John was-
John didn't actually know that there was a word for what he currently was.
He couldn't say he was shocked - he knew it was coming.
He couldn't even say he was angry. He wasn't upset.
He felt an odd kind of acceptance. Like when you realize you grabbed the wrong laptop on your way to work and only find out when you try and start your presentation only to realize that you've got a PowerPoint about bees instead of a carefully planned how-to-slice-open-a-cadaver-step-by-step video. At which point you have to tell your students that they don't get to learn about sea bodies today.
John was only worried about Sherlock. He knew that Sherlock would be glad that he didn't have to leave again and then be mortified that he was happy John had been hurt.
He sighed.
It was time for a Long Talk. He and Sherlock would have to be completely honest. And share emotions. This was going to be awkward. He took a deep breath, and opened the door of 221b, only to hear, "Do you honestly believe that man cares for you? You got him shot. It's only a matter of time before he leaves you. Why must you bother with him? He's not worth it."
"Shut up!"
Not. Okay.