Disclaimer: Sherlock, along with its characters, locations, etc. are the property of BBC, Steven Moffat, Mark Gatiss, and Sir Arthur Conan Doyle. I do not own them, though I definitely wouldn't mind being on a first name basis with Benedict Cumberbatch.

Summary: John gets shot on a case and may not survive. Sherlock freaks out, having a panic attack at the scene of the shooting and refusing to leave John's side once he's out of surgery and in the hospital. Donovan and Anderson continue their relentless bullying of Sherlock, and Lestrade, Mycroft, and John have had enough. Slight AU where Anderson is still an asshole after The Fall. Angst, Hurt/Comfort, Family. Rated T.

….

Freak

Chapter 1

….

After everything that happened with Eurus, things had gone back to normal for everybody involved. Or, at least, as normal as things got for the Holmes brothers and John Watson.

Mycroft had recovered and gone back to work within a couple of days. John and Rosie had moved back into Baker Street, renting the basement flat, 221C, so there would be two bedrooms, but spending most of their days upstairs in 221B. John thought it was nice, and very convenient, to live in the same building as Mrs. Hudson, because every time he needed to quickly hand Rosie off to someone, usually when Sherlock was dragging him along on a case, she was right there to help.

So, everything was back to the way it was before, with the exception of the glaring loss of Mary. John had stopped seeing his wife wherever he went, but that didn't stop the grief that still overwhelmed him at times. If Sherlock ever found John lounging somewhere, crying or seeming to stare off into space, he was there for him. Instead of leaving him alone like he would have in the past, he would sit beside his grieving best friend and just be there for him, whether he needed a hug, or a hand to hold, or just someone to sit beside him and be there while he grieved for his departed wife.

And, of course, since everything was back to normal, the Baker Street Boys were taking cases. Sherlock was on a new case almost every day, whether from clients on his website (or, more likely, John's blog) or Scotland Yard. But, he always took time to play with Rosie. John never thought that Sherlock would want to sit on the ground and play with his daughter. Sure, Sherlock loved Rosie, but his thought process was that Sherlock would be trying to teach her how to make deductions, or work on science experiments. Never in his wildest dreams did John think that Sherlock would sit on the ground and play with stuffed animals, rattles, and blocks, or read baby books to the little blonde-haired girl. John always had a smile on his face whenever he caught Sherlock playing with his goddaughter.

This was the scene that D.I. Greg Lestrade walked into on the day that everything went wrong. When he knocked, of course Mrs. Hudson let him in, cursing Sherlock for shooting the doorbell. He trudged up the stairs with a murder case file in his hand, hoping that Sherlock and John could help him like they always seemed to.

When he walked through the open door of 221B, he saw Sherlock sitting on the floor with baby Rosie, stacking blocks and making funny faces to make her laugh. John was sitting in his chair with the newspaper open in front of him, but instead of reading, he was watching his best friend and his daughter with a smile on his face.

Lestrade cleared his throat to make his presence known, then proceeded to explain the case that baffled him, and nearly killed John Watson.

….

"Sherlock, WAIT!" Lestrade yelled after the consulting detective.

Sherlock had taken one look at the body and deduced that it was her brother-in-law that had killed her. According to Sherlock, the woman had found out that her brother-in-law was cheating on her sister, and was going to tell her about it. The brother-in-law found out about the plan and killed her before she could say anything.

Sherlock explained all of this as he quickly made his way out toward the road. Then he ran, John trailing behind him. Apparently, Sherlock knew where the brother-in-law would be.

Thankfully, Sherlock had pulled a stunt like this one too many times, and Mycroft had had a tracking device installed on his little brother's phone. And Lestrade had access.

Cursing Sherlock and his awful impulsiveness, Lestrade pulled up the detective's location on his phone and hopped into his car to follow him. Luckily, Lestrade had enough practice following Sherlock's erratic movements that he didn't have much trouble following him. When Sherlock suddenly stopped, however, Lestrade got a bad feeling in his gut.

When he rounded the corner, he saw something that he had always hoped he would never see: John Watson, lying awkwardly on the sidewalk with blood pooling under him. Lestrade, thanking his police training for not making him freeze, instantly called 999, dashing out of his police car toward where Sherlock was leaning over John.

Once he had explained everything to the operator and called some officers to the scene, Lestrade practically hurdled himself toward John and Sherlock, kneeling next to John's head and feeling for a pulse. The bullet seemed to have missed John's heart by barely an inch, but the doctor certainly had a perforated lung. Sherlock was standing a distance away, looking as if he was in shock.

"Sherlock! Sherlock! SHERLOCK!" Lestrade yelled, trying to get the detective's attention. When Sherlock turned and looked in his general direction, Lestrade figured that was as close as he was going to get to acknowledgement. "Bloody hell, mate, what happened?" Lestrade questioned.

For once, Sherlock seemed to be at a loss for words. "Um…well we…we ran here, the…the brother-in-law, according to my calculations, should have been in that pizza restaurant…" Sherlock motioned vaguely behind him. "When we showed up, he came out of that building…" Sherlock motioned toward an old, boarded-up dry cleaners on the opposite side of the street from the pizza place. "J-John had drawn his gun, so the guy shot him and ran off. I don't…I don't know what to do, Lestrade." Sherlock explained. Lestrade could hear how emotion was constricting Sherlock's throat.

Just then, the ambulance Lestrade had called came careening around the corner, sirens blaring. As the EMTs were working on John, Donovan and a few other officers showed up at the scene.

Donovan came up to Lestrade as he was watching John being lifted onto the gurney. "What happened?" she asked.

"John was shot by Sherlock's suspect from the murder. Find out who the hell Sherlock was talking about and bring him in. Excuse me."

Lestrade walked over to Sherlock, who was still staring at the blood puddle that was on the pavement, as the EMTs loaded John into the ambulance and drove away toward St. Bart's.

"Sherlock, look at me." Lestrade touched Sherlock's arm lightly, trying to direct his attention onto him rather than the red stain on the cement. "Sherlock." Lestrade whispered.

Sherlock's hands were shaking, and when he finally looked at Lestrade, there were tears in his eyes, which were open wide in panic. His breathing was becoming more and more erratic, and Lestrade was worried that Sherlock was about to experience a full-blown panic attack.

"Okay, keep looking at me." Lestrade unceremoniously grabbed one of Sherlock's shaking hands and pressed it against his own chest, holding it there, and placed his other hand on Sherlock's shoulder. "Breathe with me, Sherlock." Lestrade took a deep breath, letting it out slowly as he watched Sherlock struggle to match him. After a few more breaths, Sherlock's breathing mostly evened out, even though a few tears had fallen from his eyes.

Just then, Donovan walked over to update Lestrade on what they had found, finding a crying Sherlock attempting to breathe in tandem with her boss.

"Oh look, the freak actually has emotions! Is that panic? Honestly never thought he could feel anything. Who would have thought that his 'best friend'" Donovan made finger quotes around those words, "being shot would have caused Freak to panic? Interesting."

"Alright, enough, Donovan! I'm sick of you and Anderson bullying Sherlock like this. Does it really seem like the right time to berate him about 'not feeling anything,' when he's struggling to breathe because of what happened?" Lestrade yelled at the Detective Sergeant.

"But sir, he's…" she started to argue.

"Donovan! Cut the shit! I don't want to here you bullying Sherlock anymore, or else I'll send you to Internal Affairs. No, enough!" he yelled when Donovan tried to cut him off. "I'm aware that he doesn't work for Scotland Yard, but he still lives in the city, and I'm sure the bosses don't want to here about a Detective Sergeant bullying a citizen and calling him a freak when his best friend was just shot."

"Sir, I really don't think…"

"For once, just shut your mouth and do your job!" Lestrade yelled.

Donovan gulped. "Right, um, I just came over here to update you that we found out who the brother-in-law is. I sent officers out to his residence and other places that he frequents." She muttered.

"Good, let me know what they find. I'm going to drive Sherlock to the hospital." Donovan walked away toward some other officers, keen to avoid her angry boss.

Lestrade turned back toward Sherlock, who was staring at his with a look that the Detective Inspector couldn't quite place. "Right then, Sherlock." Lestrade let go of Sherlock's hand, that was still pressed against his chest, and his shoulder. "I'll drive you to St. Bart's." The two men made their way over to Lestrade's car. Sherlock slid into the passenger seat in silence, not wanting to see John like this but also wanting to be there for every second of his, hopeful, recovery.

As Lestrade slipped into the driver's seat, he looked over at Sherlock, who was staring out of the windshield in silence. He started the car an pulled away from the scene, driving quickly but legally toward the tall hospital where they had all thought that Sherlock had killed himself all those years ago.

As he pulled up in front of the building, he looked at Sherlock again, seeing sadness in the detective's eyes. Sherlock turned toward Lestrade then, opening his mouth to speak.

"Lestrade…"

"He's gonna be fine, Sherlock. I promise, he's gonna be fine." Lestrade cut him off. "I'll keep you updated on the investigation."

"I was going to say thank you, Greg. For everything." Sherlock muttered.

Lestrade patted Sherlock on the shoulder as the taller man reached for the door handle. "You're welcome, Sherlock."

….

A/N: I don't know what came over me, but I absolutely love the scene where Lestrade places Sherlock's hand on his chest and helps him breathe. I don't know what that affected me so much (especially since I wrote it) but oh my God I love it.