100 subs! Wow guys! You are amazing. Seriously.

Sorry to keep you in suspense. It's just every Monday and Tuesday night I stay at my father's and he has no Internet access. Rayne and I still do it via mobiles but it takes us awhile. Anyway here is chapter 9 for you.

John stared with worry at his mobile. Ten minutes ago he had sent Sherlock another text. One that would have usually gained an answer. For some reason Lestrade was still not there. He was torn between logic and the desir- need to follow Sherlock into battle. Their own form of a war zone. The hunt of adventure. He knew Sherlock was not texting back. He couldn't wait for Lestrade. Not when considering the note. That man. Using better judgement, John decided not to take out his miniature torch. He slowly opened the warehouse door as to not make a sound. Inside was pitch black but trained eyes and ears told him something hid within it. The muffled cries and the angry outbursts of a man confirmed that.

"They sent a dead detective. A gay one at that. More fags to burn, right? More to sizzle."

"Oh how original. You are terribly borin-" The cold reply of Sherlock Holmes was cut short by, to John's ears, what appeared to be a hard punch to the face.

John's heart rages, his eyes narrowed and his breathing sped up. The signs of deep stress and rage. He peered into the darkness and took a shaky step forwards.

"I have time to burn you, poof boy. I want you dead." The man said, his voice was over excited and hurried.

"I shall repeat that again: You are terri-" Another loud smack echoed in the warehouse.

Sherlock was being hit, again and again. Several more blows followed in the darkness.

John slipped forward and peered at the man in the darkness. A meaty man, tall and large, stood in front of Sherlock, who was on the floor with his wrists and feet bound. He was lying prone on the floor. Sherlock's breathing was ragged and harsh, he was unable to move. John's heart ached as he saw Sherlock, so helpless, in front of this bastard.

He wasn't helpless though, was he? He was in his element. He lived for this. The thing John loved about him. Adored... but this? This was painful. "How much did you owe anyway? Ten grand?"

"Why does it fucking matter?" The man roared back, punching Sherlock again. John struggling against the urge to yell out.

"When he shut down your circus you lost everything. It lost you your arm, didn't it?" John saw the man hover his fingers over his right arm. A prosthetic in place of the old one. Tearing his gaze away from his arm, he kicked Sherlock brutally in the stomach. "If you are quite done."

"I were i-"

"Was." Corrected Sherlock. John heard the man snarl.

"I was in a lot of bother and that poofy bastard shut us down. I needed the money. What else could I do? I were broke because of that fag! I needa repay the debt." He shot a glance towards Fulford. Still unharmed, John noted. "I'll just have two fags to burn now."

Sherlock chuckled, a sore sound escaping his lungs. John died inside, again and again, he couldn't do anything though. Not without endangering Sherlock.

"I'm not a fag!" Sherlock spat the last word like it was poisonous. John stepped forwards slightly, as quietly as he could.

"I remember papers! I see you and that doctor bloke from years ago. You're a fag." John's heart fluttered.

"For the last time: I. Am. Not. A. Fag." Hatred lacing each word. "I am gay. Not a bundle of sticks."

"But you still gay. You still sleep wit-" Sherlock's chuckle cut him off.

"You really are so naive." He sat up smiling that cocky beaming grin. "I don't sleep with men."

"But-"

"But I am gay so I must sleep with men? Assumptions. Tsk. Tsk. Did no one ever tell you?" The man looked puzzled; John saw this as a perfect opportunity to move closer. Sherlock still laughing. "Assumptions make you look like an ass."

John watched Sherlock's face as he laughed. There wasn't an ounce of stress on his face; nothing seemed out of place on him.

The kidnapper close, John could reach out and grab him now. A few more seconds.

Now!

John dived forwards, grappling with the one armed man. He took an elbow to the face, a kick to the balls and was thrown to the ground. Gasping for breath, John stood back up and dived on the kidnapper. His arms wrapped around the man's waist and knocked him to the floor. A soft grunt escaped his lips.

Sherlock was standing up now, the makeshift shackles undone and a smug look on his face. John stood up and looked at Sherlock.

"Case closed." John grinned, the adrenaline rushing to his head.

A single gun shot was fired, it echoed in the warehouse.

John fell to his knees.

"SHERLOCK! GET THE FUCK DOWN!" John yelled from the floor. Forced there by the sudden gun fire. Not use to guns for the last two and a half years.

"John. It was me." Or perhaps the person firing the gun.

"WHY THE HEL-"

"He had a knife, John." Looking down, John saw the groaning mess on the floor. Blood oozing from his left arm. He won't be using that any time soon. The doctor inside him kicked in as he went to treat the wound. No matter who it was. Meanwhile Sherlock had already walked over to Sir Fulford and began to untie him.

"What on earth is going on? Where am I? Who are you?" Sherlock rolled his eyes as the panicked man rambled on.

"You were obviously kidnapped. Warehouse. Sherlock Holmes."

John pressed down on the poorly dressed wound. It was a pathetic attempt at a bandage but at this moment in time it was the best he could do. Sherlock was helping the judge up, talking to him. Good, that would sort a few things out.

"Sherlock!" John called. "Watch him. I need to call Greg and an ambulance."

"Hurry." Sherlock said quickly, walking over to the kidnapper. "I have another case to solve today."

"Yeah. Yeah... I know." John sighed, his heart still pounding. The echo of the gun still roared in his ears. He pulled his phone out of his pocket and called Lestrade. The phone was picked up immediately.

"Greg, where the fuck are you?"

"We were misdirected."

"That's a lot of fucking help!" John shouted. He lowered his voice and began again. "We've got the judge, unharmed, and the kidnapper. He's been shot in the left arm, he's bleeding and we need an ambulance crew here as soon as possible or he may bleed out."

"Fine." Lestrade sighed. "We'll be there in a minute. Hold on."

John ended the call and turned back to the three men. Sherlock was watching the one armed man and the judge was standing on his own, examining his surroundings.

"Not even back to life yet and you shoot your first case in the arm."

"Just protecting my friend, John." This sparked something within John's head. The last moment he had seen Sherlock in person. Before the... fall.

"Alone protects me."

"No. Friends protect people!" John snarled back before slamming the door. He was furious. Sherlock Holmes, the changing machine.

"Right. Erm... thanks." Kneeling back to the one armed man's side, he began to apply pressure to the wound as the wonderful sound of sirens boomed around them.

Suddenly there was a bright light from the door, car headlights streaming through the maw of the warehouse. Lestrade marched in followed by other police men and women, all searching the warehouse for others.

"Over here!" Sherlock called. The first person to arrive was Lestrade. He took in the scene with one glance.

"Damnit, Sherlock." Lestrade sighed. "Why did you shoot?"

"He was about to attack, John. I was protecting John from a violent, bloody death."

"Nice?" Lestrade questionably answered.

"It was actually." Sherlock said, his voice portraying no emotion.

The police crews cleared up and shipped all the evidence off to the places they needed to be shipped to. The ambulance came and went, but left John and Sherlock some shock blankets.

"These things itch." John mumbled from underneath his blanket. He and Sherlock were leaning against Lestrade's car. They were each wearing two shock blankets and John was still cold. He wasn't sure if it was the cool air or the fact he had just been shot at, technically, for the first time for two and half years and it was hard to adapt to.

John watched Sherlock out of the corner of his eye. Sherlock has stopped dropping the shock blankets to the floor after John explained that they would stop people from talking to him. He simply uttered "If you had told me before." and left the red blankets drape over his shoulders. John watched the police around him run and obey orders, like ants in an over filled nest. He was vaguely aware of Sherlock explaining his actions yet again to Lestrade, his tone brisk and annoyed. No doubt he wanted to move on to bigger and better things.

"Not now. Don't you even think about it." John croaked from his side.

"I have no id-"

"Bollocks, Sherlock. Least give it until a day after the press release." Sherlock silently nodded. Agreeing with John. After the press release would do him. He had only accepted this case, and solved it with such urgency, so he could use Fulford at this press release. What the police would call back up. Apparently that worked for people. Proof. "We'll go home and you are bloody sleeping."

Sherlock giggled. Actually giggled. Like a school girl and it made John's stomach flip. He laughed along with him. Trying to make up for all the lost months. All the lost giggles at murder and crime scenes. He missed them so much. Innocence and fun at the heart of horror. As the laughter died down, a voice called out to them. "You can't laugh here, you two. Go home."

Sherlock leapt to his feet, almost instantly followed by John. Blankets still remaining on their shoulders.

John crashed down into his chair; his back ached from standing up all day and the violent attack from the kidnapper. His leg, though, was fine. He didn't need his walking stick. Not today. That thought made him grin.

It was in this bemused, happy state that the return of Sherlock Holmes had put him in. He leaned back and sighed happily, Sherlock was back and life was good again.

Sherlock was, at that very moment in time, rummaging away in the corner. "Aha!" He pulled something about the size of a laptop out from the pile and... the size of a laptop? Sherlock's laptop was in his room so that was... John's.

"Sherlock!" John shouted, jumping up. "That's my laptop!"

"Yes." Sherlock nodded. "It is. Excellent deduction, John."

"Well... well, you can't just use it without asking!"

"May I?" Sherlock sighed, tapping his long bony finger on the laptop.

"No!"

"Oh. Here, you take it then." Sherlock sighed, holding out the laptop. "You'll have to do some research for me."

"But your laptop is in your room." John said, grateful he had his laptop back and unopened.

"And you have yours on your lap. That's much easier."

"Your room is just over there!" John groaned, opening his laptop lid. The screen lit up onto the private section of his blog. Thank God Sherlock had not opened that. Just as he closed it down, Sherlock was leaning over him in his usual manner. Before it had meant nothing. Being that close to Sherlock. Heads almost touching. It took every fibre in John's body not to sniff. To smell. To take in the scent he had missed for all those months. So many months.

"Faster, John!" Sherlock yelled with urgency.

"Your brother is still bugging the place, isn't it?" John nervously mumbled.

"Yes, why?"

"No reason." John prayed the cameras were still there. It was bad enough people had talked before... but now? He could have died of embarrassment if this was misheard.

"Again I repeat: Faster, John!" Sherlock spoke with an essence of frustration lining his voice.

"You haven't told me where I am going," John groaned.

"The website, John!"

"What bloody website?"

"The website! My website!" He sounded as if he was answering the most obvious question in the universe.

"And why am I going there?"

"A case, hopefully, John." Sherlock beamed.

"We won't have one yet. You've been in London a day."

"Three weeks actually."

"Three weeks! Wha- never mind. Either way, no one wants to go to you for help yet!" John insisted as he typed in the web address in the top bar. Sherlock's fingers tapping impatiently on the back oh his chair as the page loaded.

There, sure enough, was a notification.

A case.