Finally got around to updating, sorry it took so long and thank you for all the kind comments and all the faves/alerts :)
-5 months-
John woke up to racket coming from to the living room.
He had been taking an afternoon nap, and the bedroom door was closed.
Slowly he got up, listening to the noises that sounded increasingly like fighting.
As quietly as he could, he opened a drawer and took his beloved Browning from it.
Then he opened the door just an inch to see what was going on.
Sherlock was fighting with a mysterious man, who had a balaclava over his face, so only is eyes could be seen.
An assassin sent by the suspect of Sherlock's current case?
Maybe it was someone from a previous case, seeking revenge?
John didn't stand there thinking for long, he took his phone and sent a single text message.
Then he slammed the door open, startling both men who turned to look at him.
Sherlock felt like the blood had frozen in is veins, seeing is lover standing there, gun aimed at the intruder and free hand shielding his stomach.
He himself was slammed against the wall; a powerful hand squeezing is neck.
The intruder apparently didn't have the same kind of military experience as John, and was only halfway pulling his own gun from his jacket pocket when
John had already fired a shot.
The man screamed as the bullet pierced his shoulder, and he fell to the floor, releasing Sherlock from his grip.
"John!" Sherlock shouted. He didn't even know why, he just wanted to reach out to his mate.
He managed to take few steps forward towards the pregnant man, when the intruder managed to lift his hand still holding the gun up from the floor.
"You son of a bitch!" he shouted in a pain- ridden voice and fired.
Sherlock felt the time slow down.
The bullet made it's deadly way towards John, who fell behind the couch.
Sherlock screamed until all the air left his lungs, utterly losing the control of his emotions.
At that exact moment, a squad of policemen from the Scotland Yard bursted through their door, Lestrade at the lead.
Sherlock didn't care though; he sprinted through the living room toward the couch behind of which John was.
He saw his lover laying there, in a fetal position, both arms clutching his swollen belly.
"Oh God…Please…No…" as he fell to his knees next to him, burying his head to his hands.
"Sherlock…?" he heard a croaked voice say, and lifted is gaze.
John was staring at him, eyes wide open, but is expression was somehow empty.
"Is he gone…?"
Sherlock felt a wave of relief flush over him. "Yes, are you hurt…?"
"I… don't think so…" John said, sitting up with Sherlock's help.
"…but that was a bit too close for comfort…" he said, staring into emptiness, one hand still not leaving his belly.
Sherlock wanted to hug him, to comfort him, but somehow couldn't. He felt paralyzed by the sad blank look in John's eyes.
"Are you alright?" asked a concerned voice from above.
Sherlock looked up and saw Lestrade standing next to them.
"Yes…more or less…" John said quietly. "But I… think I need to lie down…"
"Of course…" Sherlock said, helping his mate up. He then tried to put his arm around John's waist, to help him to bedroom, but John shook him off.
"I'll manage…" he said.
Sherlock was left speechless and simply stared at John's back as he disappeared into the bedroom.
Then he turned to Lestrade.
"Greg, I want to thank…"
His sentence was cut off when the policeman's fist connected with his face, sending his flying to his arse on the floor.
"What the fuck is going on here!?" Greg shouted, staring at him angrily. "You let your pregnant boyfriend on the line of the fire?!"
Sherlock couldn't but stare back, completely dumbstruck.
"The only thing that stops me from snapping your fucking neck is the fact that John wouldn't want me to do it. I don't know what fuck he sees in you."
"I-I didn't…" Sherlock stammered.
"Whatever" Lestrade grunted, turning around. "Just don't let this fuckery happen again, next time we might not make it in time…"
After all the officers and the intruder had left, Sherlock knocked on the bedroom door.
No answer.
He opened the door anyway.
The lights were turned off, but he could make out John's figure lying under sheets.
He walked up to the bed, sliding to his side and watched to other man's back.
Gently, he touched John's shoulder.
"I'm sorry…" he muttered, not really knowing what else to say.
John turned around, and Sherlock almost gasped as he saw the red eyes and lines of tears on his cheeks.
"What for…?" John simply asked.
"For everything…" Sherlock said, his voice trailing off and breaking down.
John reached out his hand, and touched the red spot on Sherlock's cheek where Greg had punched him.
"Did he hit you hard?"
Sherlock grabbed John's hand and held it in his own.
"I thought that he was surprisingly gentle, I'd deserve much worse."
Suddenly John pulled him down, wrapping his arms around the detective's slim frame.
"It wasn't your fault that the man broke in here," he whispered.
Sherlock was quiet for a moment.
"It is my fault though that I have a rather dangerous job and I have made a lot of enemies…"
He felt John's grip of him tighten.
"Please don't say what I think you're going to say…"
"That I think you really ought to leave me, for the sake of your own health and our child's…?"
"Yes…" John said, burying his head into Sherlock's chest.
Sherlock wrapped his own arms around John and stayed quiet.