Hey all. Two new chapters are up (I wrote it all as one big chapter and realized it was too long so I split them, but I couldn't leave you hanging like that so I decided to give you a double feature). I hope you like them. I did my best, I really did, but as I said in my other stories: I see my stories in Movie form so it can be difficult for me to translate pictures and emotions into words. Anyways I appreciate all of the readers and reviewers, you guys keep me going. :)
Warning: Blood, violence, swearing.
Disclaimer: You get the picture. I don't own it.
Beta: none
Previously:
The attacker put both hands on the gun and pointed it at the left side Sherlock's chest near his heart. Sherlock struggled to push the gun away and keep the man from firing.
John was almost on his feet now, his hands scrabbled for his gun on the floor. He could see the back of the criminal, but the man was blocking his view of Sherlock. He could see Sherlock's arm muscles straining to push the man's arm away when he heard a loud BANG! Sherlock's face flashed surprise, then pain as he collapsed to the ground.
"Sherlock!" John yelled.
John's soldier instinct kicked in and the rush of adrenaline flushed away the dizziness and pain from his head injury. The world focused into startling clarity, his mind registered each and every movement, each and every dust mote swirling in the air. He focused on the enemy with the gun who has just shot his best friend.
Without removing his eyes from the enemy, his hands promptly found his own gun, which immediately went to aim at the man. As the enemy angrily turned towards John, gun still raised and wildly looking for a new target, John fired. The bullet went straight through the man's right shoulder with a spray of blood following it. He collapsed to the ground with a moan and John went over to kick the pistol out of the man's limp grip. It skidded across the floor with an echoing clatter. He checked that the man was unconscious before rushing to Sherlock's body on the dirty warehouse floor. He wouldn't be any good to Sherlock if the criminal wasn't incapacitated (and attacked them again) so he had to check him first, as much as it pained him.
His adrenaline rush was fading fast now; the focus draining and the energy in his cells evaporating like steam. His body was quivering and he was starting to feel the pure terror seep back into his heart, his soul. Sherlock was lying on the ground and blood was seeping out onto his chest and arm near his heart. John froze at the sight. The image seemed to stick in his head making this one second feel like an infinity. Oh god, what if Sherlock was dead? He looked dead. John suddenly couldn't bear the thought of Sherlock being dead…and not having ever been with him.
A loud gasp startled him from his stupor.
"Ouch! That bloody-well stings," Sherlock said in a strained but mostly normal voice. His right hand came up to touch his left arm hesitantly and he winced as he sat up.
"Wha- What?... No, no, no. I saw you get shot in the chest. How are you okay?" John's eyes were wide and his body trembling as he knelt down beside Sherlock.
"Oh that. Well, you thought you saw him shoot me in the chest. During the struggle I managed to push the gun between my arm and my side. That was when he pulled the trigger. It seems to have only grazed the inner part of my arm and the side of my chest. Not much damage, but those spots do tend to bleed more than others," Sherlock rambled. He was too focused on his wounds and trying to get his coat off to see them that he hadn't noticed how affected John was yet.
John's shaky hand came up to tenderly brush Sherlock's face, his thumb grazing over Sherlock's sharp cheekbone. Sherlock looked at him, surprise emanating from every pore.
"I-" John's voice caught, but he continued in the same soft tone, "I thought you were dead…. I thought I had lost you." His cobalt orbs bore into Sherlock's silver ones.
They leaned towards each other unconsciously, but just before their lips met they heard a loud shout of 'POLICE!' before DI Lestrade and his officers burst into the warehouse. They whipped their heads back but stayed close and still touching. John's ears turned scarlet and he looked down at the floor for a moment. 'What the bloody hell are you doing John Watson. My Gosh, get yourself together.' John thought while staring at the dusty concrete floor.
"John, Sherlock are you alright? Shit, who's that on the ground?" Lestrade yelled as he moved towards them, his gun drawn.
"We're fine Lestrade, but John here will need medical attention-" Sherlock began to reply before he was cut off by John.
"You're the one who got shot and is bleeding. You need medical attention more than I do."
Sherlock rolled his eyes. "I wasn't shot, I was grazed by the bullet thank you very much. And if you hadn't noticed you are bleeding as well."
"What? Where?" John said, his hand reached up to his head and he was, in fact, bleeding from the back of his head, though it had mostly stopped by now. He felt a twinge when he touched the tender area but ignored it. "Oh. Right you are. But you still need medical attention."
John finally stopped shaking and was morphing into doctor mode. He could analyze this mess of feelings later but right now Sherlock's health was more important. His hands came up to put pressure on the detective's bleeding arm. He knew the graze right over his ribs would be too sensitive for pressure and it must have been smaller than the arm wound as it was bleeding far less.
"I'm glad you're both alright but can you please tell me why a man is bleeding on the ground," Lestrade said exasperatedly. Sometime during Sherlock and John's not-so-private- private chat Lestrade had signaled to one of the constables to call for an ambulance and another constable to see if the man on the floor was all right.
"He's part of the group of robbers who are actually part of a larger smuggling ring. They brought their goods here, as they must have someone who illegally ships these stolen items abroad to sell. He snuck up on us and hit John over the head. I struggled with him and he shot me, then John shot him in self-defense." Sherlock gave John a look of pride. "He should be fine though. Look he's already starting to come to. I'm sure that if you interrogate him he'll give up the names of his cohorts."
"Honestly you couldn't have just waited could you?" Lestrade gave a weary sigh. His radio made a static noise before they could hear a voice saying that an ambulance was here. "Alright let's get you both out of here and to the medics. I'll deal with this one," he pointed to the awakening criminal.
"Come on Sherlock, up you go," John said and he placed Sherlock's uninjured arm over his shoulders and gently pulled the tall man to a standing position. Sherlock made a small grimace as the movement jarred his wounds.
John felt sizzling fire lick at each and every point Sherlock was touching him. It was a curious feeling, quite nice in fact, but John kept expecting Sherlock to feel cold with death. He couldn't shake that horrible feeling of almost losing Sherlock. He led them out the front of the warehouse to the waiting ambulance and eased him onto the gurney.
"Him first," they both said at the same time to the medics. John rolled his eyes and Sherlock smirked his smug grin.
The medics looked at one another with laughter in their eyes but didn't giggle. "As there are two of us how about we check you over at the same time. Happy?" The female asked.
The two friends nodded in agreement and the medics started their work. John didn't need any stitches, the wound was small but he did have a large lump and bruise on the back of his head. They gave him an icepack and an anti-inflammatory. Sherlock needed eight stitches on his arm before they wrapped it up and got away with no stitches on his side. As John thought, the chest cut was much smaller, thank heavens.
John was very quiet throughout this whole process. He avidly watched everything the medic was doing to Sherlock and paid no attention whatsoever to his own care. He still couldn't believe Sherlock got away with such minor injuries. For that one eternity-like-second he was positive Sherlock was gone and it brought up so many feelings he had been telling himself he didn't have. Been telling himself to stop. Been telling himself he couldn't handle, not after what that man did to him. The feelings were so strong now that they were overriding his defense mechanisms. It physically hurt him to think of not being near Sherlock anymore. It hurt his heart, squeezed it in a vice grip. His resolve to stop all this…love… he had for Sherlock was wearing down.
A hand on his arm brought him back down to Earth.
"John? John it's time to go. We can go home now." Sherlock paused to look in John's eyes and he quirked his own eyebrow up in a question. "Are you sure you're all right? You seem…off. I thought they said you only had a light concussion?"
"Oh. Yeah, I'm fine Sherlock. No worries. Let's get back, we both need to rest." At Sherlock's look he added, "And I'm not taking no for an answer." He decided to push his thoughts away until he was home, in bed, alone, where Sherlock couldn't read every single thought on his face.
~o0o~
Back in the kitchen of 221B John had forced Sherlock to eat some toast and tea already and was finishing his own plate and cuppa. Sherlock could tell something was off with John. He was still unusually quiet and Sherlock had caught the doctor staring at him more than once.
"I think I'm going to hit the sack," John said finally. "You better go try and get some sleep too. Doctor's orders."
For once Sherlock didn't argue but John was too wrapped up in his own thoughts to notice. They both headed to their separate bedrooms, each giving the other one last look before parting.
~o0o~
John took off his bloodstained clothes and changed into his coziest pajama bottoms and shirt before sliding into bed.
His thoughts were racing. Why was this particular event affecting him so badly? Surely he'd seen Sherlock hurt many times before this. He'd saved the detective from many brushes with death, stitched him up, or sat with Sherlock at the hospital (the rare time or two Sherlock was forced to go). So why did THIS image of Sherlock lying dead keep flashing through his mind, make his heart feel like nails were being driven into it, make his stomach clench in fear and want and love?
'OH SHIT! I'm IN LOVE with him. Shit Shit Shit Shit Shit!' John thought savagely. His body curled into a ball around his head. It seemed his heart had won out over his brain and had finally made him see the truth. 'And he loves me back. Somehow. At least that's what he told me…but can I really do this, with a man?' He shivered a little at a memory he had tried to hold back for so long.
'But I love him right? I can't let my rape ruin the rest of my life. And it's Sherlock for Christ's sake; if it were anyone else I probably wouldn't be having this, um…conversation...in my own head? But it is and he's already accepted everything else about me. I love this insane, brilliant, beautiful man…Oh god, what do I do?'
These thoughts swirled round and round in poor John's head until he fell into a fitful sleep.
Don't worry I've already put up the next chapter so you won't be left hanging. Coming up: we find out exactly what John's dark secret is. Do Sherlock and John get together? Better keep reading to find out ;)
