Alright, so this is my very first Sherlock fanfic that I've written. And, even though it's been like, I don't know, like three years, I finally got around to updating this! So hopefully I'm able to at least make it semi-readable xD.
John quickly and quietly followed Sherlock up to the roof. He stayed just in sight, being careful Sherlock didn't see or hear him. When they got to the top, he could swear he heard Moriarty playing 'stayin alive'. 'How appropriate.' he thought sarcastically, using the time to look around the roof.
A few minutes later, he had spotted Moran, who was looking around for John, gun in hand, both knowing the other would be there. That's when he stepped out of the shadows, just as Moriarty was telling Sherlock he had to jump.
"No, he really doesn't have to." John said. The two masterminds looked at him in surprise,
"What are you doing here?" Sherlock demanded. John stared at him, for once his gaze just as intense as Sherlocks.
"I'd say we both have some unfinished business." he replied, glancing briefly over to where he knew the sniper was, but for the most part keeping his gaze fixed on Moriarty, who had a gleeful look on his face.
"Oh look, the pet decided to follow! Well, this certainly changes things," Moriarty said, a thoughtful look coming over his face.
Johns hand drifted over to my side, resting against where his pistol was holstered.
Moriarty saw the movement and chuckled, "oh you don't want to do that, Johnny boy." he said, that crazy gleam coming into his dead eyes again as he pulled out his own gun.
"Leave him out of this, Moriarty. This is between us." Sherlock said, finally coming into the conversation, hands out and slowly trying to move between them, his eyes darting from one to the other before locking on Moriarty.
"But it just makes it so much more fun!" Moriarty exclaimed, waving the gun around a bit.
"Well then its unfortunate that this isn't for you," John stated, watching with satisfaction the brief confusion come over both their faces as Moriarty lowered his gun just fractionally in the process.
"You can come out now," John yelled, and not long after appeared Sebastian.
"Watson." he said with a nod.
"Moran." John replied, more venom in his voice.
"John?" asked Sherlock, a amount of uncertainty creeping into his voice as we all turned towards each other.
"We served together," John stated, venom creeping into his voice.
Moran smiled a bit, "and what a pleasure it was." he said, voice light as he causally rested his hand against his own weapon, John gripping his more firmly.
"Why aren't you at your post?" Moriarty said to his sniper, eyes narrowed, clearly irritated that his orders weren't obeyed.
"This was more pressing of a matter," Moran stated casually, and I had a feeling that Moriarty wouldn't be walking away from this either.
"So what'll it be this time, Watson? Maybe to the other leg?"
Realization crossed Sherlocks face. "You were the one who shot John, not a enemy bullet."
Moran smiled briefly, "well, not exactly. I certainly didn't help stop him from being shot," he said, shrugging a little bit.
"why'd you do it, Moran?"
Moran shrugged. "I got a better deal elsewhere, and that was one of the costs."
John hummed, "then isn't it a pity you never got it finished?"
Moran pulled out his gun. "The first time I didn't."
John was only a second behind him, cocking his gun as his muscles tensed, preparing for a fight.
"Moran, leave it." Moriarty suddenly said, voice low and dangerous.
"Why?"
"Sherlock is my toy. Which means I'm the one who gets to break him." he explained, glaring at his top sniper as his own gun trained on Sherlock. John narrowed his eyes, moving back enough that he could shoot at Moriarty quicker if need be.
"Aim it and you'll be dead before you can pull the trigger." he warned, to both Moriarty and Moran.
"Now now, John. Don't be like that." purred Sebastian.
"This is between you and me, Moran. Leave Sherlock out of it!"
"No fun." Moran said with a pout
"Does it look like i want to have fun?" Watson hissed.
They stared at each other, Sherlock and Jim looking from one to the other, to the soldiers, then back again, neither sure what to do. Moran's small movements with his hand that was holding the pistol went mostly unnoticed to them, but John caught them and quickly fired off his gun, the noise catching the others by surprise and giving John time to holster it and grab Moran by the arm, wrestling for the weapon.
He may be a soldier, but he was a doctor first, and he didn't want bloodshed if there didn't have to be. Not today.
In the struggle a shot got fired off, only grazing John's arm but it was still painful enough that he had to force back a cry before shoving the pain to the back of his mind where it was easily ignored.
John finally knocked away the gun just as Moran was able to knock him down, but their grip on each other meant John brought Moran with him.
They rolled for a minute, each fighting for the upper hand, but eventually Moran was able to briefly escape Johns grip and reached for his knife as he pressed down on the gun wound, temporarily distracting John as his vision got white dots from the pain, which the the opportunity he took, taking the knife and plunging it into John's side.
The blond gasped, his vision temporarily going offline but kept pushing on, trying not to think about bleeding to death, or the pain, or if Moran had hit anything vital.
Suddenly realizing that Moran had most likely forgotten about the gun, and that he'd be confident in the stabbing, went temporarily slack. And sure enough, Moran loosened his grip slightly, sitting up more fully but still a top of John.
'Good,' he thought to himself, suddenly opening his eyes and gripping his pistol and, before Moran could react, shot him three, times, one to the head and two to the chest.
John then stood on shaky legs, and looked over at Moriarty and Holmes, the gun going between Sherlock and himself, as if Moriarty couldn't decide who to aim at first.
"Are you going to use that gun on me?" he questioned Jim, breathing heavily and loosely gripping how own.
Moriarty shook his head, a grin again appearing on his face.
"I actually think I'll use it on Sherlock here. You don't look like you'll need the help," he stated, a almost feral grin coming over his face.
"I had a feeling you'd say that," John said with a sigh, and with his last bit of strength lifted the gun and shot, hitting Jim right in the head.
And that was all it took for John. Without anymore adrenaline keeping him going, he felt his body go limp, and he started falling. Sherlock regained his senses and darted over, catching him just in time. He wasn't even aware that Sherlock had called for a ambulance until he heard the sirens.
He finally let himself feel the pain, and that alone almost made him pass out. He was suddenly exhausted, and he knew he needed to stay awake, but he was so sleepy. He could barely hear Sherlock at all, and barely registered he was gripping John's arm.
He passed out shortly after the paramedics arrived on the roof, welcoming the blankness and escape from pain.
When he woke, the first thing he was aware of was beeping, and a dull pain, and the seconds thing was Sherlock's gaze, but it was different this time.
Not the normal, 'i'm trying to piece you together' stare, this was something else. Something just as piercing but less intense. Which was interesting, because he thought he knew every one of Sherlocks stares.
Deciding to look around, he slowly blinked open his eyes and looked over at Sherlock. Concern filled his blue-gray eyes. Concern and panic.
"John?"
"Hey." John croaked out, surprised at his own voice.
"How are you feeling?"
"Like I've been shot, and stabbed." John said, giving a weak smile
"They said you'd be out for longer."
John was surprised, more of the emotion in Sherlock's voice than the words. Although he was curious.
"Why?"
"You've been out for four days, and you died once. The loss of blood and the fight took most of your energy. When Moran stabbed you he barely missed your liver."
John managed a weak smile, "At least he didn't shoot my good shoulder." he said, half joking. Sherlock smiled, and half laughed half tried not to cry.
He buried his face into Johns chest, who in turn stroked Sherlocks black curls, and murmuring comforting words as Sherlock gripped his shirt. Finally he settled down, and leaned back, looking at John.
"Don't ever scare me like that again." he demanded, voice shaking. John nodded, a soft smile on his face.
"I won't," he whispered. Soon after, they both fell asleep like that, with Sherlock's head resting on John's chest, over his heart, and John's hand in Sherlock's curls, both unknowingly having woven a even more unbreakable bond. That's how Lestrade found them when he came in later to check up on Sherlock, and see if John was awake, as well as how Mycroft found them when he check their cam. They both smiled, Lestrade thinking about how much John has helped Sherlock become a good man, and Mycroft thinking that maybe caring is a advantage after all.
Just maybe.
So yup, theres that. I hope you all enjoyed it! I'm a little nervous about this one. It is so not my best work, and its tempting to just delete it, but... Idk. I'll keep it up for now.
Cunning Bird~~