The consulting detective was, of course, unable to deduce the sequence of events in its entirety from where he was located. John had only just begun to reach for the doorknob when he heard conversation and a key being jiggled into the deadbolt. John frantically backpedalled into the other room, dove to the ground, and rolled underneath the man's bed, bag of crisps still clutched to his chest.

On the upside, John was still convinced that this man was innocent. It seemed that the doctor had no other choice but to wait around for the stranger to stop by the loo or go to bed, at which point John planned on slipping out unnoticed as quickly as possible. Making sure the volume was on its lowest setting first, John whipped out his mobile again and texted Sherlock.

Wasn't fast enough Dx -JW

John listened to the stranger putting away groceries in the kitchen for a while. Entirely unconcerned for his own safety, the doctor turned onto his stomach and peered inside the bag of crisps, disappointed to realize he had crushed most of them during his hasty retreat. Regardless, he took out half a crisp and ate it. His mobile lit up again and he looked down to read Sherlock's response, which came in two texts, one after the other.

You're still inside? What were you thinking! -SH

Also what the hell, is that supposed to be a smiley face? You're not a teenage girl, John. -SH

John rolled his eyes and started to type out a response when a bright light came on from overhead, touching every inch of the room except for where he was. He could now hear half of the other man's conversation and listened in shamelessly while enjoying the crisps he'd stolen.

"I'm tellin' ya, Dan, the guy had it comin'," he was saying. "Of course it was an accident! No, it's not like I meant to hurt the bloke. He just came bargin' in, accusin' me of stealin' his girl out of nowhere! And all that with Tracy happened years ago, you know that!"

John's eyes widened with realization and he stared at the man's feet as he kicked off his sneakers and sat down on the bed above him. He had just placed another crisp into his mouth and, now worried about making a crunch noise, bit down on it in extreme slow motion.

"Nah mate, it was somethin' else. Maybe he was off his meds, I dunno. Point is he came in here like a ravin' lunatic and lunged at me! What else was I s'posed to do? It was me or him, and I'm tellin' ya, at the time I was just thinkin', 'well it ain't gonna be me.' So that's where I'm coming from." Pause. "Yeah, 'course I remembered. I took care of the body, just like ya said. Didn't leave a speck of evidence, even if someone did decide to come snoopin' around, not that anyone would. I was real sneaky about it."

Licking another crisp and sucking on it, John erased the messaged he'd already started and rewrote it.

Um so I think you might be right about this whole murder accusation thing. I just heard an out of context confession. -JW

Sherlock's answer was much quicker this time: NO SHIT. -SH

Hey, so if it came down to it, do you think I could take this guy in a fight? -JW

I'd rather not risk it. Hold tight; I'm going to try to get his attention. -SH

-x-

After sending his last message, Sherlock stretched his leg out as far as it would go and managed to undo the latch with his toes and kick the window open. The detective then sat up as far as he could and, hoping that he wouldn't immediately alert the nurses in doing so, started yelling at the top of his lungs.

His throat soon began to hurt, and Sherlock was starting to consider giving up when the bedroom window across the alleyway was pushed up. "Hey! Shut it, you! It's late!" the murderer yelled back, leaning out over the street.

"I know what you did!" Sherlock shouted, matching the man's volume.

"I don't know what you're talking about!"

"I saw it from right here and I have it all on video! You won't get away with it!"

The other guy didn't respond, slamming his window shut instead. Just then one of the nurses came dashing in, demanding to know what all the ruckus was about. Sherlock apologized as the woman closed and locked his window, turned off his lights, and instructed him to go to sleep. After she left, the mobile Sherlock was still clutching tightly buzzed and lit up the now darkened room.

Great thinking! He went outside again and I was able to follow suit without drawing attention. -JW

Breathing a sigh of relief, Sherlock threw his head back down on his pillow. He closed his eyes, trying to relax, and waited for several minutes, until a man's silhouette pushed open the room's glass door. Sherlock's smile was hidden by the total blackness. "John! I'm glad to see you made it back before things took a turn for the worse."

"You said sumpthin' about a video, mate?"

Sherlock's face fell upon hearing this. As the stranger drew closer, Sherlock recognized him as the resident of the flat John has just been in. Even more alarming was that he was wielding a rather decently-sized kitchen knife. Sherlock gulped. "Yeah… about that. Do you think you could, I don't know, set that down so we can talk this out? No? Because I'm warning you, I can and will scream if you come any closer with that thing. I could have a team of people in here within five seconds."

The other man smiled crookedly. "Oh, but I think you'll bleed out 'fore anyone notices. Can't scream with yer throat cut open, can you?" He took another couple steps closer, and Sherlock began to flail about in the hopes of somehow squeezing his large hands out of their prisons. The murderer raised his weapon slowly for dramatic effect.

As if on cue, Guns was suddenly in the room. The woman was built like an ox and didn't hesitate before grabbing the murderer's wrist, easily knocking the knife from his hands. Sherlock squinted into the darkness, trying to see what was going on, but from what he could tell it looked like Guns was winning this fight. By a lot.

Fluorescent lights flicked on once more, and John was now standing in the doorway, his mouth slightly ajar. At his feet lay the murderer, bloody and unconscious, with a rather triumphant Guns standing over him. Guns placed her hands on her hips, a triumphant look about her that, to be quite honest, was rather terrifying.

"I've missed something, haven't I?" the doctor asked softly. "How do I keep always missing things?"

"Mycroft Holmes told me to keep an eye on his younger brother and deal with whatever stupid situations he gets himself into however I deem appropriate," Guns answered. "I figured a man I didn't recognize coming at him with a knife qualified for a beat down."

John almost choked. "Hold up, Mycroft sent you? Does that mean you aren't even a real nurse?"

Guns smirked. "A little slow on the uptake, eh, soldier?"

"Sh-shut up!"

"Look," Sherlock interjected, "it's nice to see you two bonding and all, but considering an attempt was just made on my life, I don't suppose I can be checked out early? Also, before I forget, I believe an 'I told you so' is in order."

-x-

Although John was unsuccessful in getting Sherlock released early (and Guns did little to help), this time he did remain at the detective's side for the duration of Sherlock's stay. As they approached their final minutes of captivity, Sherlock and John began counting down the seconds as if they were at a New Years party, anxiously awaiting midnight. At the 24-hour mark from Sherlock's last heart attack, the not-couple cheered excitedly, and Sherlock was signed out of the hospital's care as quickly as possible.

All ready to head back to 221b, Sherlock and John waited patiently on the corner outside of the hospital for a taxicab to drive by. John pressed his hands together for a moment before looking up. "Hey, Sherlock?"

"Mm?"

"About what happened earlier… I'm sorry I didn't believe you. It's just, given the circumstances, and how far-fetched the whole idea sounded, especially coming from you-"

"I get it," Sherlock interrupted. "You don't have to feel like you owe me or anything."

"Oh, I don't," John assured him. "I just… I wanted to make sure that we're still cool. We are cool, right?"

Sherlock hesitated for a moment before putting on a slight smile. "Yes. We are... 'cool.'"

The two of them stood in a tense, awkward silence for several seconds longer before John stepped forward and wrapped his arms around Sherlock's waist in a tight, heartfelt hug. Sherlock instinctively responded with a high pitched squeak and went limp. Surprised by this, John let go and watched with an unamused expression as the detective flopped to the ground.

John pinched at the bridge of his nose. "God damnit, Sherlock!"