Here's chapter two! Don't worry, the next chapter of Kiara is coming soon!

Enjoy!

John couldn't hear much besides the whooshing in his ears. His thoughts were going round and round in his head, he fell twice as he blindly ran away. Away from the warehouse, away from his dead sister, away from Sherlock.

He felt dizzy and could see stars and black spots in front of his eyes, but the calm, doctor-part of his mind told him it was just because he was hyperventilating. But why not? Why shouldn't he? Wasn't one allowed to hyperventilate when the supposedly best friend shot one's sister?

He suddenly became aware of other sounds. Sher- , no, his voice cut through the whooshing in his ears, shouting his name. He was coming closer, quickly, and John assumed it was because of his longer legs and better coordination right now.

John blinked away the fogginess from his eyes, and didn't turn around, but as it turned out, he didn't need to. When he was only a few metres away from John, John stumbled and fell once more. It was dark and even though he had no idea where he was right now, he knew that he was rather far away from the warehouse.

As he struggled to get up again, gentle hands turned him around so he was lying on his back. There was pressure on his wrists, which were beside his head, and when he looked up, he looked directly in Sherlock's face.

He could see the contact-lenses now, the brown was dirty because of the sliver behind them, and he couldn't help but wonder why Sherlock wore them. Surprised as he had looked, he hadn't meant for anyone to see him. Harry hadn't been a bait at all, Sherlock had just killed her – for fun? Was Donovan finally right? Had Sherlock snapped?

There was no insanity in those eyes he had grown to care for, only concern and guilt and sadness.

"Get away from me!" John's voice wasn't as strong as he wanted it to be. It was breaking and the tears he had suppresed until now were clearly audible.

He tried to get out of Sherlock's grip, but noticed two things. Firstly, he had to distract Sherlock, so he could use a technique he had learned in the army. Secondly, Sherlock was holding the gun in his right hand, pressing it to John's wrist.

"John -" Sherlock looked pained, but what for? He didn't have to shoot Harry, so there was no excuse. Had he just wanted to kill her for fun and then never tell anyone about it? Clever as he was, the crime would have never been found, Harry's body hidden somewhere.

When he said this out loud, Sherlock looked surprised. Because John had understood what his plan had been? Or was it because of something else?

What ever it was, it distracted Sherlock for that tiny moment that John needed. He pulled his left arm out of Sherlock's grip and pulled on Sherlock's arm. With his right arm and whole body he flipped up.

It was a reflex to grab the gun, just like putting his knees on Sherlock's arm, just above his elbows, and sitting on his chest.

They were now in a similar position as before, almost mirrored, but John's hands were free – and the gun pointed exactly between Sherlock's eyes. It didn't touch him, not yet, but a shot now would be deadly anyway.

Sherlock looked surprised and now also, finally, John's mind couldn't help but add, slightly worried.

"John, let me explain." There was an urgent note in his voice, but when John closed his eyes, he could still see Harry's panicked eyes, could still see the blood. What right had Sherlock to be urgent? What right had he at all?

"Why. Why, Sherlock?" John growled, his voice shaking, but this time because of anger. Both of them knew what John meant – not why he should let Sherlock explain, but why he had killed Harry.

"I had to, John, otherwise you would have been gone." Sherlock spoke quickly, as if he was worried John would change his mind about letting him talk.

"I couldn't change it, it had to happen." At the back of his head John could hear a tiny voice which was not questioning this, but thinking about what Sherlock meant. If – if Sherlock had a good reason, then he would say it, wouldn't he? He was so eloquent, he could explain everything – well besides emotion. So why was he doing such a poor job with this?

But that tiny voice was exactly that. Tiny. And the rest of him screamed for something else. He wanted revenge, he wanted his sister back. But the second thing was impossible, so he'd go for the first.

He moved the gun, so the barrel was touching Sherlock's skin. The detective flinched, but had no-where to go, and didn't move anywhere else. Pulling the safety trigger back, which somehow had been on – why would Sherlock chase him with a gun, keep the gun in hand, to have it not ready to shoot? – felt good. His hand wasn't shaking anymore, this was what he was good at. Shooting.

Sherlock had closed his eyes. He was breathing only slightly quicker, but John could hear that he was keeping it under good control.

"John." He sounded out of breath, his voice quiet, but he didn't try to move at all. When John thought back, he hadn't resisted at all since he had flipped him over. Did he trust John so much? Did he think John wouldnt shoot him? Did he really have a reason to kill Harry?

John didn't know. But he did know, if he shot Sherlock now, he wouldn't find out. He'd go to prison, maybe even for the murder of Harry.

It wasn't really a conscious decision. Flicking the safety trigger back on and swinging the gun, hitting Sherlock's temple was one fluid motion. Sherlock was unconscious instantly, as a doctor John couldn't help but quickly check for breathing and pulse. Not even Sherlock was that a good actor to fake unconsciousness to him.

When the police finally found them, they were surprised at the situation. Sherlock Holmes was lying on his side, in recovery position, but with his hands cuffed together. He was obviously unconscious, otherwise he wouldn't be so still and pale.

Dr John Watson was standing a metre away from him. He was pale as well, his face was bruised and at some parts even a bit bloody, as if he had falled many times. There was a single tear-track down his right cheek and he was trembling, but the most surprising fact about him was the gun in his hand, pointed directly at his best friend's head.

So what do you think? Do you know why Sherlock killed Harry? And stayed away from John, Molly, Lestrade, Mycroft, anyone he knew? Please review!