A/N: Okay, here is the next chapter. I know it has been a while since I updated, and I don't even have an excuse for it! But here it is and I hope you like it.

Lestrade flinched as he heard the gunshot. Soon the bullet would hit him. Soon. He waited for it, the bullet to hit. He hoped he would die soon. That it would end quickly. He didn't want it to hurt, it probably would. He hoped that Wilson would shoot Sherlock too, out of mercy. He didn't want Sherlock to bleed to death, slowly, and painfully. Maybe he was dead already.

But the bullet never hit him. He watched in shock as Carl Wilson suddenly spread his eyes wide open. Then he fell to the ground, quiet, not a sound left his lips. He hit the ground with a muffled thud. The pistol rattled away across the asphalt.

Lestrade turned his head to the right, and looked into the small street. It was Sergeant Hopkins. He stood there, pistol in his hands. Lestrade had never been more happy to see the young man.

"Call 999 Hopkins!" Lestrade cried as he ran up to Sherlock.

He fell to his knees, and rolled the boy over so he lay on his back. He moved Sherlock's hands away from the wound, and put his own over it. As he pushed down Sherlock whimpered and slowly opened his eyes.

"'estr'de... 'rts..." He whispered, his voice barely audible.

Blood speckled his lips. His skin was so pale, almost white. His breath was coming out short and shallow. His eyes were flickering all over Lestrade's face, struggling to find focus. They found Lestrade's eyes and locked with them. His eyes were glassy. Tears streamed from them.

"...'stra-de... t'red..."

He weakly lifted a trembling arm gripped the front of Lestrade's shirt. His bloody fingers were colouring the fabric crimson.

"I know Sherlock..." Lestrade said, trying to keep his voice steady. " Just stay awake... An ambulance is coming."

Sherlock's eyes started to trail away, his eyelids closing.

"Hey Sherlock! Look at me..." Sherlock's eyes flickered open again."There you go... stay awake... you'll be okay... You hear me?"

Sherlock nodded and fastened his grip on the shirt.

"...scare-...'urts..." Sherlock whimpered, his words barely understandable.

He starts coughing again. Blood stains his lips, runs down his cheek. Lestrade takes his left hand and wipes it away. As he puts it back on the wound, Sherlock grasps his hand. His fingers slick with blood. Grasping his hand weakly. He squeezes it back.

Lestrade looks up and sees Hopkins standing opposite.

"When is- How long will it take for the ambulance?"

"It is ten minutes away, sir..."

He looks back at Sherlock, his eyes has started to close again. He struggles to keep them in focus. The grip around Lestrade's hand is weakening.

"Hey...Sherlock... You with me...?" Sherlock opens his eyes again. Staring weakly at Lestrade with glassy eyes.

"...'ook...'strade..." Sherlock coughs before he continues."...stars... 'eautiful..."

"...sshh...don't talk Sherlock"

Sherlock stays quiet, everything is quiet. Far away. In an other world, most likely, they can hear cars driving along the road. But they don't matter. They haven't heard the shot, they don't know that in one of the dark alleys, an 17 year old is dying. Shot, saving the only person who really matters. They go on with their lives. The people in the cars, the cabs, the buses. All of them, happy, unknowing about the horrible that happened only a block away.

Then there are sirens. Coming closer. Soon the ambulance will be here, five minutes maybe... More...less, Lestrade doesn't know. He hopes it is less.

"Hopkins!" He cries, and looks up at the Sergeant."Go out to the main road and meet up the ambulance."

Hopkins nods, and then they're left alone. He and Sherlock.

As Sherlock's grip around his hand weaken even more he looks down at him. Sherlock's eyes have closed again. He taps the boy's cheek.

"Stay awake Sherlock, don't sleep..." He says, Sherlock's eyes opens slowly.

"Was'nt... Just...resting..." Sherlock mumbles.

The sirens was getting closer, they would be here any minute. Soon. 'Sherlock will be fine. He will be okay. He must be.' Or Lestrade wouldn't be able to forgive himself. It would be his fault if Sherlock died, he wasn't suppose to be here at all. But he was, and he had saved Lestrade's life.

" 'm... tired...L'stra'e..."Sherlock's eyelids flicker, his eyes locking with Lestrade's.

The pale eyes found the dark. The dark ones glassy with tears, but still filled with life. The pale, also glassy. Filled with fear. The light in them fading.

"I-...I'll...I want...to go'ome... I think... I'll...just..." He closed his eyes, his head slumped to the side. He drew a shuddering breath.

Then nothing.

"No-...don't do this to me..." Lestrade cried, placing his fingers towards Sherlock's neck. Looking after a pulse. Finding nothing."...Don't...Don't do this..."

He placed his hands on Sherlock's chest. Starting chest compressions.

He breathed for Sherlock. His lips tasted of blood. They were were cold. So cold.

The paramedics came, they forced him out of the way. Continued the chest compressions. Loaded Sherlock on a stretcher. They carried him into the ambulance.

Lestrade climbed in after them. They drove of.

Sherlock still wasn't breathing on his own. They continued the CPR.

"He's breathing..."

Sherlock's eyes flickered open. They danced around the ambulance. Without finding anything to focus on. They found Lestrade. Fear filled them. He winced in pain as the paramedics tried to stop the bleeding.

"...'strade...?" His voice was weak, filled with pain. And fear.

His right hand lay beside him, opening and closing. Weakly searching for something to hold on to. Lestrade reached forward, and placed his hand in Sherlock's. Sherlock squeezed it weakly. Looking his eyes with Lestrade's.

The pale found the dark again.

"Shh...It's okay Sherlock... You'll be okay... I'm here..."

A/N: Oh a little bit cheesy in the end. But I hope you liked it. Please, please, please review. When you review I get happy and when I am happy I update. So please please.