A/N; December has to be the busiest time of the year.

However, thanks to Christmas break, I finally have updating time! So, here…have some more angst, just in time for the end of the year and the return of the detective :)

Merry Christmas!

Ta,

Anonymoustache

"John. John. C'mon, mate, wake up…"

John's eyes fluttered open. He focused on Greg's face, which wavered in front of him, along with shades of red and gray. Small particles of black and white floated down onto his face, getting caught in his lashes.

John blinked. "Is it…snowing?" he asked hoarsely.

"No," Greg said, sounding relieved. "How do you feel?"

"Like I just got run over by a delivery truck," John said, groaning as he sat up, "Where's Sherlock?"

Greg looked around at Sally and Anderson, who were standing behind him. Anderson was cradling his wrist, which was bent painfully and obviously broken. Sally had her arm around him, a thin gash near the crook of her neck bleeding onto her white shirt. Both had grave looks on their faces.

John's face turned completely ashen. "Oh, Jesus…"

Greg crouched down so that he was on eye level with John. "John…we haven't found him yet. But we've got all our best people looking. He's gotta be here somewhere."

"But he's…he's…" John trailed off, unable to say anything, head pounding.

"Just take it easy, John," Greg said gently. "You're of no use to Sherlock like this."

John struggled to understand. "He was right…right behind me. On the way out. How did he…"

Anderson shifted his weight.

John's eyes went wide. "YOU!" he yelled. He jumped to his feet and promptly fell forwards onto his face.

"No, John, it wasn't Craig's fault, just calm down…"

John fought weakly against Greg's hold, fists flailing feebly towards Anderson. "You bastard, you utter bastard, how could you…"

"John, he saved Craig's life!"

"Go rot in hell, you bast-"

John broke off, brain processing what Greg had said. "W-what?"

Greg carefully propped John up against the wall, letting him rest comfortably. "Craig was a bit…paralyzed, in there. Sherlock ran back in and got him." Greg took a deep breath. "John, what Sherlock did was a very heroic thing to do. He had to have known there was no way he'd get out-" Greg broke off awkwardly.

"Alive." John said, voicing Greg's last word in a hollow, emotionless voice.

John sat there for several minutes, staring at the opposite wall. When he finally spoke, his voice was a mere whisper, hoarse with loss and sadness.

"He always said there was no such thing as heroes."

John's voice finally broke.

"I wish he had been right."

A soft knock was heard on the side of the ambulance. Greg looked up to see Mycroft appear at the door. Though he appeared as calm as ever, Greg could see the barely-disguised panic in his eyes.

"Gregory," he said, relief apparent in his voice.

Greg stood up and ran over, embracing his boyfriend. Mycroft threw his arms around his love, kissing him with abandon.

"Gregory, I must admit I was extremely afraid for you," Mycroft whispered, burying his face in the inspector's grey hair.

"God, Mycroft…" Greg said, trailing off. He leaned in and laid his head against Mycroft's shoulder, gripping the government man's hands in his own.

"This is all very touching, but can you two just break it up for a moment?" John said grouchily from where he sat on the tailgate of the ambulance, wrapped in a bright orange shock blanket.

"Well, excuse me for greeting my boyfriend." Greg said sarcastically.

John's face went stark white.

Greg's eyes widened. "Oh, God…John, I'm so sorry, I didn't mean…"

"Yeah. Sure. Whatever." John said roughly. He swiped a hand at his eyes and stood up, heading down the pavement. "I'm going to walk a bit."

"Be careful…" Greg trailed off as he realized the doctor wasn't listening.

Greg sighed and turned back to Mycroft. "Sorry. Sherlock-"

"Didn't make it out," Mycroft finished his sentence. "You forget that I have contacts everywhere." He shifted his weight, drumming his fingers on his umbrella's handle.

"Oh. Right." Greg said. He sat back down heavily on the edge of the trailer, putting his head in his hands. "I'm so sorry, Mycroft. He was right there…and then he wasn't."

"I know, Gregory," Mycroft said, voice full of sorrow. He sat down next to the inspector and put an arm around him, pulling him in close. Greg leaned his head on Mycroft's shoulder and closed his eyes, trying to erase the flashes of red and gray that flitted before his eyes.

It was peaceful until they heard the shocked screams from outside Scotland Yard's destroyed offices.

Mycroft's arm loosened as he stood up and squinted towards the crowd, trying to see what was happening. Greg watched as the government man's eyes widened to the size of dinner plates when he saw what was there.

"Sherlock…" he whispered.

Greg leapt up. "Mycroft, what is it?"

"It's…Sherlock," he said, in a state of shock. He pointed towards the building with shaking hands.

Greg peered over and gasped at what he saw.

Sherlock was standing at the middle of the crowd, having just stumbled out of the large pile of still-smoking wreckage from the explosion. He was covered in ash and blood, his skin paper-white, whole body shaking. He took a step and collapsed onto his face, trembling legs unable to support him.

The world seemed to turn in slow motion. Greg threw off the blanket and ran towards him, followed closely by Mycroft. They pushed through the people in the crowd, forcing their way towards the consulting detective.

"Sherlock…" Greg said as they reached him, voice choked. He felt Mycroft crouch down next to him, staring, horrified, at his brother's body.

"LET ME THROUGH! LET ME THROUGH!"

Greg heard John's screams as the army doctor pushed and shoved his way through the crowd with abandon to drop down by Sherlock.

"Sherlock…Sherlock…" he moaned. He grabbed the detective's wrist and felt his pulse, then checked his breathing.

"He's alive," John whispered, lighting a spark of hope in all their hearts. He leaned down and placed a gentle kiss on Sherlock's bruised cheek.

The detective's eyes fluttered open, taking a few moments before finally focusing on the people around him. His eyes traveled from John, to Greg, to Mycroft, and back to John.

"J-jhon…" he said in a quiet, strangled voice

John brushed bits of dried blood and ash off of Sherlock's lashes tenderly. "I know, love, I know. I'm here."

"I'll always be here."