Dedicated to Firebird 2013, who asked for a follow up chapter for Outrun The Gun.
Disclaimer: I own nothing but my original story

The more John thought about it the angrier he became. Sherlock was a bloody genius, there was no getting away from that fact, but he had absolutely no common sense!

Beside him in the cab was that same genius, rather subdued, mainly due to the fact that having killed a man to save Sherlock's life, John had not even acknowledged his thanks. Calling him a prat was par for the course, but to then just drag him out onto the street in search of transport home, without another word spoken, that was a sure sign the man was angry.

Sherlock glanced surreptitiously at John, noting how his hands were clenched into tight fists in his lap, how rigid his shoulders were, how closed his countenance. Not for the first time today, Sherlock understood that he should have waited for the ex-army doctor, waited so that the drastic action of shooting the perpetrator may not have been necessary.

In an effort to make things right, Sherlock leapt out of the door as the cab pulled up to the kerb, reaching into his pocket for his wallet to pay the fare. John didn't even look in his direction as he walked up to the black front door, opening it and moving straight on up the stairs to the flat without pause.

The consulting detective followed a little slower, nerves gnawing at his stomach as he entered the flat and saw John waiting for him, standing in the middle of the living room, his arms folded across his chest – bad body language!

"John, I'm sorry…"

"No, Sherlock, you're not. You say this every time, and next I suppose you'll promise not to do it again, just like every other time, and y'know, I've had it with your stupidity!"

"Not stupidity John, please. I'm impatient, impulsive, even impossible at times, but not stupid"

"Really? Well, let's see, shall we? Your impatience, your impulsiveness nearly got you killed! Do you know how that makes me feel? Do you?" John ran his fingers through his hair as he tried to calm himself down. Taking a deep breath, he blew it out again, the action releasing some of the tension in his body, and his gaze, as he took in the younger man's contrite expression, softened. "I could have lost you, Sherlock. Do you know what that means? I can't go through that again…"

The other man stepped forward quickly, pale hands gently grasping John's shoulders, moving in soothing circles across the tense muscles as he pulled him into a tentative embrace.

"I'm…"

John's hand against his chest stopped him. Before he realised what was happening, he was slammed down onto the couch, with John straddling his hips, kneeling on the cushions and leaning down to stare into his wide, pale eyes.

"You are not to say another word until I tell you to!"

"But…"

"Sherlock! Not another word!" Closing his eyes, John bowed his head, trying to gather his thoughts. "Did you ever consider the consequences of your actions? What if I'd arrived two minutes later? What if more than one of them had had a gun?" In the ensuing silence, John's eyes roved over Sherlock's face, then "Go ahead, genius – fill in the gaps."

Sherlock swallowed as the enormity of his actions became clear to him. He stared, shocked, back up into John's eyes, saw tears misting over them as the doctor read the answers in his lover's stunned expression. Raising one shaking hand, he gently caressed the older man's cheek, his thumb wiping away the tear that escaped the corner of his deep blue eyes, his palm warmed by the slightly stubbled jaw that leaned into his touch.

"John, I'm so, so sorry…" he whispered, his other hand moving to slide around John's waist, pulling his body down, until they lay hip to hip, chest to chest, and Sherlock's lips were able to offer his apology in the way he knew best, with his lips, and tongue, and with his hands as they caressed and held the smaller man close.

And Sherlock knew, as he felt the searing response in his partner's body, that this time at least, he had been forgiven.