When Jim awoke to find himself in a hospital bed, head aching worse than that time he'd tried to out drink half a Rugby team, with one arm in a sling and the other cuffed to the railing, he swore.
Not because he'd been caught, but because he now owed Seb a pair of vintage pistols.
As he leaned back and waited for the fun to start, he bet himself fifty quid that the first words out of Seb's mouth would be 'I told you so.'
"Sherlock!"
John bolted upright, regretting it immediately as pain shot through his head.
"John! Take it easy, that was a nasty hit you took." Small, gentle hands pushed him back down.
He turned, surprised to find Harry sitting beside him. He was in a hospital, he realized, a private room even.
"Harry? What are you doing here?" he asked.
"What am I doing here?" His sister looked ready to punch him, "You were blown up, John! Blown up! In the middle of bloody London!"
"Don't shout, I've got a headache," John moaned.
"I will bloody well shout as much as I want to, John Watson! For months, the only way I've been able to contact you is through your stupid blog, and then I get a phone call at two in the AM saying you were in an explosion!"
"Look, we can talk about this later-"
"You bet your arse we will."
"- But first I need to know what's happened."
"I was hoping you could tell me."
Lestrade came up behind Harry, looking more exhausted than John had ever seen him, Donovan at his side.
"Where's Sherlock?" John asked.
"In surgery," Lestrade replied. "It doesn't look good. He took a bullet to the chest. Nearly drowned in his own blood before we got to him."
John felt something in his chest break when he heard that.
"I woke up after the bomb went off. Someone, must have been one of the snipers, was standing over Sherlock with a gun. I tackled him right as he pulled the trigger. We fought a bit, then he pistol-whipped me. Should have been faster."
"John, I need to know what went on in that pool."
"Alright," John pushed himself up against the headboard, more slowly this time. "Can you give us a moment Harry?"
"John-"
"Please."
Harry glared at him, but stood up and left the room.
"Firstly, Moriarty. He was there. 'Bout my height, short dark hair, brown eyes, expensive suit. Did you get him?"
"We cuffed everyone we didn't recognize. That one is…" Lestrade glanced over at Donovan.
Donovan checked her notebook, "Two floors down. Dislocated shoulder, mild concussion, fractured leg. He's not going anywhere."
John sighed in relief. At least that had gone right.
Taking a deep breath, he began to talk. He told them everything. He told them about being grabbed off the street and being shoved into a bomb vest. About being forced to pretend he was Moriarty. About Jim and his threats. About the snipers.
About Sherlock's solution.
"And he shot the bomb?" Donovan asked incredulously. "That was his brilliant idea? Where in the hell did the Freak get a gun from anyways?"
"It's mine. My service pistol. And no, I don't have a permit for it." Any other day, he would be worried that they'd run ballistics on it, but today he had bigger worries. "And as for Sherlock's plan? I'd like to know what you'd have done in that situation."
Whatever Donovan was going to say, she was cut off by a warning hand from the Inspector.
"Save it. What about the one who shot Sherlock, did you get a good look at him?"
John shook his head, "No. It all happened so fast. He was about my height I think, and was wearing a grey hoodie."
"That's it?"
"Yeah. Sorry I can't be more help. How's the clean up going?"
"We got there as quickly as we could. As soon as I heard the address, I knew you two had to be involved. We caught two snipers trying to sneak out of the building, and another two inside who must have been stunned by the explosion. We found another on by the pool near you and Sherlock, bullet to the head. None of them sound like the guy you fought."
"So he's still out there?"
"We've got Moriarty," Donovan pointed out.
"Yeah, just… I've got a bad feeling about that guy."
"We'll get him. You rest up. I'll send your sister back in."
"Do you have to?"
Lestrade laughed and patted him on the shoulder. "Sorry. That woman's already verbally assaulted me once today. I'm not giving her reason to do it again."
John felt a brief smile break out on his own face, but only a brief one.
"Lestrade… Sherlock…"
"As soon as I know, you'll know. I promise."
As the two police officers turned to leave, a nurse entered.
"Excuse me? Is there an Inspector Lestrade here?" she asked.
"That's me."
"Err, I'm sorry, it's just that… this was left at the desk for you," she handed him a manila envelope.
Cautiously, he opened it, removing a pink iPhone.
For a moment, the room was silent, then the phone is Lestrade's hand sprang to life.
Beeeeep.
Beeeeep.
Beeeeep.
Beeeeep.
Beeeeep.
