Hello sweeties! So, I got a review a couple of days ago on this fan fiction from a person who wanted me to add more to this story. And I went, "What the hell. Let's do it!" So, here you guys go. Another chapter. Enjoy!
Panic
He observed as Sebastian Moran held John Watson in a choke hold, pressing the barrel of a gun right up against John's head, finger lingering over the trigger, ready to pull it at any moment and send bits of the good doctor's brain flying across the cold floor of the warehouse.
John had remained calm.
But Sherlock hadn't.
Panic
He heard the police break down the doors, cocking guns, ready to fire.
Panic
He watched as Moran crushed the butt of the gun forcefully against John's temple and ran.
Time stops.
John is falling.
Falling unconscious to the ground.
Bleeding temple, bruising…
Catch him!
Panic
Sherlock runs towards John's limply falling body, ignoring the fleeing Sebastian Moran.
The police will take care of him.
Time starts up again as Sherlock catches his unconscious blogger in his arms.
His blogger. His injured blogger.
Panic
"John, can you hear me? Can you hear me? John!" he shouts, gently stroking John's wounded temple.
Oh God, wake up. Be okay. Please be okay.
He caresses John's head in both of his hands, as if he is trying to will the man out of unconsciousness.
Panic. He realizes he's panicking.
Calm down.
"John," he says, trying not to let his voice warble.
Unresponsive. Still panicking. Act normal.
"Don't be an idiot."
I'd rather he not hear me talk in such a cross manner. I care. I want him to know that.
Still panicking.
Calm down.
Gentle now.
"Open your eyes John. Wake up."
Still unresponsive.
Still panicking.
Please John. Please!
"Wake up, John."
He won't respond, dammit!
Be gentle.
Let him know he's necessary.
Beg.
Plead.
For John.
"Please."
The word sounds so foreign to him. And he realizes he rarely says it. Perhaps he's never said it.
John's eyelids pull apart.
He's opening his eyes!
Hope
He needs encouragement.
He's struggling.
"You can do it, John," he says, ever so softly.
Sherlock strokes his blogger's cheek, excitement surging through his veins as John's eyes open a little bit more.
Hope
Coax him.
"Almost there, John," he says, the corners of his mouth turning upwards, forming a sort of twisted smile.
John's eyes are open.
The man blinks a few times, obviously concussed, as he is adjusting his eyes to the irritatingly bright light emanating from the ceiling, probably fighting against the pain of a headache and the urge to vomit.
His eyes settle on Sherlock, compelling the consulting detective to wrap him in a tight embrace. As he loosens his hold, Sherlock smiles down at John.
"Hello John," he says, his grin taking up his whole face.
John smiles back at him.
"Hello Sherlock."
Relief.