Wow, can't believe I have nine people following my fic already! Thank you so much to, here we go with a list: BoffinPenwings, Candi Liam, CiCi98 (as always :3), CrazyCoffeeKat, icecat62, ObsessedFangirl221B (read her AMAZING fic!), amberaylin, imvictorious, and finally ravenoak21! Really really appreciate it guys! :) warms mah heaaaart. :3 Anyways, enjoy, and remember I LOVE reviews! So please leave some! Sorry for the short chapters! It works better with my schedule. :P
The ambulance had arrived by the time John got a hold of Detective Inspector Lestrade.
"Hello?" His baritone voice answered.
"Lestrade, Sherlock's been shot." John sighed, still getting his head around the fact himself.
"What? By who?" He exclaimed with a tone of disbelief and concern.
John froze. He didn't actually know his name.
"Listen, there is a lot you don't know about Redbeard." John told his friend over the phone.
"Yeah, I looked him up. The crime report isn't very informative. They've got just about nothing on him." Lestrade stated with a curious tone of voice.
"Just meet me at the hospital. And hurry. I have a feeling we won't be there long," John exhaled with irritation, "Sherlock is quite eager to do some damage."John could almost hear Lestrade's nod over the phone. Before he could say another word, John was interrupted by a tap on his shoulder. He jumped and spun around, his arms raised in preparation for anything. The nurse standing there stared with wide eyes.
"I'm so sorry." John apologized and threw a hand over his forehead in both embarrassment and stayed quiet on the phone.
"Rough night?" The nurse asked with a sad, yet comforting smile.
John nodded, "You could say so."
She sighed and exaggerated sigh with a raise of her shoulders, "Sorry to interrupt, your phone call, but he's asking for you." She informed John politely. John turned to stare at the ambulance, packing up its things, preparing to drive off.
John smiled wearily for a split second and then gave the nurse a nod. "Thanks."
She grinned and rushed off towards the ambulance. John turned back to his phone call. "Lestrade, I've got to go. Meet me there." Without waiting for a reply, John ended the call, and jogged towards the bright flashing lights of the ambulance.
"Sherlock." John huffed as he stared at his best friend. He was laying there, in the gurney, a smirk of arrogance on his expression, his arm bandaged, and an angry EMT beside him.
"Sir, we need to leave." He ordered to John, to which John quickly nodded. "Yes, may I?" He asked and pointed to a seat in the back of the ambulance. "Of course." The EMT suggested and hurriedly shut the back of the vehicle once John had gotten comfortable.
John glared at Sherlock as the ambulance roared to life, taking off against the hard gravel road. Sherlock gazed back, with a shrug set firmly on his shoulders.
"Lestrade is meeting us there." John stated to break the silence. Sherlock bobbed his head and sighed.
"Make sure he doesn't video me this time." Sherlock commanded John, to which he couldn't help but grin weakly. "I'll still take the morphine though." Sherlock added, receiving a dirty look from the EMT. John rolled his eyes, as Sherlock put on an innocent expression.
But suddenly, his features fell flat and he turned to look at John with squinting eyes. John tilted his head, confused by his friend's rapid change in mood.
"He would have killed me." Sherlock mumbled, but John heard the words clear as day. "He would have killed me if you hadn't intervened." He said louder, gazing right at John with an unrecognizable expression.
John swallowed, and nodded his head slowly, feeling the need to look down at the ground, as if he were embarrassed.
"Thank you." Sherlock stated, and John's head whirled to face him dead on. John gulped and watched as Sherlock closed his eyes, moving away from the conversation. He should have known. Gratitude wasn't a reoccurring theme with his best friend, and was rare to catch a glimpse of. But John simply smiled, and sighed a prolonged sigh.
"Sherlock?" He called out to him.
Sherlock didn't respond, but part of him twitched in acknowledgement.
"Who was that?" John questioned, "I mean, what was his name?"
Sherlock's eyes opened, but only stared up at the ceiling.
"I can't be positive, as Oliver and I never found out for sure. But if we were right in our investigating, his name is Walter E. King."
John narrowed his eyes, "Sherlock."
Sherlock raised an eyebrow.
"Do you think you were right?" John asked, with sympathetic eyes.
Sherlock swallowed uneasily. "I do."
John nodded, "Then we got our man." His attempt to comfort Sherlock was weak but he saw him smirk slightly, almost thankful for the small act to ease his frustrations.
"Lestrade." John greeted the Detective Inspector as he swayed through the hospital doors. "John." He bobbed his head once, and sighed rather loudly.
"They're stitching him up as we speak." John shrugged and shook his good friend's hand. "Should be finished any minute now."
"Good." Greg let out a sigh of relief. "Any idea who did this?"
John nodded, "I'av. But I think you should discuss that with Sherlock."
Lestrade inhaled deeply, "Alright."
"Not now, though." John stated as Lestrade looked up at him with raised eyebrows. "I'm sure he's asked for a bucket load of morphine." John sighed and smiled wearily.
Lestrade smirked, and reached into his pocket, pulling out his camera phone.
"Sorry, Lestrade." John started, "But I've been ordered to make sure you don't record him this time."
Greg gazed at John with narrowed eyes, and then began to chuckle, to which John joined in. Suddenly, they were interrupted at the Detective Inspector's phone chimed loudly, piercing John's ears with a high pitched dinging. Lestrade stared down at his phone. Soon, his face fell into a deep abyss of perplexed emotions, as the screen's light reflected along the ridge's of his face.
"What is it, Detective?" John asked curiously.
"Its," Lestrade swallowed and then turn to stare at John with wide eyes, "It's Sherlock."
John jerked his head forward, "What?" Lestrade handed him the phone willingly. John took hold of it and narrowed his eyes.
It read: Graham, why is there an insanely large amount of patrol cars sitting outside 221B? Remove them at once. -SH
John rolled his eyes at the screen and heaved a large irritated sigh. He texted back, quite sure that Sherlock wasn't in the mood to answer a phone call.
Sherlock, how the hell did you get to Baker?
Lestrade stood, looking over John's shoulder for the reply. It took a moment but he wrote back.
Ah, hello John. Yes, I took a cab. –SH
John wasn't surprised that Sherlock could use his deductive reasoning, even through text. He exhaled in frustration, shaking his head. He handed the phone back to Lestrade, and marched towards the hospital exit. "John?" Lestrade called out.
"Sorry, Lestrade. Come by Baker Street, later." John huffed with a shrug as he hurried out the door.
"I have to take care of Sherlock Holmes right now." John growled, and waved an effortless wave to Greg before disappearing to find a cab.