"Sorry boys! I'm sooooo... changeable. It is a weakness with me, but to be fair to myself, it is my only weakness. You can't be allowed to continue. You just can't. I would try to convince you, but everything I have to say has already crossed your mind."

Sherlock looks to John. He gently nods to Sherlock, putting his trust in him.

"Probably my answer has crossed yours." Sherlock spins around and points his gun at Moriarty's head, then slowly lowers it to point at the coat and explosive material.

Silence was never so powerful. Sherlock stared at Moriarty. Moriarty didn't quite stare, but smirked and analysed sherlock, like he was getting a good look at him.

Whilst both men were still waiting for something, Sherlock looks back at John. John, however, at the corner of his eye sees a nod from Moriarty to a gunman. Johns eyes widen in a sudden realisation and desperately tries to get to his feet and dives at Sherlock's hips as a gun shot shatters the silence.

Everything that happened did so in slow motion. John had hold of Sherlock's waist as they both fell into the swimming pool. Deeper and deeper they fell, as John struggled to kick his feet with Sherlock in his arms he could not seem to pull him to the surface. Sherlock himself wasn't trying to swim himself up, maybe he was shot in the leg and can't swim, John thought. 'I was in time, I pushed him out of the way in time, before they fired, I'm sure I did.'

John inhaled a huge gasp of air as he reached above the water, panting as he pulled Sherlock onto his stomach, on the cold tiles of the floor. "That was close eh Sherlock? But we'll get him next time as long as we don't have to get stacked again!" John wiped the water from his eyes, repairing his blurry vision from the chlorine pool water. He looks at sherlock. He is still stomach down, head facing the ground. "Sherlock?" He saw blood. A lot. In the pool and on the floor.

John rapidly tried to turn Sherlock onto his back, when he saw blood on the whole of his front of his shirt. "Oh god no." It was Johns turn to rip clothes off of Sherlock in this building, but John couldn't see where the shot is; there was too much blood everywhere. There could be a bullet just in skin or in his heart. "No- don't- you can't-"

Scrambling for a phone John phones an ambulance. Stuttering and lost for words john explains. The woman on the other side of the line asks if there is a pulse. That hadn't crossed johns mind he was just panicking. This could bring hope, or destroy it.

John takes his shaking hands and feels for Sherlock's lifeless hands. He feels. He waits. He could be waiting and find it straight away, or wait forever for something that he will never finds.

There is. There is a pulse. THERE IS A PULSE. John tells the lady this Four times, knowing he can save him. A weak amount of life remains in Sherlock, and John gains confidence in his friend. If anyone can make it, he can.

The ambulance arrived within a matter of minutes. Not for John. For him, it lasted a lifetime of waiting. He still didn't know where the bullet lies.

John tried to run and keep up with the hospital staff seemed to be separating John from his friend. They take him into a room, and naturally John follows. "Sorry but please wait out here Mr Watson"

"Just let me through, please, he's my-"

"I know you are concerned but it would be best for you to wait out here, and not obstruct us, it is best for the patient"

He put his hand against the door as he tried to see everything that was going on through the small window. The doctors looked panicked. Rushing around. Messing with his body. 'I should be in there helping. I am a doctor. I shouldn't have even let this happen, I should have fixed him at the pool.' Many thoughts were bouncing around johns head, but only one was screaming out. 'Please live Sherlock.'

Reflecting on the events, tears filled johns eyes, so naturally he squeezed them shut. He pressed his back against the wall as his knees gave way, and so he slowly fell to the ground. He clenched his knees and wrapped himself into a ball. 'What if he doesn't come back through those doors? No no you can't think like that John.'

There must be progress by now. John somehow pulled himself to his feet, and wiped his face. Only when John brought his hands to his face did he notice he had a ripped piece of Sherlock's shirt in his hands. He used it to wipe his eyes. After a deep breath, he looked through the small window.

There, on the hospital bed, lay a tall, slim, black curly haired Sherlock. But he wasnt the same. He can't bear to see his usually energetic, intellegent and slightly crazy friend lay there lifeless. Doctors, however didn't look as panicky. In fact, they were calm. Some were talking. They took their plastic gloves off whilst talking, and looked straight at me, not knowing John was watching. 'Oh God'. They seem to calm for John. 'This is it. It's the end.' John couldn't bear this. A doctor walked towards the door.

'Hello . We've done all we can-'

'Please fix him keep trying PLEASE-'

'Oh we are , we are keeping him in until he is stable and think he will make a full recovery'

'So, he...sherlock...he is okay?'

'Oh yes, but it may take him a few days to wake up'

'No thank you I just-' John couldn't finish his words. He melted down and covered his face. He really thought this would be it- the end.

'Its ok , it has been very traumatic. I think you should take you're self home and-'

'No. I'm staying right here. With him.'

The doctor tried to talk John out of this but it was futile. He was adamant that he was going to sit right by sherlock until he woke up. And he did.

Day two of the Hospital and Sherlock had visitors: Molly, Lestrade, Mrs Hudson was there a lot, and even Mycroft paid a visit. But John was always there. Ready for when sherlock wakes. He was exhausted of course, but stayed. That evening, John had started to read the Newspaper to Sherlock to encourage him to wake up. John made sure he involved the I unsolved crimes, just for Sherlock. Just for him. After, John had taken his hand and squeezed it, telling him to wake up soon.

John went to retrieve his hand, when he discovered that he couldn't. It was being held. Johns hand was being squeezed. John looked straight to Sherlock's face. Slowly, his eyes began to open.

'John