A/N: Hello, my lovelies! Happy Independence Day/Fourth of July! I just have to say...HOLY FLIPPIN' FISH! This story has over 1,000 views, which both terrifies and excites me. Thank you all so much for reading! Also, thank you all for your marvelous and lovely reviews. It makes my day to hear from you all, no matter what it is that you have to say. Say thank you, Legion.

Legion: WE SAY THANK YOU. *smiles vacantly* THANK YOU.

Speaking of which, I'd like to respond to an anonymous review from Guest. I had to re-read your review before it finally dawned on me what you were talking about. When I wrote that, I was thinking about what Sherlock wears underneath his housecoat/bathrobe/thing-a-ma-bob. 'Sweats and a t-shirt' is the best description that I could come up with for that! =)

Anyways, I hope you'll all be happy to hear this. I am currently about halfway done with Chapter 6! Yay! It took me a little while to get it started because I had a SERIOUS case of writer's block. Luckily for us all, however, Legion took to prodding me with his sharp...adorable...little claws until I got my butt into gear.

Legion: WE HELP. WE HELP MAMA WRITE HER STORY. *sharpens claws absently*

Yes. Yes you did, sweetie. Well, we both hope that you enjoy this chapter! Make sure that you hit that lovely - ah! Sorry, Doctor! - that blue button and leave me a bit of your feedback!

~ Angel (Sorry about the super long author's note! I had a teensy bit to say.)

John rolled his shoulders under the warm spray of water, feeling his scar pull painfully. What with all of the rain and chill as of late, the old bullet wound had been plaguing him more than usual. He sighed, reaching up to rub at his bad shoulder and mentally running through a few quick and easy remedies that shouldn't take long to provide some relief. Living with Sherlock Holmes meant that the good doctor needed to keep his schedule as open as possible. Never know when a case might pop up, after all.

He was utterly determined not to slow his detective down in any way if he could help it.

Tilting his head back to rinse his hair of suds, the doctor wondered if his flatmate had called to order their take-away. 'The bloody git probably forgot,' he thought fondly. Deciding that he had best head out there to make sure that he and his genius friend would have food for supper, the blonde reluctantly reached behind him to shut off the spray.

It was only as he was pulling aside the curtain to snag a towel did John realize that the sounds of the violin had ceased.

In the sudden silence provided by the absence of both the music and the shower, the loud, unfamiliar voice rang clearly throughout the flat. "Okay, you S.O.B., fun time's over. Now, you can cooperate, or we can skip the hugs and kisses and get straight to the target practice."

'Well, that's…not good,' John thought, already stalking towards the den.

As soon as the aggressive tone of voice reached his ears, he had sprung for his towel, wrapping it deftly around his waist as he snatched up his gun. He hadn't even realized that he had it with him until he'd started undressing and found it tucked in the back of his trousers.

Military training having kicked in, the ex-soldier crept stealthily, silently, yet quickly down the hall. He was peering around the corner by the time the stranger stopped talking.

His heart stopped.

Guns.

They had guns.

And they were aiming them at Sherlock.

'No!' John's mind rebelled. 'No, they can't -. I can't -. He can't die. Not again. I won't let him die and leave me behind.'

"Obviously, that would be terribly unwise of you." Sherlock's voice jolted him back to the present. The doctor stepped around the corner without a thought, aiming steadily at the backs of the men who dared to threaten his best friend.

'Glad to see my training's still quite useful,' John thought wryly, holding his pistol unwaveringly.

"And why would that be?"

Voice as steady as his aim, the blonde replied, "Because I say so."

John had just gotten Sherlock back. He was not letting these men take him away again.