The ReichenbachFall

Silence before the Storm

Not fifteen minutes later, John came back with a coffee in hand and a frown on his features. While the trip to acquire caffeine had been successful, he hadn't managed to get hold of Rose which was a rare thing for the young woman.

She nearly always picked up the phone.

Trying to convince himself he was worrying for nothing – she was more than capable of looking after herself after all – remembering the state she was in when he last saw her did nothing to alleviate his concerns.

Seeing Sherlock was lost in his thoughts, John just sat a little way away so as to not disturb the man, knowing better than to break his concentration in that moment.

Instead, the good doctor tried to figure out what could possibly happen next; more bombs, hostages, blackmail? Would the insane criminal – after destroying Sherlock's reputation – use this god forsaken key to just erase him completely? If it was so apparently easy to delete Jim Moriarty and create the innocent Richard Brook, then how difficult could it be to delete them all, wipe out their very existence so that it seemed they had never even been born?

Despite the caffeine in his blood stream and the fretting in his mind, John still was nodding off it seemed, though he had only realised this as he jerked awake, the sound of his phone ringing waking him from the impromptu nap he hadn't realised he'd put his head down for. Hoping it was Rose, he frowned once more at the unknown number.

"Doctor John Watson?" Came the serious voice on the other end of the line.

Confusion increasing, John wondered if it was a cold caller, before realising it would be very unlikely given the very early hour of the morning. "Yeah, speaking."

"My name is Aaron, I'm an EMT with the London Ambulance Service." Came the voice, the doctor's concern growing with every word. "I've been given your details to inform you that Miss Rose Spencer has been rushed to Kings College Hospital following an incident at 221B-"

"What?" John interrupted, jumping out of his chair as Sherlock looked up at his sudden animation. "What happened, is she okay?"

The man on the other end only hesitated for a moment. "She's been shot, Doctor. They're going to rush her into surgery but... she's lost a lot of blood, and I'm afraid you may have to prepare for the worst."

"Oh my god..." John muttered, helpless as he tried to figure out what to do next.

The EMT seemed to sense his flustered thoughts, obviously having made this call so many times before. "She's in the best of hands, Doctor Watson. The best thing you can do for her now is to pack anything she may need for an overnight stay and come down to the hospital to see her when she gets out of surgery."

"Yes," John nodded, thankful to the man giving him a nudge in the right direction. "Yes, I'm coming, thank you." With that, he hung up and took a breath as he looked to Sherlock.

Sherlock however wore an expression that seemed to show he was only half in the present with the panicking doctor and half still in his own mind, the combination of which only made him look more detached than usual "What is it?" He asked.

"Paramedics," John told him briefly. "Rose has been shot!"

"What?" The detective questioned with a frown. "How?"

"Probably one of the killers you've managed to attract. Jesus...!" John told him sarcastically, stress leaking out at the news. "Jesus, she'd dying Sherlock – let's go."

"You go, I'm busy." Came the short, cold reply.

John simply rounded on his friend in frustrated amazement. "Busy?!"

"Thinking." He clarified. "I need to think."

"What?" John questioned, appalled at the callous way he brushed off this news. It was one thing when strangers were being held hostage and we were on a deadline to save their lives, but this was Rose. "Doesn't she mean anything to you? You once half killed a man because he laid a finger on her, worked and lived with her for years! You know her better than anyone and for some reason – God only knows – you seem to be the one person she trusts completely!"

Sherlock barley raised an eyebrow at his best friend at this though. "She's my assistant."

"She's dying, you machine!" John shouted before realising it was a lost battle. "Sod this... Sod this – you stay here if you want, on your own."

"Alone is what I have." The younger man replied automatically. "Alone protects me."

"No." Corrected the horrified doctor as he grabbed his coat and headed for the door. "Friends protect people."

If the good doctor hadn't had been so flustered following a night of little to no sleep, the argument with Mycroft, worrying about Rose's argument with Mycroft and now this call – if every nerve wasn't stretched thin and his thoughts so erratic – he may have noticed how Sherlock couldn't meet his eyes. Or how every word he spoke was far too controlled, his face a mask of ice and indifference, despite the correct deduction that Rose was indeed far more to the Consulting Detective than just his assistant.

As the door shut behind him, Sherlock looked after his friend and let out a heavy sigh, the conversation taking more out of him than he'd like to admit, the effort to force the cold, unfeeling mask into place as he had done for so many years with ease had been so much more difficult in those moments.

I'm sorry John... he thought, I hope you can forgive me this time, but you're right... friends do protect people – and that's exactly what I'm going to do.

With that final thought, he felt his phone buzz in his pocket. Taking it out, he read the message and stood once more, slipping the device back into his pocket as he picked up his coat and went to face the Final Problem.

I'm waiting...

JM