Chapter Text
Chapter 9
Sherlock froze. No. No, no, no. This couldn’t be happening. This could not be happening. He opened his mouth to call out, to do anything, but he couldn’t make a sound, couldn’t move his feet. He was paralyzed.
Greyson laughed. “Sherlock Holmes, the man behind the machine.” Sherlock was launched back into reality. He unfroze, turning. “John!” he yelled, his voice filled with the panic he felt. He moved to go to him, but remembered Greyson.
“You,” he spat, rushing toward him. Greyson’s eyes widened in fear as Sherlock loomed over him. “If you killed John Watson, you will not leave here alive.” He whacked him across the head with the butt of his gun, before running to John.
“John! John!” he exclaimed, kneeling next to him. “Are you alright? John, can you hear me?”
“It’s nothing,” John assured him, pulling himself to a sitting position. “It’s just a graze.” But Sherlock wasn’t listening. He examined John, searching for the source of the blood. Where was it coming from? John had his hand clutched to his side, and blood oozed from under his fingers. Sherlock pried his hand away, ignoring John’s protestations.
“Sherlock! I’m fine!” John said, alarmed. But Sherlock already had a knife out and was cutting the material away from the wound. He breathed a sigh of relief as he saw the wound.
The bullet had gone straight through, pulling a chunk of John’s skin. But that was all. He was alright. “Oh, thank god,” he breathed. “I thought…I thought…” Sherlock started, but was unable to finish.
“But it wasn’t,” John answered, smiling slightly.
Sherlock stood up, turning to Greyson. He pulled out his gun, aiming it directly at him. “I ought to-“ he started, but John interrupted him.
“Sherlock,” he said warningly. “Don’t. Call Lestrade.”
Sherlock didn’t lower the gun, but he conceded. “It’s lucky for you John survived.” He pulled out his phone, still training his pistol at Greyson as he dialed Lestrade’s number. “Lestrade? It’s Sherlock. We need medical attention and a police squadron.”
“What happened?” Lestrade asked, sounding concerned. “Is John okay? Are you hurt?”
“I’m fine, and John is…John is alive.”
“I’m fine, you idiot,” John called, but grunted with pain. “Okay, maybe I’m not fine.” Sherlock frowned with concern. “Don’t look at me like that.”
“So what happened?”
“Get down here and I’ll fill you in,” Sherlock replied. “But I’ve got Greyson.”
“We’ll be there as fast as we can.” Sherlock hung up.
“They’re on their way,” he told John. John nodded. He examined Greyson. “Do you suppose I could get away with shooting him, and call it self-defense?”
“Maybe if it was in the leg,” John said thoughtfully.
“I mean, he did shoot you. Even if it was just a scratch.”
“Yeah, I’m still in a lot of pain here,” John replied. There was a lightness to his tone, but it was also strained. Sherlock kept looking at him, the concern in his eyes apparent.
Police sirens wailed. Lestrade came running in, followed by a squad of police and half a dozen EMTs. “Police! Hands up!” Greyson reluctantly raised his hands, and Sherlock lowered his gun. Lestrade slapped handcuffs onto him, a little more roughly than necessary, and another police officer took him away.
The EMTs ran over to John, performing preliminary observations, then lifting him onto a stretcher. Sherlock started toward them, but stopped.
“Sherlock?” Lestrade asked, noticing the strange look on his face. “What’s the matter?”
“I almost lost him,” he whispered.
Lestrade looked at him, eyes filled with pity. “But you didn’t.”
Sherlock laughed bitterly. “But that was just chance. Next time…Next time who knows? I thought I was protecting him, but Greyson got to him anyway.”
“John’s going to be okay,” Lestrade reassured him.
“I just…I can’t…I can’t go back to being without him,” Sherlock admitted. Lestrade was surprised to see actual tears in his eyes. He felt a strong urge to hug him, which he gave in to. He wrapped his arms around Sherlock, who stiffened in surprise.
“You don’t have to,” Lestrade assured him. “Now, go get in that ambulance before they leave without you.”
Sherlock frowned, pulling back. “But-“
“We can bend the rules,” Lestrade smiled. “Go.” Sherlock nodded, then ran towards the ambulance.
Lestrade smiled to himself, before turning to his men. “Now, where’s Greyson? We better get him back behind bars where he belongs.”
Sherlock and John rode to the hospital in silence. Once there, they whisked John off to who knows where. The nurses insisted on checking him, too, although he wasn’t at all injured.
After that was finished, he sat in the waiting room, waiting for news of John. A doctor came in, and Sherlock sat up.
“Mr. Holmes?” he called. Sherlock stood up. “He’s fine. You can go visit him now if you like.” Sherlock nodded, and followed the doctor up to John’s room.
He knocked on the door and entered slowly. “John?” he asked.
John looked up, smiling. “Hey,” he said, struggling to sit up.
“No, don’t do that,” Sherlock said, rushing to the bed. John sighed, but flopped back onto the bed. His face had been cleaned up, and they’d set his nose with plaster. White bandages wrapped around his middle, as well as gauze over his shoulder.
“So Greyson’s been apprehended?” he asked. Sherlock nodded. “Good. I’m really starting to hate that guy.” Sherlock smiled slightly.
John examined the man in front of him. He was so much more than what people gave him credit for. Sure, he could be self-absorbed and a real pain in the ass, but he cared about John. It was worth a wound, it was worth many wounds, to know the depth of loyalty and love which lay behind that cold mask. It meant a lot to him.
“So what’s next?” he asked.
“Who knows?” Sherlock replied. “But we’ll be ready.”
“The two of us, together this time?” John asked pointedly. Sherlock nodded reluctantly.
“Together. Just you and me against the rest of the world.”
“As it’s meant to be,” John replied.
Everything would be as it should be. Sherlock Holmes and Dr. Watson, back in Baker Street together, ready to take whatever came their way.