By the time John woke up, there was late afternoon light spilling in through the curtains. His phone was gone and so was Sherlock, unsurprisingly. He sat up gingerly, mindful of his head, and stretched. At some point during the time he'd been asleep, likely not long after Sherlock had woken up and taken off, he had shifted into a vertical position that left him with a painful kink in his neck. He sighed and stood up, deciding that a shower was in order before Sherlock got home and they were thrust right back into the heat of the chase.

It turned out to be a good decision. It meant he was in a fairly calm state of mind when Sherlock arrived a couple of hours later and the first words out of his mouth were, "I have to hide out in the museum tonight to speak to Soo Lin Yao before the assassin catches up to her."

John blinked and stared down at the kettle as the threatening ache right behind his eyes promptly blossomed into a full on headache. It was going to be one of those nights, he could tell. He maintained his silence until the tea was ready and he'd prepared two sandwiches, one of which Sherlock was going to eat even if John had to force it down his throat. He carried the two cups and two plates over to where Sherlock was pouring over photographs of the ciphers.

"By you I assume you mean we," he said.

Sherlock tried to wave the food away. John ignored him and pointedly slammed it down on a free, uncluttered part of the desk, along with a Look that didn't need the accompanying thought of eat it or so help me, Sherlock, I swear to get his message across. John's stomach was rumbling painfully, had been since he'd woken up, but he knew that it wasn't all him. It had been a while since Sherlock had last eaten and John had no intention of suffering the consequences.

"No, I meant me," Sherlock said, pouting and daintily picking up his cup of tea while ignoring the sandwich altogether.

"You're not going by yourself."

"You're not at full capacity."

"Neither are you," John pointed out, unable to resist rubbing his own throat for emphasis. The pain was almost like an itch that lay in a low band around his neck, exactly where he could see darkened bruise marks around Sherlock's. "It's either both of us or neither of us, Sherlock, take your pick."

Roughly four hours later, as he watched Sherlock dart out of Soo Lin's office and go sprinting in the direction of a serial killer, John was beginning to wish he'd steered Sherlock towards the latter as opposed to the former. Soo Lin was making tiny gasping sounds under her breath and shaking from head to toe. John grimaced and wrapped a protective arm around her shoulders, straining his ears for any hint of what might be going on. The silence of the museum pressed heavily against his ears.

Sherlock? Even though it made his head ache, he couldn't resist reaching out mentally to make sure that the other man was alright.

I'm fine. Stay with Soo Lin, Sherlock ordered. She's our best chance at figuring this out, John.

The sound of gunshots made John tense. Remaining still was, quite possibly, the most difficult thing he'd ever done. Every beat of his body screamed at him to find Sherlock, to make sure that he was safe, and it was impossibly hard to just sit there and listen. Only the constant stream of I'm fine, John, I'm fine flowing through his mind, interspersed with the occasional burst of annoyance or adrenaline as Sherlock was shot at and dodged again, was enough to make him stay where he was.

A rustling sound made him tense instinctively until he saw the source. Soo Lin was bent over her desk, flipping frantically through a book. Noticing she'd caught John's attention, she grimaced. "I thought I would help your friend," she said, "by translating the cipher."

"Good on," John said, cupping a hand over his pounding temple. Listening so hard to Sherlock was making the headache a hundred times worse, and the rhythmic beating of the drum in the distance wasn't helping. But, oh, the cool breeze was nice.

It took him a moment to understand that there wasn't supposed to be a breeze.

Soo Lin's terrified whimper helped.

John launched himself up. Sherlock, he's in here! he yelled, taking a swing at the man. The pain from his headache made him slow and with a fluid grace, the man dodged John's blow and came up high with an uppercut to the gut. John doubled over with a hollow gasp and felt something hard connect with the side of his head. Then there was nothing.

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