2. John is babbling

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'There it is', John said sharply. The moment Sherlock realized John was a liability. 'This is where we part, because I will shoot again!'


In John's sweetly addled brain, it made perfect sense. Sleep was all that mattered. Civilizations were built and destroyed for it, new territories were chartered and deemed safe, love was pursued, all for the sake of a good night's sleep. That was what Mankind History had been about - sleep - and John was prepared to lecture anyone on the subject. That is, he would be, after a few hours sleep. He felt so strongly on this subject that he'd be ready to academically pursue it for the rest of his life. Sherlock would have to hear, for it was John's turn to deduce, quite brilliantly if he could say so himself, all about sleep. His triumph was his to share with the world and-

The cab halted suddenly, snapping John out of his reverie, and Sherlock was suddenly paying the driver before John was even sure they had left Baker Street. John looked all around him and through the window, blearily. The night returned John grim shadows and an unknown location. They were on a case, surely, but for the life of him, John couldn't remember it.

'You nodded off, John', Sherlock provided in an even, slightly depreciative tone. 'You need to be awake now. I told you, keep alert. This suspect is armed and has killed before. Have your gun ready at all times.'

Maybe John shouldn't have come, it would only have been reasonable. John had just had an emergency 24 hours shift in A&E at the hospital, it had been quite demanding and exhausting, on top of Sherlock's usual maniac episodes. All in all, he was awake for 36 hours straight and his body was threatening to shut down on him. Caffeine was the only thing that kept him going at this point, and it had made his hands shake visibly before. Only the comfort of the familiar steel gun steadied his hand now.

'Sherlock!' John protested, as he ran after the consulting detective through his knowledgeable maze of London's dirty alleys and back patios.

'Keep up, John! He killed four people to steel this documents, we can't let him get away!'

At another time, John would have been proud of Sherlock's display of moral values; though it probably was just the thrill of the chase that edged on Sherlock at that point.

With a sharp turn to the right at the back of the alley, Sherlock was met with a drunken couple of gunshots. Immediately he dove behind a dumpster opposite, on the corner's entrance of the back patio of a closed restaurant.

'Sherlock, are you alright?!'

He nodded sharply, unfazed, before demanding out loud, his voice filling the gap between the high brick walls of the maze: 'Get out, Davies! You haven't got a chance! The police are on its way!'

It was true, John understood with a shock. Sirens flooded the alley's silence. Sherlock must have texted Lestrade for backup from the cab.

As a response, the criminal's gun was slid across the dingy cobbled floor, stopping somewhere close to Sherlock. The surrender was real, the threat was over, and the police officers could handle the arrest themselves soon. The stress and danger level of the situation had dissipated, with the suspect unarmed and cornered on a small closed off patio.

John felt drowsy again all of a sudden, adrenaline dissipating in the blood stream.

'I surrender', Davies had announced clearly. Sherlock looked almost annoyed on how easy it had been, John chuckled.

With a sleepy sigh John lowered the gun to his side. He took the other hand to his face to scrub over his wary eyelids...

A loud thump startled them. Instinctively John opened his eyes and contracted his hands for a fight... That's when his gun fired from his right side, filling the alley with his own loud noise and the acrid metallic smell of fire discharge.

All eyes on site coursed through to John's gun. Next thing, Sherlock had ignored all caution and leaped over to John's hiding place, grabbed him by the shoulders. Demanding an answer.

'Jeeessss, Sherlock, it was a mistake, I misfired. Will you stop it?! I wasn't hit! I'm just the most pathetic excuse for an ex-soldier, almost hit by friendly fire from his own gun!'

Sherlock was looking frightened in his blue-green eyes as he insisted on performing some sort of mock-up basic check on John for injuries, patting John's right side coat and leg. Finally he let out a long breath. 'John, I can't believe...' he started, relieved, as the first police car screeched to a halt at the alley's entrance, halting his speech.

'I'm so glad I didn't shoot you', John splurged out at once, overwhelmed with guilt and embarrassment.

'What?' Sherlock strangely whispered. It was like he had just spoken a foreign language to Sherlock (and there weren't so many of those that the detective didn't speak). 'John, don't be an idiot, you'd never let yourself point a gun at me, so no accidental discharge could ever hit me.'

'Well, it just almost did!' John argued right back.

Their voices were being raised, their altercation clearly audible throughout the alley. Not that John cared anymore. Embarrassment in front of the Police force was little punishment in comparison to what could have happened.

'Will you just quit?'

'Well, this is how it ends, isn't it? I cannot continue. This is more than a silly mistake, Sherlock.'

'What do you mean? You didn't shoot anyone, John, this is not the time to make life decisions based on alternate outcomes of a simple gunfire. I know you really need to sleep. I shouldn't have brought you like this.'

'There it is', John said sharply. The moment Sherlock realized John was a liability. 'This is where we part, because I will shoot again!'

Sherlock just grabbed him tighter in his hands, the first officers were running towards the scene.

'You're babbling, John', he finally stated calmly, in his profound deduction's voice.

'I mean it!' John bellowed.

'If you stop, I stop', Sherlock stated calmly. John goggled him in utter surprise.

Suddenly the voice of a young man, an accomplice, was audible through the patio: 'Please don't shoot me, I surrender!'

The second man came out of a blind spot in the alley. He had been there all along, they realized, trying to make a move on them in order to free Davies. The young man was now standing with his hands raised in the air, shaky and defeated. From the restaurant patio Davies cursed, he had been counting on that break and the fake surrender had been meant to buy time. Before he knew it, John had raised again his gun, to protect him and Sherlock. The young man put down his own gun on the floor. Davies looked utterly defeated as well.

Sherlock and John exchanged a look, and started giggling; Davies' accomplice had misunderstood their entire conversation, believing that Sherlock was trying to persuade John from shooting him dead point-blank, and the seriousness of their altercation had incredibly managed to scare the inexperienced criminal into surrender.

'He's all yours, Lestrade', Sherlock presented, as soon as he recognized the Detective Inspector and his officers nearing them. 'We're off.'

'I need your statement', the DI protested. 'You are several statements behind!'

'Don't say it like you mean it, Lestrade. You've been reading John's blog, it's all in there.'

'Not the same', he grunted with half a smile. 'Where are you two going?! Another criminal chase?'

'Baker Street. John needs to rest. I've learnt my lesson.' Sherlock answered cryptically without explaining further.

The pair silently stepped away from the crocks apprehended and the police officers on scene.

'And now?' John asked bravely to Sherlock as they walked away.

Sherlock pondered him for a second, before opting for more seriousness than humour. 'I mean it. It's both of us or none. And since I'm insufferable when left without cases, and you are my flatmate, what will you chose, John?'

John sighed, divided between reading the words as sugar-coated honesty and comforting bluff. Either way, he was thankful for his friend's words.

'A good night sleep will fix me right up', he said at last, in a lightness he didn't feel yet. Like Sherlock had said, it was a lesson learnt.

Back on the main road, as Sherlock halted a cab, he added, in those few precious seconds before they were in someone's earshot again: 'Still, your missed shot saved our lives this time, John. Davies' accomplice was inexperienced, and working up the courage to shoot us both. Davies chose that spot to hide purposefully, knowing we'd get there, and I missed that. Not enough data, it can happen', he added, like a personal embarrassment. 'One might say your misfire saved our lives tonight, John', Sherlock assured with an absolute and manipulative calm, and a smirk.

'No.'

'What?'

'I would never say that. Not out loud, anyway.'

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Disclaimer: I own none of the characters or their previous feats.