war, you know." It came out a bit snappier than John had ment it to. His partner just gave a little nod and turned his gaze back to the road, lips pursed.

"John, he may get rough with me. Do not be alarmed, I can handle him. You stay hidden and do what we agreed, yes?" Sherlock looked at John expectantly as they stood in, what Sherlcock claimed to be, Jim Morrirarty's office. John licked his lips and nodded, walking over the the closet at the back of the room, preparing for what was to come.

Minutes later, Jim burst through the door, glaring at Sherlock.

"Well, well, well. Looks like someone decided to be a naughty boy and break into daddy's office." He clicked his tongue. Sherlock meerely smiled.

"It would appear so. And now, I believe I will take my leave, seeing as you have just given me what I wanted to know." Sherlock made to leave the room, but the shorter man stepped infromt of him.

"Oh no, you must be punished for this act, dear one." Sherlock raised an eyebrow, bending his knees slightly, ready to pounce were it neccary. Jim noted the guesture and moved slightly to Sherlocks weak side. The taller man matched the step, and before long the two were circling, ready to rip at eachothers throats.

It all happened too quickly, Jim leaping first, catching the detective off gaurd by purposefully flying to the left, missing him by a mile, only to spin around and knock Sherlock to the floor. He took hold of the genius's scarf, pulling it back until Sherlocks face began to turn blue. Seeing his friend in suck distress sent Johns mind out the window. He flew out of hiding, pulling his gun from the waiste band of his trousers.

"Oh look! You brought your pet!" Jim swiveled to face John, keeping his grip on the scarf. "What a good lad you are, Johnny-boy! Ever so loyal to your mas-" without hesitation, John cut him off with a bullet right between the villains eyes.

John was vaguely aware of Jims spluttering and his god-awful bloody state as he stood in the aftermath. He was vaguely aware of the gun falling to the floor and his knees going weak. He thought he heard Sherlock call his name, and then he was running.

"There are his taillights." John looked up, his eyes afferming his partners statement. "Looks like he ran outta juice." Indeed, the car infront of them was pulling to the side of the road. A man jumped out, brandishing a rather large hunting knife. Stacy pulled the cruiser over, and both officers jumped out, guns raised.

"Sir, drop the weapon." Stacys voice was authoritative, face hard. The fiend grinned, and with a little shake of his head made a break for the woods. The senior officer aimed and fired, hitting the runner in the leg, causing him to collaps.

"Check the trunk, Landry," he called, over his shoulder as he want to arrest the wounded man. John nodded after a minute, forgetting for an instant his new alias. He placed his gun back in its holster, walking to the front of the car to pop the trunk. He quickly went back, lifting the door, eager to help whomever was trapped within. Instead, he gasped, finding himself frozen at the sight within.

There, huddled in the trunk, lay non other than Sherlock Holmes.

But it wasn't his Sherlock: strong, independent and unstoppable who was crumpled before him in the trunk of the car, pooled in his own blood. It couldn't be his Sherlock. John fell to his knees, shaking, and trying desprately to choke back his sob.

"Landry! Landry! Hey! Jake!" Stacy was by his side in a minute, a hand on his shoulder. "You alright?" John nodded, collecting himself.

"Yeah. Yeah. It-its just... I- Iknow him." Stacy's eyebrows shot up as he glanced from the figure in the trunk to his partner.

"Know him?! Jake, you've been here less than a week!"

So, I'll do my best to update this once a week, but no garantees, so please don't get mad at me if a chapter is a little late, unfortunately I have a life outside of my fandoms (*sigh* school). Anywho, please review, always like to hear how I'm doing. Talk to you all next week!