Author's note: Time to see how they boys are doing, I say.
The body that had slammed into his – Bill, John thought distractedly, he was taller than him – propelled him in right into Sherlock, causing all three of them to fall down; John on top of his friend, Bill on top of John. The other man rolled off of him, and John felt something warm and wet travel down his back, but didn't have the time to look if he had been injured; he grasped Sherlock's shoulder, his eyes travelling over his body, desperate to reassure himself that the consulting detective was unharmed.
"Sherlock?"
His friend looked dazed from the fall, but when he shook his head his eyes cleared so there probably wasn't any damage done.
At the same moment he felt the relief wash through him though, another bullet hit the ground next to them and John called out "Bill!"
They turned to find his counterpart crouched over Sherlock's, who was holding his shoulder.
They were at their side in an instant, and while John gestured towards Sherlock to help him drag the injured man behind the big plants on the edge of the clearing so the snipers wouldn't have a clear shot, the other consulting detective, apparently unmoved by the fact that they were still being shot at, grabbed John's gun that he had let fall next to Bill and took one precise shot in the dark.
There was a scream and the sound of a body falling on the floor.
John didn't have time to dwell on what had just happened, and thankfully John Watson put the gun away and helped them carry Bill.
The shooting didn't stop after they had made their way out of the line of fire, without anyone else being injured in the process, but it became less frequent.
John looked over the wound.
"Only a through-and-through" he breathed. "Nurse?"
He'd said it automatically, an old reflex from his time working on soldiers in the field, and he could hear Sherlock scoff as the consulting detective gave him his scarf to stop the bleeding as Bill's flatmate was obviously uncomfortable because he could do nothing.
"John is a doctor" Sherlock stated as he watched his best friend work on the wound.
He nodded once, then began talking to Bill.
"Getting shot like this shows a lack of self-preservation".
"As if you – " he winced as John pressed harder on the wound "would have done anything different."
"Thank you" the doctor said quietly, bandaging his shoulder with the scarf. "If you hadn't – "
Sherlock would have been wounded seriously, if not fatally. John swallowed.
"You're welcome. I figured if I hit you hard enough..."
He coughed.
"At least no one was killed".
"That's not correct" Sherlock said immediately, his eyes fixed on the consulting detective.
"What – " Bill immediately turned his head, although John told him to lay still, to once more look at his friend, and seemed relieved to find that he was indeed well and not a figment of his imagination.
"Who?"
"John killed one of the snipers. At least I have reason to think he fired a fatal shot."
Bill raised an eyebrow and was about to address a question to the doctor, when his friend said, "It was me".
"You? You don't carry a gun."
"I took John's."
"Why?"
Sherlock knew the answer, and he suspected Bill did as well. He simply needed to hear it.
"He hurt you" John said simply, surprising Sherlock; he would have thought he wouldn't like admitting the truth. Maybe he had underestimated him; just because he hadn't played games with Moriarty he didn't have to be as cold anymore as Sherlock had once been.
Bill didn't reply, but his small smile was answer enough.
"See if you can stand up" John announced, and with his and his flatmate's help, Bill was soon on his feet, if a bit unsteady.
There hadn't been a shot fired during the last two minutes, but they couldn't risk to step into the clearing again. The snipers might simply be looking for them, moving noiselessly through the dark.
But they had to look for clues. Trevelyan had disappeared, and he had told them that there was a consulting criminal out there.
The best course of action would be to check on the sniper John had shot, Sherlock decided, and he explained what he was going to do; when the doctor tried to argue that he shouldn't go alone, and that he couldn't accompany him, because Bill needed a few more moments to catch his breath and John couldn't leave him, the other consulting detective stepped forward and, handing the doctor back his gun, said, "We'll be back soon."
They moved as quietly as they could, Sherlock's weapon drawn at all times, John behind him. It didn't take them long to find the body. John had shot him in the heart, more out of luck than anything else, Sherlock thought.
The sniper had been young – not older than thirty-five – and had fallen without a cry. He looked almost peaceful, if one ignored the wound in his chest.
Sherlock quickly bent down and searched his pockets while John looked for clues in the vicinity.
He found a burn phone in one pocket and quickly went through the menu; he found a text message that had obviously been sent to every member of the "team" present that ordered them to retreat after fifteen minutes.
"We are safe for now" he called out, and the other man didn't question him but widened the radius of his search.
The text had most likely come from another burn phone, and there was nothing in his pockets to identify the man; Sherlock was about to give up and join John when he saw something stick out from under the body.
It was a small matchbox with the logo of a pub Sherlock was familiar with on the front; it was located in the North of the city, and he had long suspected it of harbouring certain elements within its walls. Until now though no case had led him there.
He showed it to John, who took a picture both of the matchbox and the man's face on his smart phone and started typing a text.
"I'll send them to Greg. He certainly knows the pub. He will know what to do."
"I am certain he will" Sherlock answered, still finding the thought of his DI as a member of his homeless network disconcerting.
They wandered back to their friends, quickly informing them that they snipers had gone. Bill had regained his colour and was standing without help.
"We have a lead" Sherlock explained as they made their way out of the Botanical Garden, "Greg is working on it as we speak".
John shot him a confused look until he remembered which Greg he was speaking off.
The other consulting detective kept his eyes fixed on his friend, who looked even better than before they had left the green house, if a little shaky from blood loss, proving that John had been right about the through-and-through.
The doctor would of course clean the wound once they were back at 221B, but Sherlock wasn't concerned for Bill's health, not when he had John Watson to look after him.
They caught a cab not too far from the Gardens and where soon back in the safety of the flat.
Before John could say a word, his counterpart was putting a medical kit in his hands.
"You know where it is?" Bill asked, his eyes widening.
"I am capable of tending to my own injuries."
"I forgot" he replied sarcastically before taking off his shirt with help from the doctor and allowing him to clean his wound, occasionally hissing.
No one talked; Sherlock was thinking about the consulting criminal in this world. It obviously wasn't Jim; he wasn't trying to conceal anything, and his friendliness wasn't an act, Sherlock was sure. But who else could it be? Apparently someone who had been careful to never appear, not even as a whisper, not even like Moriarty had before Sherlock had heard from him, or rather, he had noticed Sherlock.
They would have to go through files on cold cases to see what this consulting criminal had done.
John got a text as the doctor finished bandaging Bill's arm and read it out loud.
"Greg believes he has identified the man. There is also a witness that is ready to talk to us."
"Go" John said. "I'll stay with Bill. It's nothing serious, but I'd like to be sure."
His eyes swept over the bandage again, and for the first time Sherlock wondered what it meant to John to see him injured. He knew that Bill wasn't him, of course, but it couldn't be easy. Especially since he'd lost him once already and had been more careful when it came to chases and treating wounds than ever since Sherlock's return.
He briefly squeezed John's shoulder to show that he understood and left the flat together with the consulting detective.