It was the look of desperation for his love on her face and the look of grim protection on his that made John finally understand where he was in the list of priorities of the two people he loved most and where they should be on his.

"John." Her voice was begging, but with his epiphany her cries fell deaf against his ears. For once he wasn't looking at her, for once he was looking at his closest friend and observed the way her soft, caring, sweet voice made Sherlock flinch and cringe in on himself making the tall man seem so so small. And that made John sick. Seeing his boiling rage seeping out through his eyes, but masked under the surface of just pinched lips Mary decided to kept quiet, John was thinking that her silence was the only smart she had done all night.

"No, not one word. We are going to go back to Baker Street and do this properly because I can't and won't do this here."

He then left the cramped hallway, making his way out to the open street to try and catch a cab, Mary had to catch her own cab John wouldn't take her in his and Sherlock didn't trust the army doctor on his own.


"She was willing to shoot me, Sherlock."

"She thought it was me, don't flatter yourself." John snorted.

"You're missing the point." Sherlock looked at his friend closely noting everything.

"You are going to do something exceptionally stupid aren't you." It wasn't a question. Sherlock knew John was hurt and emotional and that was going to lead to him being impulsive, but how impulsive not even Sherlock could guess at this point.
John chuckled seemingly calming died from the near death experience from his soon to be wife.

"No, I don't think so. I think I'm doing something I should have done." Sherlock furled his brow in confusion as he paid the cabbie. Now was the moment of truth.