A/N: Here's Chapter 3! Any mistakes I've made, please tell me so I can fix them. And Review, I love them all, even if they're negative. Without further ado, here you are!

John was very quiet when he was in the hospital. He didn't request for Sherlock and didn't text him or give any indication that he wanted him to visit him. The detective wondered how his friend was doing, and was sorely tempted to go to him, but was afraid of trying his patience.

The doctor in the hospital told him the same thing every time he came to check on John: That John would never walk again, but if he took Physical Therapy, then there was a chance that he might gain control of his legs again one day. For the meantime, John wheeled around the hospital a lot, practicing. Of course, he would be doing that a lot.

John was eventually discharged from the hospital, because there was really nothing they could do for him. They were allowed a ride home with one of the nurses who was going home for the day. (She thought the two of them were adorable together and believed them to be a couple.) They were dropped off in front of their flat door. Sherlock got out first, set up the wheelchair and helped John into it.

There was the step leading up to the door. Sherlock narrowed his eyes, but said nothing as he tilted the wheelchair back, getting the front wheels on first, and then up, easing it and its occupant onto the step.

Sherlock wheeled John inside and they saw the steps up to their rooms.

John hid his eyes in his hand, looking exasperated and ashamed. Sherlock paled, his expression livid, and shouted for Mrs. Hudson.

The landlady came at once, and the detective saw that her eyes were puffy and red-rimmed. She took one look at John and gasped, almost bursting into a fresh set of tears.

"Oh, John!" she wailed. "I'm so sorry!"

"We don't need your pity, Mrs. Hudson," Sherlock snapped. "Don't you have a sturdy ramp of some kind?" The woman shook her head. "I'm sorry, boys, but I'll get one as soon as I can-"

Sherlock interrupted her with a sharp groan. "We will simply have to make due, then." He swooped John out of the wheelchair and into his arms, bridal style.

"Sh- Sherlock!" John exclaimed. "Put me down right now!" Though he wanted to be back in his wheelchair, he certainly did not want to be dropped, and held on tightly to his friend's shoulders and jacket.

Sherlock would do no such thing. He turned to Mrs. Hudson, a rare and devious smile on his face. Once he saw her crack her own fond smirk, he started up the stairs with John in his arms.

"Sherlock! I- I'm serious!" John stuttered when he threatened to laugh. This was all very unexpected, and he couldn't help but smile at his friend's antics.

"How else am I supposed to get you up here?" Sherlock excused his actions. He took John into his apartment and set him on his favorite chair, then went downstairs to bring up the wheelchair. John let himself grin as he watched his friend go.

xxxxx

That night, Sherlock lie on the couch, thinking about the case, about how brilliantly interesting Oskar Olsewski and his Holocaust obsession was.

John was sleeping in Sherlock's room, and the detective had no means of taking it away from him. It was basically John's room now, since it was far too much trouble to carry him down two flights of stairs. No doubt it was embarrassing for the doctor already. Sherlock was beginning to wonder of the pictures on the walls when he heard something from outside his room.

The sound was muffled, purposely, he could tell. It continued for several seconds before pausing and then starting up again. Sherlock knew exactly what it was.

John was crying. Sherlock could identify it from the couch. He had plenty of reasons to cry, Sherlock supposed, though it seemed rather pointless to him.

He had a challenging new life, completely different from his old one. That was certainly a lot of pressure.

He would never walk again. Yes, that was true. And a lot of information to take in all at once.

He doesn't want me to see him cry. No one ever wants other people to see them cry. Especially an ex-soldier.

There was something else. Something Sherlock couldn't quite put his finger on. Was it something else he couldn't do? He couldn't jump roofs of buildings with Sherlock anymore, couldn't run, couldn't drive.

But he could still shoot, could still wave, could still use those hand gestures that Sherlock had picked up on quickly. He couldn't kick Sherlock as a way to shut him up, but he could elbow him.

What was wrong with John?

But the crying had ceased, and Sherlock fell asleep brooding over it.

xxxxx

When Sherlock woke up, the first thing he did was go to John. He knocked on the door and entered when he heard the grunted "Yes?"

John was struggling to sit up. Sherlock brought his wheelchair up and helped his friend into it. He wheeled John out to the kitchen table. "It's going to be hard to make tea in a wheelchair," he heard John mutter to himself, the words clearly not intended for Sherlock to hear. John never complained about doing things that he could do himself that were fairly easy, like walking, making tea, or cleaning.

Sherlock noticed the doctor trying to wheel himself away from the table and towards the kettle. He intervened and pushed John back so he was in front of the table. "The doctor said take it easy, and that's exactly what we're going to do."

"I am a doctor, and I say that it isn't exactly a workout to make some tea," John replied, looking up at his friend.

"Yes, well, as that is, John," Sherlock quipped as he grabbed the kettle and filled it with water,"you're one of the most stubborn people I have ever met, and, as they say, doctors make the worst patients." Sherlock put the kettle on and waited. "Now how long would it have taken for you to do that?"

John's cheeks turned pink. "I don't know, you won't let me try." Sherlock smiled. "Once I see you able to wheel yourself away from the table in less than a minute, or less than twenty minutes, then you can try."

They chuckled a bit. Sherlock made John's tea and set it in front of him. "Sherlock," John sounded surprised,"I'm impressed. The last time you attempted to make tea, you scorched your arm with boiling water and nearly set the house on fire." He wrinkled his nose a bit. "And the tea tasted awful."

"Yes, but it was nice to see your face when you walked in the door," the detective teased. "It was almost as good as the time you saw me in the kitchen hanging up mistletoe. You did tell me to be traditional, John."

John turned red at the memory. "Yes. Well, I'd rather not kiss you with all of Mycroft's hidden cameras all over this flat." He took a sip of the tea and didn't make a face. Sherlock was filled with triumph.

That was when Sherlock's cell phone rang. The detective dug it out of his pocket and answered it. "Yes?"

"Sherlock," came Lestrade's voice,"we've got a bit of a problem."

"I told you, I'm not taking any cases until John is adjusted. I need an assistant and-"

"No, Sherlock," Lestrade interrupted. "I don't need you on a case. It's about Oskar Olsewski." Sherlock narrowed his eyes. "What about him?"

"On the night John was shot, he immediately made a run for it, and...I'm afraid he got away." Lestrade's voice was heavy. Sherlock felt rage bubble up inside of him. "Inspector, are you telling me that-"

"Yes. Olsewski is out there right now, and we have a feeling he'll be coming after you and John. We're doing our best to find him, and if not, we'll get you somewhere safe."

Sherlock was furious. He walked into his bedroom so John wouldn't overhear. His friend didn't need any more stress at the moment.

"It's not enough! This is unacceptable," Sherlock hissed into the phone. "It was your job to arrest him!"

"I know, but we're doing all we can," lestrade insisted. "And even if John wasn't injured, I wouldn't let you try to find him. It's far too dangerous. We think he's out for revenge. He would kill you, and John, too, if he got the chance. He suffers from several mental instabilities, I checked his files. He could do anything."

Sherlock sighed. "What do I tell John?"

"I don't know. How do you tell a frustrated person that the madman who paralyzed him for life is still out there and trying to get revenge?" Lestrade supplied. Sherlock just murmured,"Right. Bye," and hung up. He walked back out to the kitchen.

"What was that about?" John asked. He had finished half of his tea, the detective noticed. He picked up his violin and sat down next to John.

"Lestrade," Sherlock answered. "He, uh...he asked if I would check out a case, but I refused. It was boring, and my assistant is unable to help me as of late."

"Oh." John looked a bit ashamed, but took another sip of tea and didn't say anything else.

Sherlock just hoped he was doing the right thing.

A/N: I hope you liked it! Sherlock's got some tough decisions to make. And just how dangerous is Oskar Olsewski? Is that a real name? Does it even sound Polish?

FUN FACT: John said that wouldn't want to kiss Sherlock with Mycroft watching. He never said that he didn't want to kiss Sherlock.