Clasping his hands behind his back casually, Sherlock doesn't even try to deny it. "After seeing your performance at the gym, I am rather curious. If we are to continue working together, I thought it would be wise to understand your strengths and weaknesses in the realm of physical combat. You have scolded me for making assumptions about your participation. Therefore, it seemed logical for you to see for yourself and then make a decision as to whether to participate or not." He says casually as he looks at the fight, smirking slightly as there is a victor.

Shaking his head for a few moments, John just chuckles softly. "The one thing you listen to me about.." he mumbles softly, chuckling a little, before he considers it for a few moments. Most of the people here are younger than him by quite a margin, and the reigning champion is a good ten years younger than he is, in the prime of his life. There is a part of the doctor that wants to pit his skills against the younger man to see how he compares, how he can hold up. That challenge, the need to prove that he's not too old, especially living with someone who is quite a bit younger than he is as well, is probably what prompts him to act.

It has apparently come to the night where the champion will take on all comers, and the person who seems to be organizing this event gets up on a little step stool and calls out for any volunteers to fight the man who has gone through the most recent fight with minimal external damage.

"I will!" John finally calls, raising an arm above his head and sighing. "I can't believe I'm doing this." He mutters under his breath, before he pulls his jumper off over his head and holds it out to Sherlock, before he pulls off the t-shirt he has on underneath, leaving him in a white tanktop he had underneath. It may be somewhat warmer out, as far as London weather goes, but he's still not adjusted to the cooler temperatures as compared to Afghanistan's heat. At least the tanktop covers most of the scar on his shoulder, though it doesn't cover the RAMC tattoo on his shoulder.

The tattoo makes Sherlock's eyebrows go up in surprise as he takes the pieces of clothing from John, though he was surprised the older man even volunteered. considering for a few moments, he walks over closer to the entrance to the ring with John. "Good luck." he says as he stands back from it slightly, but still much closer than they were originally.

Sighing a little, John rolls his shoulders for a moment, shaking out the tension in his arms before he steps into the ring, being told what 'rules' there are, which is mostly to keep the people from fighting dirty and going to the hospital which would bring unwanted attention to them as a whole. He shakes the other man's hand and then steps back, falling into an easy stance and keeping his hands up. He doesn't know what really to expect, but knows a little more than the other will expect from him.

The first few punches catch John off-guard, not because they are painful, but because the moves are so easily telegraphed that he easily dodges and blocks them, throwing a few punches himself and making impact, the smack of skin on skin barely heard above the roaring of the crowd. From there the fight's ferocity only increases. And while his opponent has a decade on him as far as age, John has the advantage as far as skill goes, and he starts to gain the upper hand with solid blows to the other man's stomach and face. He doesn't want to seriously hurt the other man but on the other hand he does want to win the match. Of course, the moment he stepped in the ring, he had to put the doctor side of him aside or he'd never be able to fight in what is a rather brutal way.

As much as the 'referee' warned them about the rules, it seems that John's opponent wasn't listening, or he just really doesn't want to lose his status of 'champion' to the older man and be thought of poorly. Whatever the reason, he gets in close to John, and delivers a blow to his abdomen that is more than just fist on flesh.

When the blow lands, at first John is a little shocked because he feels the thin blade of a knife slide into his skin and muscle before he feels any real pain. Time seems to slow down for a moment as he looks at the face of his attacker and the cold fury that he sees there, the vindictiveness. And then he feels the pain as the man pulls the knife away and stabs him again just for good measure. Stumbling away, John puts a hand over his side, watching the stain spread over his white shirt, and cursing mentally as he tries to put pressure on it but he knows that he's in shock, one part of his brain quickly analyzing the problem, even if he can't seem to make his body react to it.

Pandemonium breaks out as soon as people realize what happened, everyone disappearing into the cracks and alleys and sewers that are all accessible from this underground room. Sherlock stares in horror as he sees what's happening, though, and he pulls out his cell phone with one hand, dialing emergency services before he does anything else. John's attacker, in the meantime, gives him one more vicious kick to the ribs once he falls back onto the ground, adding insult to injury.

It's a good thing Sherlock didn't see that, fighting the crowds to get over to John as he shouts orders at the person he gets from emergency services, giving the address and explanation of how to get down to the room. While he's doing that, he uses John's t-shirt to put it over the wound and apply pressure. "John. John, stay with me." He says in a firm tone as he looks down at the doctor. "I am unsure of what to do, you need to tell me what to do." He says in a firm tone.

Looking up at Sherlock while he coughs a little, wincing. "Possible cracked ribs.. having.. trouble breathing.. Keep pressure.." He gasps a little when Sherlock presses down more, but he nods. "Good.. like that.. have to.. have to stop the bleeding. Don't let me go unconscious." He says as he looks up at Sherlock, before he coughs a little. "Life with you... really is dangerous."

"I said danger.. and here you are." Sherlock says with a tentative smile as he looks down at John. "Stay with me. Please, John." he says in a firm voice, but thankfully he doesn't have long to wait. Once he hears the voices coming close, he looks up. "Here! We're in here!" He yells, staying near John until he is forced to move out of the way of the paramedics.

They get John up onto the gurney and are preparing to take him back to the ambulance when John reaches out almost desperately and grabs onto Sherlock, looking up at him. "He comes with me." he says in a firm tone, not letting go of Sherlock's arm until the others agree to allow the detective to ride in the ambulance, still clutching John's sweater with bloody hands, a bit numb himself.

Sherlock barely has anyone that he cares about and he most certainly has not seen any gravely injured like this right in front of him, so he's having some issues accepting this. Of course he's also very worried about John, trying to stay out of the way of the paramedics as they all get into the ambulance and start speeding off. He looks down at John, cleaning off his hands with a wipe the paramedics give him, before he continues to watch the man in front of him.

"Please. We have much left to do. You haven't heard the end of my newest composition. Don't you dare die."


Don't hate me. It's all for the greater good. :D

Reviews/comments welcome. :)