"Fuck, Sherlock, stop it. Stop running off without me." Gasping for breath, John catches up with Sherlock and grabs him by the coat as they head towards the crime scene Lestrade's summoned them to.
Startled, Sherlock spins around so they're facing each other. His quicksilver eyes scan John from head to toe, sizing him up.
"Why, John? You've got a gun, you were in the army. You're strong and capable of taking care of yourself."
Pinching the bridge of his nose, John takes a deep breath. "It's not me I'm worried about, you arse. You're..." he shudders. "You're bloody reckless, and I can't handle losing you. Don't make me go through that again."
Looking suitably chastened, Sherlock nods. Neither of them need to clarify what John means. They turn a corner and arrive at the crime scene. John rests a hand on Sherlock's arm, getting his attention.
"Remember what I told you."
Sherlock nods briefly before turning to Lestrade, who is waiting in the doorway of a small house.
"Oh, boys, glad you're here. Sherlock, you're going to want to see this one, she's downstairs. But be careful, there's a..." Lestrade doesn't have time to finish his sentence before John's shoulders slump, his request clearly unheeded as Sherlock's face lights up with glee and he tears off alone toward the basement.