John spun around, horror etched deeply into his features.
He watched as Sherlock, a man who bragged of his own immortality, fell to his knees.
His attacker kicked out and pinned him to the ground. Sherlock's large coat billowed out, horribly contrasting against his crumpled form. John stared in terror as the attacker wielded a giant steel girder above his head.
The silvery hue of the girder shimmered eerily, even in the dim light of the barn.
John's feet pounded and skidded amongst the wood chips and hay bales. The girder began its descent. Sherlock regarded it unflinchingly, stubbornly confident that John would intervene.
John skidded around the protruding spikes of a garden fork. He was still hopelessly far from fulfilling Sherlock's expectations despite his best efforts to reach him. He glanced up. Just in time to see the impact.
A metallic ring followed the very loud 'thunk!'.
" SHERLOCK!" John shouted.
Sherlock's body quivered, then was still. The masked man withdrew his foot and the steel girder. It now stained crimson.
" NO!"
The man snarled, made joyous by the hurt and pain in John's voice. John turned to him with anger simmering in his heart,
If I get over there and find Sherlock dead, I'm going to kill you! He thought angrily.
Actually, even if he isn't dead...I'm still gonna rip out your guts!
With his new-found vigour he propelled himself onwards. The man lazily ambled over to the barn door and hitched the girder over his shoulder. His face was the image of all that was analytic, cold and unreasonable. John threw himself to the floor where he had previously dropped his gun. He scrabbled in the sawdust but by the time he felt the cold metal in his hands the man was long gone.
Damn it!
Slamming his fists into the floor with frustration, John quickly looked up.
What am I doing? Harkening for revenge isn't the right thing to be worried about now! Think man, your friends lying unconscious in a pool of his own blood!
He reverted to his doctoring mentality. Sprinting over, John slid upon his knees and frowned heavily down at Sherlock's lacerated face. There was a deep indentation across his right temple and numerous wounds all crying red tears.
Shit!
John stripped off his jacket and used it as a makeshift pressure pad.
" Stay with me Sherlock. You've just got to keep breathing for me alright? If you can hear me just keep doing what you're doing, that'd be great..."
John churned out a barrage of meaningless, reassuring phrases whilst his heart twisted up into a knot of guilt and fear. He wasn't completely sure who he was trying to console more; himself or Sherlock.
By this point in their relationship, he was well accustomed to the occasional time when he was expected to save Sherlock's life. But it had never gone wrong. Until now.
He quickly dialled 999 with one hand whilst the other was busy searching for a pulse. He found one. It was weak but stable.
John let out a sigh of relief.
" Hello. This is your national emergency service number, what service do you require?"
The receptionist on the other end of the line seemed to be exceptionally well-mannered and calm. John felt patronised by that and felt a surge of resentment towards the stranger. It infuriated him so badly.
" Let me think..." He said, anger made his sarcasm more prominent and vicious sounding,
" A man is bleeding dry in a godforsaken barn, so I'd say an ambulance please! And quickly! Hurry!"
There was silence for a couple of moments, then a different voice spoke out.
" Sherlock has gotten so boring, John."
What the-
" Tell Sherlock that Daddy has found someone far more interesting to screw around with. I'd hurry if I were you. Your little angel going to desert you very soon."
John searched for words but with little success. The terrible anger within him screeched and it churned as was brought to the boil.
" Hold on- What? You, who are you?"
The phone call disconnected.