There are two days of relative reprieve. They take an extortionate amount of taxis in order to go around and interview all the relatives of Charlotte Stoker. The husband once cleared of all suspicion is proving very helpful and they have a long list of relatives, followed by a long list of friends and acquaintances going down to her hair dresser and the teenage girl who used to walk the dog. It will likely take weeks to get through the whole list, Charlotte, despite being a murderer, had a lot of friends.
Sherlock conveniently makes an equally long list of deductions that narrows the list down to half, discarding the other half as 'They won't know anything, clearly.' And they set to work.
Despite the fact that his knee complains with the constant walking John enjoys being out and about. The flat had become too confined and the Yard is not a nice place any more since most of the officers read his blog and have picked up on the change in attitude toward it. Where once they would clap him on the back and tell him something he had written was funny or poignant, now they laugh behind his back and post the cartoons of him in the pantry. The cartoons have started to appear with increasing frequency, is this madman actually employing a cartoonist to do this or is it someone he knows… John has no idea.
He knows Lestrade tries to take the cartoons down and he tells the junior officers off for their taunts but John still hears them. Therefore it is better to stay out of the flat and out of the Yard. 'Leg work' as Mycroft once so elegantly put it is quite calming even when it makes ones knee throb painfully.
Aside from the constant stream of nasty comments which is minimised by not being at the Yard and not having time to go online it is a relatively calm first two days out of the flat. Sherlock hovers of course which is annoying but also a little bit endearing. John tries to remind him of that last part when he wants to rip Sherlock's head off when one of the suspects asks why exactly a doctor has turned up to interrogate him and Sherlock starts spitting deductions at an alarming rate while stepping in front of John as though the poor middle aged woman is about to attack his friend just because she questioned the necessity of his being there.
The relative calm and the pleasure of being out and about means that when the next assault comes it is surprisingly unexpected. They are walking along a row of semi detached houses headed for the main road to flag down a cab when suddenly across the road a car blows up. They both stare in bewilderment and there is a mere fraction of a second before they both move to run behind the nearest car but the sound of rifle fire fills the air and John twists mid stride falling, slamming into the ground just beside Sherlock who feels something impact with his upper arm that makes him stumble and fall to his knees next to his friend.
It hurts but it does not hurt the way that being shot should hurt. It is painful but not unimaginably so and Sherlock's brain latches on immediately. Rubber bullets, someone is shooting at them with rubber bullets, but why?
Yet when John starts yelling he knows why. This is not a physical attack but a scene staged with precision to make John as uncomfortable as possible. John is curled up on the ground gasping, clutching at his previously injured shoulder. 'Fuck, I've been shot, get another medic.' He cries curled in on himself and Sherlock crouches next to him.
The shooting has stopped but John is clearly terrified. Sherlock leans down placing one hand on John's arm and the other behind his head, wincing as it hurts to move the arm that the bullet impacted with. They may be uninvasive but they bloody hurt, he notes. "John, it's ok, you're not in Afghanistan, it's just rubber bullets, it's ok.' He sooths ineffectively.
'Leave me, run' John gasps with eyes pressed shut and Sherlock wonders if he is reliving being shot. Had he actually asked his comrades to leave him behind? If he had Sherlock is very glad that they had not heeded his request.
'John, listen to me. It's okay. You're safe, just open your eyes.' Sherlock wonders even as he says it if there is any truth in that statement. John doesn't seem to be safe anywhere. Currently he is curled up in a foetal position gasping for air, clearly about to hyperventilate and it is not a pretty sight. One of the bullets struck John on the cheek and it is already starting to bruise, a red smudge spreading across his cheekbone, Sherlock brushes a hand over it, glad that it did not strike higher.
'John it's ok, come on please, listen to me.' He urges as he pulls John up into his arms in an approximation of the position they had been in at the hospital after John's surgery. It had seemed to calm him then so Sherlock decided to go for a tried and tested method of comforting his friend. 'Deep breaths, breath with me, in through your nose out through your mouth' he urges as he holds his friend tight against his chest.
Gradually Johns breathing evens out and he looks up at Sherlock with confused eyes. 'I wasn't shot, I thought… Christ it hurts, what happened? ' He mumbles and Sherlock smiles down at his friend, relieved to have John once again back among the living.
'You were shot, but with rubber bullets. I suspect you're quite bruised.' Sherlock offers giving his flatmate a slight squeeze as he holds him. They can faintly hear sirens from somewhere coming closer. The exploding car and the rifle fire was bound to catch the attention of the people living along the road. 'Can you sit up?' Sherlock asks and John struggles upright wincing at the pain of the new bruises.
'We should go to A&E.' Sherlock notes and to his surprise John smiles. 'We should. Don't think I didn't notice you got hit as well. But do you really want to? His voice is weak and Sherlock is unsure of how to respond. He wants John seen to but he doesn't want hours at A&E struggling to explain what is going on.
'What if I call Mycroft? We could go to the clinic.' The way that John relaxes at that suggestion is enough encouragement and no matter how much he hates it Sherlock dials his brother's number, he doesn't text like he normally would but actually makes the effort to call… John is worth the discomfort.