Hiya, people! Guess who's Back in Black, after a major battle with writers block? That's right, this girl! I've already got another chappi written out, but you aren't getting it until I get AT LEAST fifteen reviews, so it's up to you! Review, and get another chapter, or don't... And you know what happens then. *evil laugh* Therefore, all I can say is, REVIEW! First person to review on this chappi gets a honorable mention!

Disclaimer: not Moffat, not Gatiss, therefore not an writer of Sherlock. Just my own little evil fantasies. MWAH HAH HAH HAH!

Hold on (Hold on)

Stay strong (Stay strong)

Press on (For me baby)

I care 4 you ( I care 4 you)

Hold on (Hold on)

Stay strong (Stay strong)

Press on (Press on for me)

I care 4 you (baby)

Aaliyah- I care for you

Previously:

"John's been shot."

"I'm sorry, Sherlock..."

Sherlock froze.

"What?"

"Not now, brother dear, this is not something to be discussed over a cellular device. I shall send a car for you in, say, three minutes?"

"Sod off, Mycroft. Why don't you go shag George instead of bothering me?"

Mycroft sighed into the phone. Apparently, this call was playing out exactly as he thought it would.

"Now, now, brother dear, do be reasonable..."

"Don't tell me to be reasonable when John is dying on the front lines!" Sherlock raged into the phone, stepping farther away from the crime scene and beginning to head toward Baker Street. "My husband, Mycroft!"

"Your inner human is showing, brother dear." Mycroft snapped at him, annoyed with him because of his comment about Lestrade.

"Mycroft-"

"No, Sherlock, I am sending a car for you, and that is final. No arguments, brother, just get in the car."

"Mycroft-"

"Good-bye, brother."

John would be fine. Mycroft had promised so, though Sherlock couldn't tell if his brother had been telling the truth, or just lying for Sherlock's benefit. John would be in pain, they didn't know about the possibility of side effects, but Sherlock didn't care about that. All Sherlock cared about was the fact that as soon as John was stable, they'd be flying him to St. Bart's- and because of Mycroft, John was never going back to that desert wasteland. Sherlock had never been more grateful to Mycroft ever, despite the feeling Sherlock had that Mycroft was lying to him.

When Sherlock got home, he headed straight for their bedroom and flung himself onto Johns side. It didn't even smell like him anymore- John hadn't been home in months. He barely noticed the strange, animalistic sounds he was making, or the tears running down his cheeks.

"John..." He thought hopelessly. "Please don't do this to me... You promised, you promised you'd come home in one piece... Please, John, don't do this to me, love... Come home soon, love... I need you here, with me..."

This was the mans last thought, and Sherlock Holmes descended into a fitful and anxious sleep.

Review or else! Mwah Hah Hah Hah!