Here's the next chapter, hope I didn't keep you guys waiting too long! I've been busy and this chapter was longer than I expected it to be. Hope you like it anyway :)

Oh and someone mentioned to me that my comment on low reviews is just me asking for compliments, so I would just like to quickly say this is not true. Although it's always nice to receive compliments, I do want and need advice and constructive feedback for the story to help improve future works, I also just like to know people's reactions to things in chapters, so I know I'm doing it right. That's why I want reviews, apologies if all I made it sound like I was asking for praise!

I think this chapter I could especially use a hand in. I couldn't think of a decent title for it and it's a bit boring, so any thoughts, ideas or advice would be much appreciated :)

Fighting Ninjas

I wake up to a strange, bright light that hurts the back of my eyes an want to close them again. There's also an odd, repetitive beeping noise along with the hushed voice of two people who, by the sounds of it, were having an argument.

It takes me a while to remember what happened. I feel completely lost. I don't recognise this place, even though so far all I've seen of it is the ceiling. This isn't home.

The last thing I remember is being in a very dark place, literally not metaphorically this time, and there was some sort of fight...

That's it, there was an assassin, it was the assassin who wrote the marks on the walls and who we had to wait for in the dark.

But that doesn't explain why I'm no longer in 221B Baker Street...

Hang on, I remember there was a mark across my chest, right over my stomach. There was a flash of a blade, and the mark on my shirt was blood. The assassin had cut me, and Sherlock was scared.

I remember feeling no pain and surprisingly calm about the whole thing. I no longer feel calm, but confused, and there is a dull ache across my stomach.

I try looking around a little more, seeing something other from the ceiling. I even try to sit up, but for some reason I find it hard.

"John!"

I suddenly realise there's someone with me. I turn my head a little more to the right and find myself face-to-face with Harry.

My sister looks different from the last time I saw her. She seems healthier, but her eyes are filled with worry.

Why would she be so worried? Oh of course. I've been cut across the stomach, I'm in a bright room and I'm lying in a bed with my family beside me. I'm in hospital. I shouldn't be irritated about the being sound in my ear, I should be grateful, it's my heart beat.

At least I know I'm still alive. Harry seems pleased to see me too, even though she's worried, she has a huge smile on her face and she's clutching my hand tightly with both of hers.

"How are you feeling?" She asks.

"Err... a bit weird." I confess, it's hard to tell how I'm feeling. Still a bit confused really. "Is it very bad?" I ask her slowly, referring to the knife wound, I'm worried about the actual damage done, as I have no idea. I'm in hospital, so it must be more than a scratch.

Harry shrugged, as if it was nothing, but I can tell she's still concerned. "Just a few stitches, nothing my big brother can't handle." She gives me another big smile.

There's a huff at this in the corner of the room, and I turn my head to the left and see Sherlock is also with me. He's sitting in a hospital chair, arms folded, looking like a grumpy child.

Harry didn't look very happy about his presence. "Oh yes, Sherlock's been here with you too, and we've been having lots of fun together!"

Oh dear, this can't be good. When my sister and Sherlock first met, they seemed to get on quite well. Unfortunately, it seems being trapped in a confined space with nothing to do for a long period of time does turn Sherlock in a bad mood and he can get irritable with anyone. That brings me to another thing.

"How long have you two been here?" I wonder.

"Since they brought you in," Harry checked her watch. "Sherlock rang me as soon as he called the ambulance, I came straight over. We've just been waiting for you to regain consciousness."

I nod slowly. "So, how long have I been out for?"

Harry shrugs again, "A few hours."

I feel a little guilty at the thought I might have just left them by my hospital bed for hours in silence. "You know, you didn't have to be here for all that time." I explain to both of them.

"How could we not?" Harry says. "Besides, not even the nurses could get Sherlock to move. He's been sitting there since we arrived, hardly doing anything. I've not even seen him eat or sleep."

I glance over at Sherlock as she says this, but he's decided to not show any eye contact. I wish the people who said or thought that Sherlock Holmes didn't have a heart could be here to hear this. He's been helping me through the worst time of my life and is still with me now. He's probably been alienating the nurses and complaining, but that's not the point.

There's a short silence, and then Harry sighs sadly. "I do wish you wouldn't scare me like this though John."

The guilt settling on my heart gets a little heavier. I didn't mean to get into this much trouble, or worry my sister. I've put her in this situation before, when I got shot in the shoulder, but I didn't actually know how bad that had affected her until now, when I see the sadness and disappointment in her eyes. I'm glad though that our relationship is a lot better that she's willing to sit with me in hospital and talk to me, I don't remember doing that when I was in hospital with a shoulder wound.

Harry must see my guilt though, as she smiles at me again and tries to talk about the subject in a more light-hearted manner.

"Imagine though, my brother fighting a ninja!"

"It wasn't a ninja," came the irritable voice of Sherlock Holmes in the corner, in an exasperated tone that made me think he's probably had this conversation before...

"Well it sounded like one to me!" Harry snapped back. "Wearing all black, climbing up buildings..."

"That doesn't define them as ninjas and why there would be a 15th century Japanese mercenary in Baker Street anyway?"

"That's enough you two," I say quickly as Harry opens her mouth to argue her defence. I'm glad I'm in a private room, it's only a small one, with a single leather chair that Sherlock's taken possession of, a small wooden one that Harry's sitting on and of course a bed with me in, but at least there's no one else in here to listen in to their childish arguments.

The two sigh in annoyance and glare at each other, but the debate ceases. An awkward silence falls so I quickly think of something to say.

"You look tired," I tell my sister.

Harry nods, "obviously I didn't get a good night's sleep last night." She admits. "I'll go and get myself some coffee, wake myself up. Will you be all right for a few minutes?" She asks.

I wave her worried comment away with my hand. "I'll be fine, I'm not going to be going anywhere anytime soon." Although I desperately want to get out of this bed and go home, but perhaps moving around isn't a very good idea at the moment.

Harry doesn't look very convinced, but she gives me a small smile and with a quick squeeze of my hand departs to look for some coffee.

My attention turns in the direction of Sherlock now, who is still sitting in the chair with his arms folded, staring into the distance with a scowl on his face.

"Doesn't sound too bad, fighting a ninja." I comment lightly.

Sherlock doesn't look so convinced. Silence falls again as I watch him closely, there is something in his eyes that tells me something's wrong, something's troubling him quite badly.

Just then, a nurse came in. She looks more pleased to see me than Sherlock, a huge, friendly smile on her face. She looks like she's in her mid-thirties, with chocolate brown hair and bright blue eyes. For a moment though I did see her eyes flit towards the direction of Sherlock, and she doesn't look happy. Seems I may be right about him alienating the nurses.

"Good to see you're with us again Dr Watson," she says, checking my vital signs and my stitches as she talks to me. I've not seen the state of my stomach yet, and perhaps I won't want to for a while. "How are you feeling?"

"All right I think," I've had time to work out I feel more than 'weird'.

"Are you in any pain?" She asks, picking up my chart and jotting some things down.

My stomach does hurt a little, even when I'm not trying to move about, but I decide it's not enough to be given any painkillers. "I'm fine thanks."

"Are you sure?" She checks, and her eyes fall again on Sherlock, and I wonder if it's just a coincidence or she's trying to ask me if my friend's being a pain. He's probably analysed her whole life story and like many people she's not impressed by it.

"Yes I'm fine," I insist. "Any chance I'll be able to go home today?" I ask hopefully.

"Afraid not," says the nurse, smiling again. "We need to make sure you're OK and there's no problem with the stitches. Everything seems fine though, I'm sure you'll be out in no time." She added, before she left the room again.

"It was worth a try," I muttered to myself after the nurse had gone. I turn my attention back to Sherlock, who is still as motionless and grumpy as ever. "Come on Sherlock, why don't you tell me what's wrong?" I ask eventually.

Sherlock remains silent for a few moments, and when he speaks I can hardly see his lips moving. "I think I've lost count of the number of times I've almost killed you."

"What are you talking about?"

"I'm fed up of almost getting my friends killed John!" He snapped suddenly. "Everything I do gets you into more danger, if it wasn't for me you wouldn't be here. You were bleeding so much and there was no one nearby to help and I had to call an ambulance. But I thought they weren't going to make it in time. I thought you were going to die by the river and then I was in that situation all over again-"

The consulting detective cut himself off suddenly, as more emotions began to build up in his voice. He didn't look upset, he looked angry. Angry at himself. I opened my mouth to point out to him that none of this was really his fault, it was Moriarty, a mad man who wanted to play games with us. We'd just played his last game and we had won, what was there to be angry about? I'm fine, really.

But before I could say anything Sherlock is speaking again, a lot calmer and matter-of-fact this time, which somehow worries me even more. "Perhaps I should just move out of Baker Street."

If I could leap out of bed, I would have. "What!"

"Move somewhere else, maybe even out of London, just somewhere away from people I don't know and friends I can't hurt." He explained, still very calm about it.

"Sherlock you can't!" It's my turn to snap now, and he looks quite surprised at my outburst. "There's something you don't realise about working and living with you isn't there? It's that as soon as you start, there's no turning back. I already had a boring life before you came along, but now I've lived your life going back to it would be mind-numbingly boring. So I refuse to turn back, you've given me something to live for. I thought I'd lost you once and I'm not going to lose you again, even if I know you're really still alive. When you came back I was so angry I wanted you to leave, and I'm so grateful that you refused because now I've changed my mind. We've gone through so much you can't just disappear again. Friends stick together, and that's exactly what I'm going to do."

Sherlock stared at me, as if I'd just said something totally revolutionary. In fact he had completely frozen, and I wondered if he had heard a word.

"Sherlock are you still there?" I said eventually.

A small smile started to grow over the consulting detective's face. "I'm so relieved you said that."

And I couldn't help but smile too, because he didn't really want to go after all.

Just then, the door opened. It was the same door Harry had left through, so I assumed it was her and didn't look up. Not until Sherlock suddenly spoke:

"Oh no, please, not you! Why you?"

And I turn around to see Mycroft standing in the doorway, umbrella in hand, looking quite pleased with himself.