A/N: new chappie! enjoy!

Chapter 21: Gunshots and Stitches

Lestrade pulled his car up to the Yard, among the other officer's cars and climbed out, Sherlock following him.

"Right, you can have five minutes with her after I get a crack at her, yes?" Lestrade told Sherlock as they approached the car Miss McLeod was sitting in.

"Fine," Sherlock nodded, tugging his collar on his coat up a Lestrade dragged the red-head out of the car.

She struggled against his hand gripping her arm and her handcuffs as Lestrade pulled her toward the door of the building, Sherlock trailing behind them. The other officers climbed out of their cars, the steps, a man in a hat set low over his head marched up along with them. He brushed past Sherlock, making him frown before he instantly deduced him and his intention, but he was too late.

"Gun!"

Three shots rang out after the shout, and a scream sounded after the shots as people scattered.

223A Baker Street...

"John, you really don't have to help," Quennel insisted, using her good hand to scrub Caesar with the soap and suds in his fur, John helping as well. "I could've done this myself."

"It was this, or wait around for Sherlock," he smirked as they knelt next to the tub in her bathroom, Caesar sniffing at John's jumper as they scrubbed the dog down.

"Why didn't you go with him to interrogate the mistress?" she wondered.

"He'll tell me about it later," he shrugged. "He doesn't need me for that bit."

Quennel nodded in understanding before turning on the water in the tub to start rinsing Caesar off, John rinsing his hands and heading to the linen closet for towels, passing the telly that was reporting breaking news. He grabbed some towels but stopped on his way back to the bathroom when he saw the news on the television.

"Quennel…" he called, warily. He remained where he was as he heard Quennel tell Caesar to sit and stay before she made her way into the lounge, frowning at him in wonder before he nodded to the telly. "You need to see this."

She frowned in wonder at him before looking to the screen and stopping dead next to John. BBC news was reporting a shooting right outside Scotland Yard. The shooter killed a female suspect, shot another man in the shoulder, then killed himself.

"I'm calling Sherlock," John reported as Quennel hardly registered his words, still staring at the telly in shock. "It's ringing out. We'll head over to Bart's."

"That won't be necessary, John," Sherlock announced as he swept through the door to Quennel's flat, drawing their wide-eyed stares to him. "I'm quite alright, as you can see."

Quennel rushed past John and threw her good arm around Sherlock, making him grunt when she landed against his chest. He frowned down at her then looked to John who motioned that he wrap an arm around her, but instead, the sleuth lifted a hand to patted the top of her head where she snuggled her cheek against his chest.

"I was so worried about you," she breathed before pulling back a bit to look up at him with huge eyes. "The news said someone was shot."

"It was Lestrade," Sherlock replied, making both Quennel and John stare back at him in wide-eyed shock. "He said he was alright. It was only the shoulder. He was taken to St. Bart's."

"Don't you think we should go see him?" Quennel wondered, glancing between Sherlock's frown and John's gaze of thought.

"He's being treated," Sherlock shrugged, drawing their attention to him. "I don't believe there is any need to see him. Besides, we'll be there tomorrow when I escort you to your appointment. We may visit him then, if you'd like."

"Fine," Quennel sighed, before the all frowned at the sound of wet footsteps heading their way. "Oh, no."

They all looked down to see Caesar trotting toward them and stop to shake the excess water and soap from his fur, making the three cringe and shout in distaste when it flew everywhere.

"Oh, Caesar!" Quennel groaned when he stopped, trying to shake her hands and clothes dry, as did Sherlock and John.

"Mongrel!" Sherlock snarled, flapping out his coat.

"Certain you still want him?" John couldn't help but chuckle as Quennel grabbed Caesar's collar to pull him back toward the bathroom.

"At least it wasn't mud!" Quennel called back, making John laugh heartily as Sherlock glared at him.

"I take it you don't mind helping Miss Yule?" Sherlock noticed, making John look back at him with a slight frown before he rolled his eyes.

"Oh, Sherlock, don't start," John pleaded. "There's no need for you to be jealous. She's off limits to me, alright? I see how you look at each other."

"Jealous?" Sherlock frowned. "Why would I be jealous?"

"Don't play dumb with me," John smirked. "I'm not interested in her in the slightest, mostly because I knew she was far more suited to you from the moment we met her."

"Did you?" Sherlock hummed, glancing toward the bathroom when Quennel giggled before the sound of a hairdryer could be heard.

"Yes," John nodded, still smirking at his best friend, then frowned when Sherlock turned to head out of the flat. "Oi! Where you going?"

"Tell Miss Yule I'll be here to escort her to Bart's on time in the morning, if she can manage it," Sherlock replied, opening the door again.

"Fine, but where are you—?"

John was cut off when Sherlock stepped out, shutting the door behind him. He sighed before heading back to the bathroom with the towels to help Quennel.

The Next Morning...

"Thank you so much for watching him," Quennel smiled at Andy who was kneeling in front of her to let Caesar nuzzle and lick his face, loving every second of it. "I don't know how he is left alone yet, and I'm not sure how long I'll be. I'll be sure to pay you back, I promise."

"Don't you even think it, beautiful," Andy grinned, standing tall but still scratching Caesar's head as he sat and leaned heavily on his leg. "We'll watch him whenever you need it, free of charge."

"Until I'm back to work, then I'll pay you when you watch him," she corrected. "I don't take hand-outs."

Andy raised his hands in surrender with a smile just as William came into view, scratching Caesar's head as well.

"You got a ride to hospital, lass," he hoped, catching Caesar's attention as he scratched him behind his ears.

"Sherlock's…'escorting' me in a cab," she nodded, smiling shyly as Andy's eyes widened at her, William giving a knowing nod and a wink. "Alright, take those looks off your faces. This could go terribly wrong if we're not careful. It is Sherlock, after all."

"Don't let him hear you say that," Andy chuckled and Quennel rolled her eyes just as her mobile went off with a text. She pulled the phone out to look at the text, snickering when she read who it was that texted her and Andy guessed who it was, asking, "Are his ears burning?"

"With all that cold blood running through his veins, I'd say they were at least freezer burned," she smirked, reading the text and Andy laughed heartily.

I'm waiting outside with a cab. In your own time, Miss Yule, but do hurry up SH

"Oh, this man and his contradictions," she sighed before tucking her phone away and looking to Andy. "You're sure you'll be alright with him?"

"Of course we will," Andy grinned, scratching Caesar's head again as he still leaned on him. "He's a big teddy bear. We'll all get along just fine."

Quennel smiled and leaned forward to give Caesar a goodbye pat on the head before turning to head out the door of her building. Sherlock stood next to a cab, the back door already open, cutting a very handsome silhouette with his coat collar pulled up and his hands in his coat pockets, showing off his profile as he looked to the street before turning back to her as she approached.

"How very prompt, Miss Yule," he smirked, slightly as he entreated her into the cab with a wave of his hand before holding it out to her to help her in.

"Your text seemed to urge me to shift before you took off to St Bart's without me, Mr. Holmes," she smirked back, climbing into the cab.

"Oh, I would never dream of doing that," he shot back through a small smirk of his own as he climbed in, telling the cabby where they wanted to go. As soon as he sat back, Quennel shifted closer to lean her head on his shoulder, making him frown down at her in confusion before asking, "What exactly are you doing?"

"What you would call extending the intimacy," she smiled, lifting her good hand to take his, effortlessly lacing her fingers through his long ones.

"Sentiment?" he guessed, and she giggled before nodding with an affirmative hum, making him sneer and look out the window at the passing scenery. "You realize I am incapable of such a thing. Holding my hand does not make send my heart aflutter."

"Does me a world of good," she smiled then sighed, "I feel better already."

"John says your stitches on your leg will be taken out today, and Dr. Adams should take that sling off to let you use your hand," he reported. "I don't see why John couldn't do all that for you at Baker Street. He is a doctor. He could have taken care of all of this without us making a trip."

"You really don't want to see Lestrade, do you?" she smirked.

"I never said that," he retorted. "Although…I have a premonition he'll want me to visit and…say something to him."

"Like what?" she frowned, making him give a slight sneer before he looked back at her when he felt her staring at him. "Sherlock? What is he expecting you to say?"

He gave a small sigh before looking back out the window and replying, "He may have…shoved me out of the way of a bullet fired by the gunman at Scotland Yard. A bullet that would have missed me in any case."

"That's all you have to say after he saved your life?! 'The bullet would've missed, anyway'?!" she shot back, incredulously, making him look to her with a frown of wonder. "Sherlock, can you even understand the value behind taking a bullet for someone?"

"I understand that he will expect me to thank him, then use it against me to gain some sort of favor."

"He won't."

"And how can you be so sure of that?"

"Because I'll tell him not to."

Sherlock turned a wide-eyed stare of surprise at her as she shifted her head to rest it on his shoulder, still fiddling with his fingers.

"Sorry?" he frowned.

"I'll explain to him how difficult it was for you," she reported. "He won't take advantage if I ask him not to."

"And why would he listen to you?" he frowned in wonder.

"Because, Mr. Holmes, despite your effort to ignore it, I'm cute and a flirt, and DI Lestrade is a man," Quennel smirked.

"And what would you mean by that, Miss Yule?" he still frowned.

"Mean by what?"

"What you just said."

"He's a man, and I'm a woman."

"No, the part about my not noticing that you are, to quote you, 'cute and a flirt.'"

"Oh, had you?" she smirked, slyly.

"Of course I had," he retorted, making her shift to look up at him in wonder, meeting his gaze when he looked back to her. "Why would I not?"

"Well…because you're Sherlock," she replied. "You notice everything else but not things like that."

"I may not know the Earth goes 'round the sun, or care at all whether it does or not, but that doesn't mean I don't appreciate the sight of a clear night sky, Miss Yule," he explained, making her stare at him with wide eyes before she frowned when he reached into one of his coat pockets. "I purchased this yesterday. I thought you may want a new one for Caesar."

Quennel frowned in wonder as he lifted a black, leather collar with a tag hanging off of it, her eyes widening as he handed it to her.

"I thought you would want your address on his collar should he become lost," he explained as she examined the collar. "It should be large enough. If you'd like we can stop by the shops on the way back to find a leash for him as well."

She frowned again at the collar again, making him gaze down at her in wonder.

"Something wrong?"

"I just…didn't think you could be so thoughtful," she honestly replied. "Don't you hate sentiment?"

"I thought it practical," he retorted. "You are in need of a new tag and leash for the beast."

Quennel couldn't help but smirk before tucking the collar into her coat pocket to turn back to playing with his fingers as his hand sat on his knee, and she murmured, "Thank you, Sherlock. You didn't have to."

"You're welcome, Miss Yule," he replied, looking out the window and she smiled up at him just as the cab came to a stop in front of St Bart's.

Sherlock climbed out first, still holding onto her hand to help her climb out after him before paying the cabby and sending him on his way. He wrapped her arm around his, making her frown up at him but he said nothing as he led her toward the entrance of St Bart's.

"Shall we go see Greg before or after my appointment?" she asked, glancing at a clock they passed before adding, "There's still time."

"Who's Greg?" Sherlock frowned as he opened the door and they stepped into the hospital.

"Lestrade," she frowned back. "Greg Lestrade. That's his name. I thought you knew that."

"I thought it was Glen," he admitted as they made their way to the front desk and she snickered before looking to the nurse.

"I'm here to see Doctor Adams for a check-up," she reported.

"Name?" the nurse asked, typing into her computer.

"Quennel Yule."

"Right," she nodded, shuffling through a drawer full of files and pulled one out before standing to step around the desk. "Follow me, please."

Quennel followed the nurse, Sherlock next to her, their arms still twined together. The nurse led them to an empty semi-private room where she looked over the file as Sherlock helped Quennel onto the bed.

"So, he's examining your thigh and hand today," the nurse stated the obvious, looking over the file before smiling at her and nodding, "He'll be in shortly."

Quennel nodded as the nurse stepped back out of the room to go find Doctor Adams and Sherlock glanced around before closing the curtain around the bed hanging from the rod on the ceiling. Quennel frowned at him as he swept it closed, giving them a bit more privacy.

"You should have worn shorts or a skirt of some kind," he muttered, making her frown deepen.

"Excuse me?"

"He'll make you take off your trousers to look at your leg," he replied through a tight jaw, making her smirk slyly at him.

"Is that your Sherlock way of saying you don't like the fact that the handsome doctor will be getting a good look at my legs and pants when I take my trousers off?" she smirked, making him turn to her with a slight glare.

"It's my way of saying I don't like the fact that the lecherous, adulterous, doctor will see you in your pants when you take your trousers off," he retorted.

"Jealous?"

"Possibly."

That took the smirk off of her face as her eyes widened at him, but before she could even think of what to say next, the curtain swept open and Doctor Adams walked in with her file.

"Ah, Miss Yule," he smiled, pulling the curtain shut again. "Lovely to see you again. How are you feeling?"

"Uh…" she trailed off a moment, still staring at Sherlock before she finally came to her senses and looked to Adams with a small smile. "Fine, I suppose. I haven't been using my hand much, and my leg feels a lot better than it did."

"Perfect!" Adams grinned, setting her file down to put on a pair of latex gloves. "Glad to hear that. Well, let me have a look at your hand first."

Adams stepped closer as she pulled her sling off, handing it to Sherlock who took it without a word. He watched Adams closely as he removed the bandage from Quennel's hand.

"Whoever replaced these bandages for you knows what's doing," Adams commended.

"Well, John Watson is a doctor," she smiled. "He's a friend of mine. He's been helping me out." Sherlock cleared his throat a bit dramatically, making her glance to him with a smirk before adding, "And Sherlock's been helping as well."

"Ah, yes, how are you Mr. Holmes?" Adams asked, glancing at him over his shoulder before looking back to his work.

"Still here," he retorted, making Quennel give him a slight glare.

As much as the thought of him being jealous made her somewhat happy (and a bit surprised) she knew it was going to make him even more of prat than he already was. She looked to Adams as the bandages were taken off fully and he examined the back of her hand first, then gently turning it over to examine the palm.

"Well, it looks like this is healing quite well," Adams nodded. "Flex your fingers."

Quennel did as he told her, making her wince only slightly before she could move her fingers easily.

"Once these stitches are out, you can have limited use of your hand," he instructed. "It has to regain its strength, so don't use it too much. No lifting anything too heavy with it, understood?"

"Yes, doctor," Quennel nodded as he lifted her file again.

"I'll be back in a moment," Adams reported. "Meantime, get ready to have me look at that leg."

Quennel nodded as he slipped through the curtain and she attempted to climb down from the bed again as Sherlock stepped up to next to her to help her.

"Please, don't be a prat when he comes back," she requested as she stood and he frowned down at her in wonder, holding onto her arm to steady her.

"Sorry?" he replied.

"Really, Sherlock, if looks could kill," she retorted, using one hand to try undoing her trousers. "I know you're jealous, but rein it in, yes? He's just a doctor doing his job."

"Might I add, a married doctor, cheating on his wife?" he shot back, but swallowed, silently when she started shoving her trousers down her hips while he held her arm to keep her from falling.

"I doubt he'll sleep with a patient," she muttered, struggling to shove her trousers down, making him sigh and roll his eyes before stepping in front of her. "What are doing? Sherlock—?!"

He said nothing as he tugged on her trousers to pull them to her ankles, taking her good hand in his to steady her.

"Step out of them," he ordered, keeping his gaze on the floor and she hesitantly did as he said, letting him kick the trousers aside before releasing her hand and pulling off his scarf, then shrugging off his coat. "You can use this to cover yourself."

She stared up at him, watching him as he kept his eyes averted from her legs when he swept the coat around her, buttoning it around her waist.

"I won't let him have the satisfaction of seeing you practically naked," he murmured, making her stare at him as he helped her back onto the bed. "His pupils dilated when he saw you."

"R-Really?" she sputtered as he adjusted the coat so that the wound on her thigh was the only thing visible. Her shock at his observation turned to amusement as she thought of something and she smirked at him when their gazes met. "You've seen me in my pants, Mr. Holmes."

"And you have seen me naked, Miss Yule," he shot back with a very slight smirk, making her smile widen as he stepped toward the chair near her bed and sat. "Was there some sort of complaint you wanted to make?"

"Not really," she shrugged, shaking her head. "Just an observation."

"Any other observations you would like to voice…Quennel?"

She smirked wide before biting her lower lip and humming, "You were blushing."

Sherlock's own smirk fell and he shifted in his seat before lifting his hands to steeple his fingers in front of his lips.

"You may have been averting your eyes, but you obviously caught a glimpse," she smirked before lifting a foot to shove his knee with the toes of her foot, but the only movement he made was when his knee moved with her shove. However, his piercing eyes shifted to her as she leaned forward with a Cheshire grin to ask, "Like anything you saw?"

Her smirk fell when something in his eyes shifted and she sat up again as he only stared at her with a smoldering gaze. She was about to speak when the curtain pulled back and her gaze shot to Doctor Adams as he stepped back in with a tray of utensils in his hand and a smile on his face before it fell when he looked at her.

"Oh," he blurted as Quennel shifted, suddenly uncomfortable as Sherlock sent a glare to him. "Right. As long as you're comfortable and I can see your injury. Speaking of which. Let's have a look."

Sherlock watched Adams very closely as the Doctor examined her leg, something in him boiling over at the way he was touching her. However, he kept his place, noting how Quennel was watching him as well before Adams pulled back and nodded.

"That looks to be healing rather nicely as well," Adams nodded, reaching for a small pair of scissors on the tray. "I'm just going to remove these stitches, and I'll call you for your next checkup, alright?"

"Sounds fine," Quennel nodded as he began his work. As he started cutting her mobile buzzed in her pocket, making her frown and fumble with Sherlock's coat to pull it out and look at the caller ID. It was Scarlett. Frowning she pressed it to her ear and called, "Hello? Scarlett? You alright?"

"Quennel, it's mum and dad," Scarlett replied, sounding panicked. "Alex says they're not answering the door. I think something's wrong!"

"Ok, don't panic," Quennel urged, making Adams and Sherlock look to her in concern. "Where are you?"

"I'm at mum and dad's…Alex is here too, but he went to get help."

"Did you look for the spare key?"

"Spare key?"

"Under the potted cactus."

Quennel heard shuffling and the sound of pottery on stone before Scarlett's cry of, "It's here!"

"Go inside and tell me what you see."

Scarlett's panicked panting sounded from the mobile, along with a lock being inserted, followed by a door opening. A sigh of relief came through after a whimper of sudden emotion.

"They're here," Scarlett shuddered, making Quennel let out a sigh of her own. "They're off the wagon again. Dad's passed out on the sofa and mum's on the floor. They're still breathing. Jesus, she's got a needle in her hand, Quennel!"

"Alright, one of you has to get them to hospital."

"Alex was gonna bring an ambulance."

"Good. You don't have to stay—"

"I'll stay till he comes back. I'll find out where they're being taken and send you the information so you can see them."

"Thanks, Scarlett. Do you need me there now?"

"No, I think we've got this covered. It's not like this hasn't happened before."

"Yeah…" Quennel sighed, glancing to Sherlock as he watched her closely just as Adams finished pulling the stitches from her leg.

"Is it terrible that we're actually used to this?" Scarlett wondered, drawing Quennel's attention back to the conversation.

"Terrible? No?" she replied, thinking back on how she ended up with these wounds and all she'd seen since naught but a week ago. "A shame, maybe."

"Yeah…I'd better let you go for now."

"Call me later. Or text."

"Yeah. Bye."

"Bye."

Quennel hung up just as Adams stood tall and held out his hand for hers, which she gave to him, hesitantly.

"Scarlett?" Sherlock asked, and she only gave a nod. "About your parents."

Another nod.

"They've gone off the wagon?"

This time she hesitated before giving a sad, slow nod as Adams cut at the stitches on the back of her hand and she finally replied, "Alex was getting an ambulance. Scarlett will probably take off after they get there and Alex will stay with them."

"Siblings?" Adams guessed and she gave a nod.

"I'm the adopted one, though," she smiled, sweetly, just as he'd finished up.

"There, now, let's get you bandaged up," he smiled, lifting the roll of bandages from the tray. "Remember what I told you. Limited use and nothing too heavy."

"Yes, doctor," Quennel nodded. "By the way, could you tell me where Detective Inspector Greg Lestrade is? He's here with a gunshot wound. He's a friend of mine and I wanted to go visit."

"Um…yes," Adams nodded, still wrapping her hand. "Take a left and straight down the hall. He's in recovery in room 305."

"Thank you," Quennel nodded just as he finished up, bid her goodbye then left the room, leaving the curtain drawn. "Sherlock, could you help me?"

Sherlock stood without a word and helped her off the bed then lifted her trousers to help her into them.

"Do you need to go to your parents' house?" he asked as she stepped into her trousers, using his shoulder for support.

"No," Quennel sighed. "I'll visit them later."

She froze when her feet were on the ground and Sherlock slowly stood, bringing her trousers up with him, and she didn't fail to notice his index fingers dragging along her skin on the inside of the hem, making her eyes meet his when he stood tall. Her gaze fell to his lips as she licked hers when he began buttoning up her trousers. She never knew that putting on clothes could be almost as riveting as taking them off.

"Lestrade will be happy to see you're healing," Sherlock murmured, making her eyes meet his again as he unbuttoned his coat and slowly pulled it from her shoulders. "He was rather worried about you."

"Well…" she breathed, trailing off a moment as she looked over his face. "I was stabbed…twice."

"Yes, unfortunately I recall," he muttered, making her frown before he pulled her by the hand out the door, his coat and scarf hanging from his other arm.

It suddenly hit her as to why he was acting this way. Being so attentive and telling her things she would never have believed she'd hear from the high-functioning sociopath that was Sherlock Holmes.

He felt responsible for her kidnapping and everything that followed it.

A/N: I'm ashamed to say I almost forgot about the plot arch with Quennel's family...almost, but not quite. then I remembered and was waiting for the right time to bring it up again. reviews?