Jeremy took a wrong turn and managed to lose the detective, "Dammit, Sherlock!?" he called out, damn that man's long legs, and damn old age.
How John managed to keep up with the impossible man was beyond Jeremy.
He ran a few more blocks on instinct alone, if that could be trusted. Then he heard the struggle.
"Sherlock?" Jeremy ducked a meaty fist, where the hell did a second assailant come from? The man that Sherlock was fighting had a gun. What the hell was going on?
Distracted by his companion? Friend? This left an opening for Mr. Meaty Fist to land a hard right sending the smaller man spinning against the brick wall.
The taste of blood and the pounding in his head stunned the smaller man temporarily.
"Come on Shrimp." The big man in the jeans and stained Rugby shirt taunted.
Jeremy climbed to his feet putting his fists up, praying he knew how to fight. Ducking under an almost well aimed punch made him think otherwise, and then he caught a knee to his torso.
"John!" Sherlock yelled hitting the wall across from him.
"You and your little girlfriend there aren't leaving the alley and you are going to tell me how you knew where to find me." The man in the black coat demanded holding a gun on Sherlock, were as the other assailant stalked towards the groaning doctor. Adrenaline kicked in and before another foot could connect with his head or shoulders John was rolling away.
Sherlock tried to get to John, this version of John didn't know how to fight then the idiot Havers pulls a gun, obvious now that he only ran to lure Sherlock into a false sense of security, his friend had been waiting for the two. Now John was being kicked and Sherlock read murder in the suspect's eyes.
Sherlock kicked out the gun knocked out of the idiot Havers' reach. Still Sherlock was at a weight disadvantage against the bigger assailant. That and John-wait where did John go? Distraction is a great way to get oneself killed in these types of situations.
Case in point. Sherlock looked up and Havers had found a rusty pipe just lying around. How convenient.
The big man held it up ready to swing and the sound of a gunshot pierced the cold night air. First Sherlock thought of John, but then Havers confused stumbled back a hand to his chest, his face pale. "You shot me."
"No, I shot you." John was on his feet, his lip bleeding and a small gash just above his left eyebrow already clotted over. "You alright Sherlock?" The Doctor was panting.
"John?" The detective stood quickly, ignoring the wave of dizziness that threatened.
"Of all the idiot things to go off and do, you had to have known this fool was armed. Now look my good trousers are ripped at the knee. This is coming out of your consulting fee."
"John?" Sherlock ignored the groaning and bleeding Havers, "John you remember?"
"Yes I bloody well remember. I remember how insanely reckless you are. You could have been killed. We'll talk about this later. Call an ambulance and the police."
He handed the gun to Sherlock and leaned over the bleeding man in the black coat. Sherlock could see the second assailant had been knocked out cold; he was lying on his fat belly.
By the time Dimmock arrived the accomplice was waking up and Sherlock had the gun trained on him.
"Alright, after we get these two taken care of I'm sure you two are going to explain. " The young DI was glaring at Sherlock.
"Yes of course but John needs to be seen by a Doctor and some rest." Sherlock pulled John out of the alley, dropping the gun into an open evidence bag held by a constable.
"I am a Doctor you realize. I can see to it myself."
"Yes well shut up John, this gets us out of paperwork, we can put it off at least two days. "
"Lestrade!" John paused. "I should go-"
"No. Doctor you are going to Baker Street you will see to those rather nasty cuts and then you will sleep on it. You will find I haven't thrown anything out yet-"
"Yes. I noticed." John felt uncomfortable. "I'm sorry Sherlock, I really don't remember what happened I know that doesn't help, but I feel badly I put you through that. I know how it feels when-" John began but Sherlock hailed a cab.
"Forget it John. It was never your fault. Leave it to you to find a way to take responsibility. Unless you sank the boat? John did you-"
"No." John chuckled, and then sobered quickly "How many died?"
"John you helped twelve to the waiting life boats. That's twelve lives that are living and breathing because you risked your own life for strangers."
John didn't reply, he was never comfortable with praise. Sherlock wondered how John could be so dense.
They arrived at Baker Street and John made his way to the kitchen out of habit to start the kettle. He handed Sherlock a cup and demanded to know what he'd missed in the last two months.
Sherlock skimmed over the funeral, and John realized he needed to thank Mycroft.
"I should call my sister."
"I would wait till morning John. Wait! I've got the perfect idea. Let's surprise her tomorrow, we can bring her coffee and watch her drop it all over herself when you pop up."
"Sherlock it's not a surprise party. And I could never do that to Harry."
"Dull." Sherlock huffed and waited for his friend to ascend the stairs to his room before taking up the violin and playing a soft tune.
Sherlock was lost in his mind palace long enough he didn't hear John leave the flat around dawn.
John found himself walking, unable to sleep he'd learned walking could ease his stress. Soon his restless legs came to rest in front of a familiar black stone. The grave stone read SHERLOCK HOLMES. It was simple and to the point just like the man himself. And just a few feet away he discovered his own, except someone had put fresh flowers in front of it, kept it tidy. Maybe Mrs. Hudson? Harry? Sherlock wasn't sentimental enough and John didn't really have any close friends he could see visiting enough to place fresh flowers on his grave.
The stone marker was waist height; it had his name birth date and assumed death date. The words under the numbers made him catch his breath.
"I know, disgustingly sentimental." Sherlock's voice didn't catch John by surprise; in fact he'd have been surprised if the detective hadn't followed. "Mycroft chose them and it was all quite fitting."
"It's all a bit-"
"Overrated?"
"Overwhelming. Isn't this your family plot?"
"Come along John, lets get some coffee and visit our dear friend Lestrade. It'll be fun to-"
"I don't think he needs the surprise. As you put it."
"John, I remember you being more fun."
John followed behind his friend in the dark coat glancing back briefly, the cemetery was empty, only the two men making their way out. John shook his head, how fitting for the two empty graves to stand under the shade of the cemetery trees having each other to keep themselves company.
THE END