-ooo-

'Have some tea, John, Mary.'

'You're making tea for us now, Sherlock?' she was fast at her suspicions. They both stood side by side at the kitchen door.

'Yeah, he does that sometimes, now', John tried to explain, feeling slightly guilty. Last time John had insisted on making the tea himself he had ended up doctoring himself with his friend by his side, and that might have made Sherlock decide on hurrying offers of tea all the time, before John could go back using his left arm by mistake to pick up the kettle... 'Which one doesn't have sugar on it?'

Sherlock handed him one of the two, and Mary the other one.

'And what is the tea for, Sherlock?' Mary demanded an explanation.

'I'm trying to convince you guys to stick around a while longer in Baker Street. I thought that was fairly obvious.'

John looked surprised, Mary tilted her head sideways.

-ooo-

'Hi, Greg', John ushered him in, circling the stained floor boards to reach him at the door. They shook hands briefly. 'Sorry to let you down, Sherlock is out cold. He's fallen asleep in the long sofa, and quite frankly, I hope we can let him carry on sleeping. He wouldn't want to hear me saying this but he's quite burned down by this... affair.'

The detective inspector followed John's gesture to the sofa to find Sherlock sleeping profoundly, with a certain look of child innocence to his features. He looked young, vulnerable, so different from the arrogant impassible mask usually displayed. 'I see, yeah, we'll let him sleep for now... How about you, John? Feeling better?'

'Yeah, fine, I'm fine.' Although Greg didn't expect another answer, he'd never buy it either. 'Any news on St. Bart's shooter?' he was showing his friend to the kitchen, where some half eaten food still lay, getting cold.

'Look, don't let me interrupt you. Eat away and I'll take a seat by your side.'

'Want some?' he offered at once. 'Mrs Hudson guarantees she was very famous in the States for this...'

'She probably just said that to convince you', Greg pointed out with a smirk.

'Yeah, I know...' John gave only a hint of a smile and remained restrained.

'She wanted me to give her your parents' phone number.'

'Who?' he was completely lost as he ate the food. Greg sat on the other side of the table.

'Mrs Hudson, your landlady. She wanted to phone your mother and tell her that you needed her.'

John stopped, chewing slowly. 'Oh, right. I guess she didn't notice', he said at last, 'that they weren't at my wedding... Why would she think you had the phone number?'

'Being the police she thought I could find that out, I suppose.'

'And she was going to tell my mother I had been shot?' he doubled back, with a smirk smile. 'She really is something else, isn't she?' he said sweetly.

'I can see how she got it wrong now', Greg defended.

'Sorry, what?' he really didn't understand.

'Anyway', Greg eluded, 'she also wanted to call your sister.' John nodded, as if expecting that.

'You didn't give her the number, I hope. Harry already has a lot on her mind right now.'

'I didn't want to squander police resources like that when she could easily ask you directly.'

'Squander? I took it as a routine computer search, done in ten seconds.'

'Probably less. Well, you type slowly, so yeah, ten seconds...'

John copied his smile. 'Look, I appreciate everyone trying to protect me, but I don't really need that.' (And honestly it confuses me.) 'How many times do I need to say that I'm fine? If anyone got the short end of the straw, it was Sherlock, not me. This whole situation must have been hell on him, not to mention it ruined his living room.'

Greg pursed his lips and nodded. 'You and I both know what it's like to see good people being shot.'

'I mean, thinking about people close to Sherlock, I think I'm the first one who ever made him deal with something like this. And you know how he is, he's got some trouble connecting with people to start with.'

'Yeah, he's Sherlock', the detective inspector was sharp.

'I imagine it must have been quite a shock.'

Greg nodded once more. John was in a talkative mood now and he chose to bait John and listen. 'Yeah, he texted me the night you got shot. I gather it was already from the ambulance.'

John frowned. 'He wasn't hurt.' Greg frowned, John was definitely on strong medication at the time.

'Yeah, but he took the ride with you on the ambulance. Didn't he tell ya?'

'Oh, right', he was clearly surprised. He'd glance on to the living room where his friend slept by instinct. 'Yeah... You know he did all that research? He saved my life.' John's words were calm and resigned.

'To be fair, it was the fact that you came here with him that got you shot in the first place.'

He frowned. 'I'd shrug my shoulders but I've found it challenging lately... Look, Greg, I'm not sorry, and I wouldn't make anything differently. No one could have foreseen what happened. Somewhere out there there is a crazy person making me and Sherlock targets. Some maniac doing it for fame, probably. Why else would he choose such complicated poison on old war bullets? It's like having Moriarty in the shadows all over again. The thing is this time I wasn't so lucky. It's okay, I accepted the danger all along, I knew days like this could come. And you know what? In the end, turns out I was indeed lucky. Mostly because Sherlock wouldn't give up on me.' He got quiet for a second, Greg was hardly surprised, that was a lot of personal talking for John in one sitting.

'Well, you pushed Sherlock out of the way at St. Bart's, John.'

'And?' he couldn't follow.

'That makes it even, doesn't it?'

John's face showed some tension and displeasure. 'I wasn't trying to be a hero, and honestly, I was none of that.'

Definitely heavy medication. 'Then what do you call it?' Greg insisted, surprised.

'I know how to shoot a bit. Learnt in the army. If anything should be spotting a marksman across the street it'd be me. Just that', John explained patiently.

'You threw both Molly and Sherlock on the floor while getting yourself into the line of fire, John.'

He frowned over his blue eyes for a second. 'Yeah, I owe Molly an apology, I hope she didn't get hurt from it.'

Very heavy medication. 'Look, John...' Greg started, and John actually looked at him, directly, honestly, waiting to hear his words. But Greg hesitated. He didn't know how to get through to him. The man was a soldier at heart, and kept firm on that believe that he needed to save the whole world from the wars he accepted for himself. 'John, the second bullet also had on the same casing. The same poison. This time there seems to have been a different shooter.'

'Sherlock thinks it's just the mastermind left, and he's the one doing the shooting now. That makes sense, since this last shooter was hardly as proficient as the first one.' John noticed his cold food and went back at it.

'How about the third target?'

'What third target?' John stopped again.

'I don't know, he didn't explain it to me, he just said he wasn't the main target after all. You don't know anything about that, John?'

'Nothing at all', John assured, looking worried. 'Why wouldn't he tell me that piece of deduction, I have no idea...' He shook his head. 'That's Sherlock Holmes, he enjoys being all dramatic.' Then he got up all of a sudden, very decided, and left his friend behind, in a hurry.

'Where are you going? John...?'

He just left Greg and stamped closed the bathroom door behind him. Greg looked down on to the plate and back down the hall. The medication had probably got John nauseous. He got up at once. 'John, talk to me...' He knocked on the door between them. 'John, tell me you're alright...' There was no answer, no sound. Greg tried the door knob. It wasn't locked and it opened immediately. He'd find him sitting on the floor with his knees up, he's back against the bathtub, lowering his head to his knees. Apparently he hadn't heard being called nor noticed Greg's presence. He was passing out.

Greg got on the floor next to him, holding him up straight. 'John, can you listen to me?'

First sign of recognition. Stunned, confused, but looking back steadily. 'Yeah, no need to go around shouting', he finally said, more collected.

'Has this happened before, John?'

'Hm? Oh, I just had a blood tension drop', he'd diagnose himself easily. 'I'm fine now. Thanks for caring, but I was fine, I really was.'

'Has it happened before?'

'Look, I'm a doctor!'

'Has it?'

'Yes, and it might not be the last time either. I ate too much. It's not going to happen in a dangerous situation, I've been careful.' He could see Greg wasn't buying it. 'Greg, this isn't the movies. There are things that happen when you get a good amount of blood transfusions. The human body has its own kind of memory. It's scientifically documented. I just have to bear through it, and it'll pass in the next couple of days.'

Greg's position alongside him was uncomfortable and he chose to adjust and sit on the cold tiles as well.

'Why didn't you tell anyone?'

'I had it under control, or so I thought... Look, I've been having enough attention, last thing I needed was this...' he pointed around him to their situation.

'Too bad this is exactly what you got', Greg told him sharply, getting up and offering him help to do the same. 'Off to bed, police orders.'

'No way.' John got up much sure of himself.

'Or I'll give Mrs Hudson the phone number.'

John glanced at Greg. 'You did understand that no one will actually pick up the phone?' he still didn't spell it out.

'Yes, I did. I'll give her my phone number instead, and I'll be on your case 24 / 7 from now on, John.'

'I don't need...' he started.

'You really do.'

-ooo-

Greg left Baker Street with a tired expression. In the end he had convinced John to stay in his armchair, resting, and Mary was supposed to return soon, she'd keep a watchful eye on him. Sherlock had missed the whole visit, snoring in the long sofa. He guessed John had been correct; that situation had really taken a toll on Sherlock as well.

'Mrs Hudson!' he found her at the cafe bellow. 'Could I have a word for a minute?' She nodded at once, surprised. 'It's about John...' They shared a worried expression from them on, evident to those who may have pass them on the street, but their precise words remained a secret shared only between them in the bustling cafe.

-ooo-

When Sherlock woke up, Mrs Hudson was dusting and John was sleeping in his chair. He couldn't really tell which of them annoyed him the most. No, even though he complained loudly about the dust, he was fairly annoyed at himself. He had fallen asleep, inexplicably. Sure, he was tired, but the heavy deep slumber was still drowning his mind.

'Is Mary asleep too?'

'Mary?' Mrs Hudson was confused. 'Sherlock, dear, she went out hours ago. Some emergency at work, she said.'

Mary was supposed to be sleeping. The tea he had prepared her. The sugared tea, he had spiked it. Not John's tea, though, he wasn't sure of the best dosage, and either way John would have retired at some point. But Mary, he needed to keep her under control, for her protection... All the while, she had switched cups with him somehow, and Sherlock was the one sleeping it off, while she went out dangerously free.

Oh, she was good... He smiled despite himself. Good enough to deceive Sherlock Holmes right under John's nose and get away with it. Sherlock couldn't call her out because of John's presence. But all she went on mysteriously doing, it was getting her into deep trouble all alone. Alone was what she did best. But John, he needed her, and that was why Sherlock insisted on his need to protect her...