A/N: John's potty mouth strikes again.

The room was already filled with screams and people diving to take cover when the gun shot rang out. John was hit with a solid weight that sent him crashing to the floor. His head collided with the corner of the chair seat as he was going down and he saw stars before blackness engulfed him.

Mummy and Mycroft began giving orders for the room to be cleared, but people were already stampeding toward the doors. Two agents that had been closest to Kitty Riley were able to catch her as she fell backwards, a single gunshot wound in the middle of her forehead. They lowered her body to the floor carefully, mindful of the bomb still strapped to the body. One pulled the detonation remote from her hand while the other set about getting the vest off the body. Officers were pouring into the room, including the bomb squad.

On the slightly raised platform behind the table, Sherlock pushed himself up off of John's still form. Greg moved over quickly and started trying to rouse John before yelling for a medic. Sherlock was as frantic as Greg had ever seen him, yelling John's name over and over again while shaking him and patting his face. Two medics rushed into the room and Greg quickly moved aside. Mycroft had to pull Sherlock back before he would let them get close enough to assess John. They quickly checked him over finding the back of his head was bleeding profusely.

They worked quickly and efficiently, one applying gauze and pressure to the wound, while the other opened a pack of smelling salts which he began to wave under John's nose. After only a few seconds, John gasped and blinked his eyes open. He still saw stars and quickly blinked to try and get his vision back. He saw two unfamiliar faces directly above him. He turned his head and could see his Sherlock being held by Mycroft and Greg. "Did I get her? I must've, the room's still intact. I got her right?"

The words were slightly slurred and out of his mouth before he could remember who it was he was after. He could feel the cool weight of the gun in his hand and could detect the distinctive smell of a recently fired weapon. In the next few seconds his memories of the past few minutes came rushing back in. "Damn it Sherlock! I told you something would go wrong!"

Sherlock gave a startled laugh before he was released by Greg and Mycroft. He knelt next to one of the medics and took the gun out of John's hand, holding it out for Greg to take. "John you realize you just shot a woman in the head on live television, right?"

It took a few seconds for Sherlock's words to penetrate the still slightly hazy brain, but when they did, he closed his eyes and said the only word appropriate for the situation. "Fuck!"

Both Mycroft and Greg smiled. "Indeed John, indeed."

After lying there for a few more minutes, he finally sat up with the help of the medics and Sherlock. Mummy had rejoined the group by this time and all John could do when he saw her was apologize profusely for getting blood on his lovely suit. Sherlock snorted at this. "I have an excellent dry cleaner, John, as you know. A little blood will be no problem for him."

They eventually got him to his feet. One medic still holding the gauze to his wound, the other ready in case he wobbled. The bomb squad was in front of them, carefully moving the bomb from the body of Kitty Riley into a portable blast box for removal and later detonation. There were a handful of reporters and tv cameras still on the scene, recording the events that were unfolding. They made to move toward the group on the stage, but were held off by officers and security. The group left the room and made their way slowly back to Lestrade's office where Anthea, Molly, and Mrs. Hudson were waiting. He let Molly fuss over him and stitch up his head, since she was the only other doctor in the room and he didn't plan on going to the A&E.

"What now? Have you checked on Harry & the Grangers?" He looked up at the group surrounding him. Mycroft, Mummy, Anthea, and Lestrade were near the door obviously planning while Anthea typed rapidfire instructions on her phone. Sherlock was sitting on the floor at his feet, Mrs. Hudson clucking from the desk chair, while Molly finished stitching him, assisted by one of the medics.

"They are fine John. Mr. and Mrs. Granger have already checked in. They were watching the interview at their dental practice. Mrs. Granger is picking them up from school as we speak. Next, we give our statements and then we are sending you home." Anthea replied to his questions without missing a beat in her texting.

The rest of the day went exactly as predicted. Five hours later John, Sherlock, and Mrs. Hudson made their way through the black door of 221. Sherlock helped a still off balance John up the stairs while Mrs. Hudson moved into the kitchen to start tea. John immediately went into the bedrom and removed the bloody suit he still wore, exchanging it for his usual jeans and jumper. He sank back into his chair just as Mrs. Hudson brought the tea into the room.

"You are a saint, Mrs. Hudson." She smiled as she handed him his tea. "Just this once, mind you, because you're injured, I'm not your housekeeper."

Both John and Sherlock smiled. "Of course not. You're Harry's Gran and like a second mother to me. You are invaluable."

She blushed, and waved off John's comment. "Oh you! That knock on the head has addled your brains!"

She bustled off, but John could tell she was pleased and touched by his words. They really should tell her these things more often, he thought.

He looked over at Sherlock, who was stretched out on the couch, fingers steepled in his thinking pose. "Sherlock, you alright?"

Sherlock glanced at him, before returning his eyes back to the ceiling above him. "Obviously, as I'm not the one with the head wound. However, I would appreciate your silence, I need to think."

John was slightly taken aback. That was the sharpest Sherlock had been with him since his return. Looked like the honeymoon phase was over then. He sipped his tea. "Don't do that."

"Do what?" Sherlock sneered.

"Try to shut me out because you got a scare today. We've been through too much in the last five years. Too much hurt on both our parts. We don't need to inflict it on each other. Frankly I'm not going to accept it anymore. I'm neither your assistant nor your lapdog, and I think I've shown on several occasions that I'm your equal if not your superior in many ways. I won't let you push me back into that place where I don't know what's happening or what to expect. I asked you today if we were in this together, and you said from now on, so don't go leaving me behind again."

With that said, John got up and walked toward the bedroom. He took his tea and his laptop with him and shut the door behind himself leaving Sherlock to his thoughts. He settled on his side of the bed and worked on the commisioned book for a while, before setting his phone alarm to wake him in two hours. He definately had a concussion and would need to be woken throughout the night, but a two hour nap sounded blissful. Maybe Sherlock would be in a better mood when he woke up.

A/N: Kinda short, but more tomorrow. I don't actually know what happened here, but apparently our boys are going to have "the talk".