John had heard before that panic often revealed people's priorities.
Old John couldn't come back yet but there was no way in hell that he was going to let Sherlock die, he just couldn't.
"Sherlock, I need you to look at me." He pressed his fingers against Sherlock wrist; he still had a pulse and was still breathing. "Come on Sherlock, you can't let an idiot with a gun beat you." John took his jacket off and handed it to Lestrade.
"Keep it on the wound, use a lot of pressure." He turned to Johnson "We need an ambulance."
"Mr. Holmes has access to the CCTV in this area. An ambulance is already on its way."
"He's not going to last much longer." John said quietly. Sherlock was already a ghostly white colour and his body temperature was low.
"He'll be fine." Lestrade told John
"Not real." John replied.

The next twelve hours pasted in a blur. The ambulance came quickly, Sherlock had needed surgery to remove the bullet, he'd crashed at one point but now appeared stable.

Mycroft stood outside Sherlock's private room. Sherlock was lying beneath the sheets inside drowned in a hospital gown and had a large variety of machine and tubes connected to him.
Mycroft gave a soft sigh. The soft sound of footsteps told him John Watson was approaching.
"How's he doing?"
"He appears stable. It would appear I have to thank you again for saving my brother's life again."
"Again?"
"Numerous times." Mycroft confirmed.
"Really? You haven't been told about the Hijacking have you?"
"I was aware of it, but due to you saving Sherlock's life I assumed you'd overridden it."
"Not yet. I just… I don't know. I know he wants to kill me."
"He doesn't."
"Well my brain's telling that he does but at the same time I know that he won't kill me. I just know that there was no way I could let him die again."
"How interesting." Mycroft mused "I must be off Doctor Watson. I still have to attend to the matter of finding Moriarty."
"Bye" John muttered as Mycroft left. After a moment's hesitation he entered the room. Sherlock looked like death warmed up.
John's mind kept offering him flicker's of Sherlock's bloodied broken corpse outside of St. Bart's with no pulse and those pale blue eyes staring sightlessly at the sky.
The sight of Sherlock injured or dead seemed to hurt him. Maybe his old self was coming back? Lestrade said he still acted the same apart from when it came to Sherlock.
At least he wasn't completely convinced that Sherlock was a psychotic nutter anymore.
He sighed softly and went to sit on the plastic chair sat a few metres away from Sherlock's bed. He would stay here until the man woke up and see if he still thought Sherlock wanted to kill him then.

Lestrade had also been admitted over night at the hospital, the bullet wound on his arm was worse than he thought. He'd seen John a few times; the man hadn't been admitted but was lingering at the hospital.
They'd spoken a bit, mainly about Sherlock; John seemed so conflicted on the subject. He appeared to believe that Sherlock wasn't going to kill him but he seemed unable to convince his whole mind of this.
Lestrade hoped he would be released tomorrow, he wanted to go and check on Sherlock, it sounded like he hadn't come around yet, but with Sherlock's lack of sleeping and eating this wasn't a surprise. Lestrade yawned shifting on to his good side. He had to admit it was nice to be able to sleep in a bed instead of the forest floor tonight.

Sherlock could hear a faint beeping. He didn't open his eyes yet, he let his other senses assess his surroundings, the beeping was from a heart monitor, he could feel a square of plastic tape attached to each hand, both holding a needle in place. The room smelt of disinfectant, a hospital then.
He listened past the consistent beeping; there was some breathing softly in their sleep.
John.
Sherlock allowed himself to open his eyes. He flinched as white invaded his vision, after a moment his eyes adjusted. It would appear he wasn't allowed to leave an Arena without being wounded badly in the shoulder, the same shoulder as last time just from the back instead of the front. He tried to move the shoulder in question but was only rewarded with a twinge of pain going down his arm.
John yawned softly. He blinked looking around the room obviously recalling where he was. His eyes quickly fixed on Sherlock.
"You're awake then?" he yawned.
"Evidently" Sherlock replied, assessing John's every movement. "Do you still think I'm going to kill you?" there was a touch of sarcasm in his voice.
"I'm working on it. Just got to get my entire mind to listen." John smirked slightly. "I've got some memories back; it's just a slow process I suppose."
Sherlock nodded in agreement.
"Don't even think about trying to move yet." John said sternly.
Sherlock guessed in his tired state John guard was down or he really was over riding the Hijacking, Sherlock's brain was addled by the pain medication so he couldn't be sure which it was.
"How long have I been unconscious?"
"About nine hours. Lestrade's been admitted a few rooms down, his arm wound was pretty bad."
"You're alright though?"
"I'm fine. Been reading some of my blog, it's good at memory jogging."
"Good" Sherlock stifled a yawn.
"It was too easy wasn't it?" John voice was quiet. "We shouldn't have got out that quickly."
"I believe that that was part one of Moriarty's plan."
"So there's more to come?"
"Obviously."

Moriarty sat on a chair at a desk, every now and again he would kick the desk causing himself to spin round.
He was vaguely annoyed that Sherlock and his little gang had escaped so easily but it didn't matter. Phase two was ready, it would be activated the second Sherlock left hospital.
Which he was sure would be soon. Sherlock shouldn't want to be in hospital when there were games to play.