Part One:

A gunshot broke the silence in the old abandoned warehouse. A thin man collapsed to the ground tightly holding his fresh wound on his forearm, trying to slow the bleeding, and failing to. Great, Sherlock thought. Now I'm going to die without anyone knowing I am still alive. But maybe it is better that way… His eyes shot en at the sound of footsteps coming closer.

John appeared from the shadows, wearing a professional three-piece suit, and sprinted closer when he realized the state his friend was in. "What the hell, Sherlock?!" He started to loosen the tie from his neck, yanking it roughly over his head to get it off.

Sherlock twisted around at an awkward angle to be sure he hadn't mistaken that voice. His eyes widened when he recognized the familiar silhouette of his former flat-mate. "John," He said, closing his eyes. "I'm sorry."

"For what?" John asked rhetorically. "Faking your death?" John secured his tie above the wound in Sherlock's arm with one hand while the other hovered over his gun as he checked his surroundings. "Mycroft already explained everything to me a few months after your stupid stunt."

"Of course he did." Sherlock huffed as he pushed himself into a sitting position, checking his arm after the slight dizziness passed. "Thanks."

"Yeah, no problem." John avoided Sherlock's eyes. "I've been looking for you all over the world, you know." He glanced back at the door he came through. "Can you run?"

"I… I think so." Sherlock was still a bit stunned by the situation. He managed to get up but was quite wobbly. You were searching for me? He thought, looking at John as he scanned everything nearby.

"Course I was." Sherlock jumped, having realized he had spoken his thoughts again. If John noticed his small leap from the ground, he didn't mention it. "I kept thinking up more and more horrible things that could be happening to you." John looked over the bullet wound again and pursed his lips at whatever he was thinking.

"Wanna bet that half of them happened?" Sherlock tried to joke, but he had no idea of how it would be taken. Humor wasn't really his strength; give him a murder investigation any day.

John started creeping ahead of him towards where he had appeared. "Held captive by terrorists?" he whispered behind him.

"Yes, Sherlock replied, following after him. "But not for long." He was a little slower than John, and had the feeling he might trip before he reached the wall. Sherlock looked around the warehouse. It was too quiet. Why hadn't they taken a second shot? Were they trying to fool them into a false sense of security? Judging by the way John was holding his gun, he had noticed as well.

Then John's "Attacked by sharks?" crashed his train of thought to a crashing halt.

Sherlock looked at his face to see if he was serious. It was such an odd thing to imagine, and John had probably only brought it up to distract him. "No… Luckily not." He replied with a little smirk.

"Well, you've already jumped off a building, so have you run into any poisonous snakes?" They both paused at the door.

"Yeah, once." Sherlock chuckled softly, still keeping in mind that this was a dangerous situation, but… Then again, he hadn't had a real, honest conversation for a long while, and it was a nice change. There was a crunch of someone stepping on gravel and three muffled voices by the wooden door.

John stepped back a few silent paces and gestured for Sherlock to move out of the way with his gun. Sherlock moved well out of range, not feeling bad or sorry for the people who were about to get shot. He could feel the blood loss making him weaker by the minute, but right now he had to stay strong, for John. He silently watched John aim and fire.

Three gunshots later, John pushed himself through the splintered wood, and ran towards the only vehicle, with Sherlock behind him trying to keep up. Sherlock stopped halfway to the truck to catch his breath. He saw John in the driver's seat pushing the door open, the man's face was tense and pale, and John's eyes were trained on something near the building they had just escaped from. Sherlock was about to rush towards the car again when another gunshot rang out.

It hit its target.