Sherlock is rounding the corner when he's rammed into the brick wall of the alley.
The breath is knocked out of him and he feels the cool metal of a gun to his forehead.
"Let him go! Or I will kill you," Sherlock hears the steady voice of John Watson. Sherlock is wretched more closely in front of the man holding him. Unfortunately, what the man lacks in height he makes up for in muscle.
"I don't think so mate. You're gonna turn around and go the way you came, and this arsehole and I are gonna take a walk," the man threatens, burrowing the gun hard enough into Sherlock's temple that it may bruise.
"Yea, I can't let you do that mate. He can be a right git and I may wanna kill him myself some days but he's still my friend," John says, wrapping his other hand under the one holding the gun, steadying for a shot.
Sherlock can feel the man weighing his options. And Sherlock already knows where his conclusion will lead.
Sherlock had been hot on this serial killer's heels for a week now, the slippery bastard just kept eluding the detective. So Sherlock decided to slowly drain the man out by freezing his accounts and threatening his clientele, the man holding the gun to his head was not happy with him.
He would kill Sherlock and take his luck on out running a stunned John Watson.
But what the criminal didn't know, a vital piece of information, was that John wasn't just his friend. John Watson was also a military man. A military man who had already killed to save Sherlock before.
Sherlock locked eyes with John. Silent communication was passed.
Then the detective closed his eyes and leaned right.
A loud crack rang out and the man behind Sherlock dropped.
The detective had flung himself sideways and landed to the alley floor with a harsh thud. But he took a moment to assess that he was alive and mostly unharmed.
He looked back to the criminal and admired the clean shot through the head.
"Nice shot," Sherlock called with the hint of a reminiscent smile.
"Sherlock," he heard a quiet whisper. Sherlock whipped his head around to see John with his gun hanging loosely from one hand, the other hand pressing into his abdomen that was rapidly growing red against his beige jumper and brown jacket.
"John?" Sherlock gasped rushing forward.
The doctor collapsed to his knees and Sherlock caught his head before it connected with the concrete.
"A-are you okay?" John gasps, dropping the gun the rest of the way to the ground and latching onto Sherlock's coat lapels.
"Me? Am I- don't be absurd John. Now is not the time for dumb questions," Sherlock snaps whipping off his scarf to wrap around Johns middle.
John's hand moved from Sherlock's coat to his chin, forcing Sherlock's eyes to his own.
John's gaze is hazy with pain, but his eyes search over Sherlock's face with sharp precision.
"I'm fine John. Y-you saved me," Sherlock stutters. He mentally berates himself for the slip, but doesn't dwell too long before he's frantically searching for his phone in his pockets.
Once he finds it, he's on with Lestrande.
"I need an ambulance to the corner of Lauderdale and 3rd in the back alley by Annika's fabrics now!" Sherlock snaps.
There's silence as John watches Sherlock's face contort with despair at whatever he is hearing.
"That's too late! John's been shot!" Sherlock shouts into the speaker.
There's a brief silence again before Sherlock is hanging up with a final "do better!"
John closes his eyes in defeat, if Sherlock were rattled then it was just as bad or worse than what he had assessed.
"John? John! I need you to stay awake. Tell me what to do! What can I do?" Sherlock pleads with barely restrained terror.
John lets a weak smile grace his lips.
"It's fine Sherlock, it's all fine…" John whispers, nodding off.
"No, no it is not fine! It's unacceptable! Tell me what to do, how can I save you?" Sherlock growls in frustration that John knows is not aimed at him.
"You can't Sherlock, too much damage. Not enough time," John soothes, grabbing onto Sherlocks hands that press on top of his scarf over the wound that continues to bleed.
Sherlock shakes his head in denial.
"Sherlock, you have to let me go," John whispers. His vision is going fuzzy around the edges.
"Never! Never, John. John, you are essential. You can't-you can't leave me! Please, John, stay," Sherlock cries in earnest. Tears are free flowing from his eyes and falling down his flushed cheeks.
John smiles and reaches to cup a prominent cheekbone, leaving a bloody handprint.
"I love you," John states with a slowly fading smile. The dark pulled him towards unconsciousness. He fights to stay with Sherlock a little while longer.
The detective's features harden and his eyes bore into Johns.
"I'll tell you I love you tomorrow. You're not dying today!" Sherlock states determinedly pressing harder against the oozing wound. John's vision blackens in pain and he lets out a gurtled moan before blacking out.
The last things he hears are Sherlocks pleas to stay and the sound of sirens in the background.
He slips into unconsciousness with a smile ghosting his paled face.
Sherlock loved him.
Perhaps he would actually tell him tomorrow.