When Sherlock deduces that there are actually two killers, both colleagues who had grown so jealous of the victim's success that they had devised a way to kill him under the guise of a practical joke, it ends up leading them on a wild chase through the heart of London. One of the men, a Mr Samuel Kennedy, has apparently heard of Sherlock considering the way he bolts the second he catches sight of them, and - much to Sherlock's disgust - he manages to get the best of them once. Sherlock, nearly close enough to reach out touch their prey's jacket, rounds a narrow corner and is apparently not expecting the heavy bin that has been dragged right into his path. He goes down hard, wrenching his ankle and striking his shoulder against the wall, gasping at the sharp biting surge that bites through him.

"Sherlock!" John stops immediately. He glances in the direction that their man has gone, half-tempted to keep going, before hesitating. "Are you okay?"

"I'm fine," Sherlock bites out, refusing to acknowledge, much less admit to, the renewed flare of pain in his already tender shoulder. He pushes himself up, kicking away the bin. "Get after him, John! If you allow him to reach the street, he'll be gone. He's already made an escape plan, he's got a plane ticket to -" He stops speaking abruptly when John turns and dashes away, sprinting up the alley with a little more caution now that he knows Kennedy is not above trying to trip up his pursuers.

Kennedy has not stopped running, now pushing through the crowds at a much slower speed than he probably wants. He finally reaches the lights just as the walking sign flips on, and he immediately turns and starts to hurry across. Determined not to let him get away, John puts on a burst of speed and dashes out onto the street. He hears a car screech to a stop somewhere to his left and voices swearing at him as he leaps forward, tackling Kennedy around the waist and slinging them both to the ground. Kennedy starts cursing and flailing around as a woman screams. John ignores them both, seizing Kennedy's wrists and yanking them down.

"If you don't stop, I'm going to take out my gun and kill you," he says very quietly, the words low and intent and only audible to the struggling man pinned underneath him. Instantly Kennedy goes still, the only indication he's even conscious the slight trembling of his shoulders. John gives a small smile of satisfaction, ruthlessly pressing on his arm as he wrenches Kennedy to his feet and thoroughly enjoying the resulting wince of pain. By the time they make it back to the pavement, a couple of officers and Sherlock have caught up to them.

"Thanks Watson," one of the officers says brightly, snapping a pair of cuffs around Kennedy's right wrist. Kennedy goes quietly enough, shooting terrified looks at John. "That was a nice tackle. I saw you take him down from up the street. You play rugby in school?"

"A bit," says John distractedly, already glancing over at Sherlock. "Alright?" he asks as he steps closer, openly looking Sherlock over. Sherlock straightens up and scoffs.

"I'm fine," he says in exactly the tone of voice that is guaranteed to get John's hackles up. He doesn't do anything as obvious as shifting his weight onto his uninjured side, even though his ankle is paining him badly and doing so likely wouldn't be purely for John's benefit. He's such a stubborn git. John huffs, shifting the last few inches into Sherlock's personal space.

"Your version of fine and my version of fine tend to vastly differ," he mutters, knowing better than to sling an arm around Sherlock's waist when NSY is around. He settles for standing close enough that Sherlock can unobtrusively lean against him if he desires, and Sherlock does so automatically. It's almost enough to make John smile, though he bites it back at the last second.

One of the officers not involved in arresting Kennedy looks up at them and says, "Lestrade's on his way, seems he stopped by the lab to arrest the other colleague. He wants you to stick around."

"He'll have to wait, come get our statement later." There is no arguing with John when he gets that tone in his voice and he knows it. The officer looks uncertain, glancing over at Sherlock as though hoping that the detective might intervene, but when Sherlock says nothing he apparently decides that he would rather face Lestrade's wrath than John's.

"That's fine, I'll let him know," he says awkwardly.

John just gives him a nod and turns, tugging Sherlock with him, both of them walking over to the street. It actually takes a couple of minutes before a cab stops, and though Sherlock will never admit it John knows that he's relieved to have the chance to sit. His limp is not obvious but that doesn't change the fact that it's still there, and really it's not that surprising considering how hard he collided with that bin. Not for the first time, John hates the fact that Sherlock is taller and has longer legs than he does. It means that Sherlock is often in the lead on their chases, so any stupid tricks their prey tries to pull usually end up on him.

"John, really, I'm okay," says Sherlock.

"No, you're not. You hurt your ankle, and judging by the way you keep twitching you banged your shoulder up again as well." John sighs, turning his head to glance over at the man beside him. He has to grin when he catches the brief look of surprise on Sherlock's face. He always gets a little jolt out of knowing that Sherlock can't hide everything from him.

All too quickly, the surprise fades into a pout. Before Sherlock can voice the protest John knows is coming, he adds, "And you're going to let me look at them, too. It would be a shame if you got laid up so soon after returning to normal. You can't go on any cases if you can't run around, right?" And honestly he's more concerned about Sherlock's shoulder after the damage it took when he was a child, but whatever it takes to make Sherlock agree to being checked out.

As expected, Sherlock scowls even more deeply. But not even he can come up with an argument to counter that, which means that his ankle and shoulder must be paining him a fair amount. "Fine," he bites out after several seconds, sulkily turning to stare out the window. John grins again. Adult or child, it's comforting to know that some things about Sherlock will never change.


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