It had just been a simple case, a boring one. There was supposed to be no danger, and it was, until it went terribly and utterly wrong. I had been grappling with a large man from Russia with one eye and a tattoo of a woman on his arm. He through me down and I landed hardly on my leg. Pain shot through my whole body. I couldn't defend myself and the kicks kept coming. I managed to disarm the man and knock him out with a kick (with my good leg). Then I hear the shot. And in an instant I was on my feet and running towards the shot. I rounded the corner and saw someone lying on the floor. I cautiously moved closer and saw it was john.
"John?" I called. No reply. "John!" I yelled as I ran to him. I looked around but the attacker had already fled. I dropped to my knees next to him. A large sticky red spot was forming near the middle of his stomach, getting on his favorite jumper. I put pressure on the bullet wound on my friend's stomach. But he was more then a friend wasn't he? He let out a gasp as I pushed down on his wound with one hand and dialed 999 with the other.
"John," I called to him because I could see him drifting away "You need to stay awake until the ambulance can get here. You can't die… I need you John." He was staring at me, gasping for every breath.
"Sherlock" He managed through pain
"Shhh John, The ambulance will be here soon and everything will be okay" I was more trying to convince myself then him. He was starting to fade away, his face was paler then it had ever been. Like a ghost. I pulled his head into my lap and held him close. I clung to him, as if I were to let go of him he would slip away forever.
"John…" I muttered wiping some of the sweat from his brow and running my hand through his short hair. After a short while I could hear the approaching sounds of and ambulance and some police cars, three to be exact. When they got to us everything turned to chaos. There were people yelling but I couldn't hear because I was too numb. Almost immediately someone pulled John from my arms. But I knew if he had any chance of living I had to let go. I was still on my knees with blood all over me, some my own and some Johns. I felt Lestrade put his hand on my shoulder
"Come on Sherlock" he pulled me up to my feet. That was when I remembered my own injuries. I could feel the cut in my lip, the bruises all over my body, a few broken ribs, and the gash in my shoulder where I had been cut with a knife. But those didn't even bother me. What all of my focus was on was my leg. The searing, blinding, pain that was coming from my leg.
"Lestrade… my leg" Then my strength gave out and I collapsed to the cold cement crashing my head into the ground. Then I blacked out and I felt nothing.