// Hey y'all. I hope you enjoy this story and be sure to leave any comments/suggestions because I'd love to hear from you all!
Genre: Angst with a fluffy end :)
Ship: Implied JohnLock
TW/CW: Someone gets shot, only briefly described
Enjoy! //

The sound was deafening.
First, the actual gunshot. Then, the silence that followed. The silence was almost worse. It only lasted for a moment, one agonising moment, only to be broken by shouts as everyone scrambled forward to apprehend the shooter, who had tried to make a break for freedom in the moment of vulnerability.

As everyone ran after the guy, Sherlock turned towards John, ready to watch with him as the officers did their work, another job well done.
However, when he turned around, he was frozen to the spot. Time seemed to slow down as he looked at his best friend. His best friend who, for some reason, wasn't moving.

Then he felt himself running, his feet pounding against the concrete and his heart pounding in his chest. He watched John slowly look down at his hand, a look of horror on his face. As he got closer, Sherlock could see blood pouring out of his left hand, which only spurred him on to run faster. When he reached him, John had sank down onto his knees, his shocked face staring down at the large bullet wound in the centre of his palm.
Sherlock skidded to a halt and hastily knelt down next to him. He was desperately trying to think of what to do, however his mind seemed to be at a complete standstill.

"S-Sherlock," John said, in as calm a tone as he could manage, "Sherlock, listen to me. The w-wound went all the way through my hand, you n-need to wrap and put pressure on it, now."
Seeing Sherlock still frozen, staring aghast at the wound, John flicked him in the face with his good hand.
"SHERLOCK."

Hearing the shout, Sherlock's eyes snapped up to meet John's wide ones.
"R-Right, okay- okay." He stuttered, haphazardly jerking his scarf from around his neck and wrapping it around his hand.

"Alright, I n-need you to stop the blood flow. I-it's gonna hurt me, but you've gotta do it. Then- fuck- then call Lestrade over, and get him to call an ambulance. Hurry, please."
Sherlock nodded jerkily. He took a quick glance at John, who took a deep breath, and pressed down on the wound.

John let out a short scream before thrusting his clenched fist into his mouth. His eyes went shiny with tears and Sherlock felt his heart shatter. He lifted John's face so he would look at him.

"John- John you need to look at me, please. It's gonna be okay, alright? Y-You're gonna be fine, I promise... JOHN." John, who had been trying desperately to stay awake, felt his eyes slowly slipping closed without his permission.
Not knowing what to do, Sherlock abruptly pressed down on the wound, making John scream out and clutch onto him with his undamaged arm.
"STAY AWAKE." Sherlock ordered, remembering what John had told him a while ago;

"If someone's bleeding out and they fall asleep, there's a lot less chance of them getting back out of it; they could go into a coma or die if it's severe enough."

"A-awww, you remembered that from w-when we were at the hospital, right?" John stated in a sardonic tone, trying to lighten the tone and not pass out at the same time.

John knew that if he passed out, Sherlock would flip out and blame anyone he could for it. He had to stay awake for Sherlock. He had to be okay for him.

He looked up and hazily noticed Lestrade running towards them. He hadn't even noticed Sherlock had called for him, but was happy he was here all the same.
"Bloody hell," Lestrade muttered, looking at John's mutilated hand, "Donovan, get over here, NOW!" Sherlock groaned.

"We don't need her." Greg rolled his eyes.

"Yeah, it's all well and good saying that, mate, but until someone gets here, she's the best we've got." He looked at Sherlock, who returned the look with an eye roll as he saw Donovan coming their way.

"We don't need her; John's a doctor."

"Sherlock, be sensible, the bloke can't even lift his hand right now. Just let her help him."
Donovan kneeled down next to him.

"Oh shit- okay, Freak, move over." She said, glowering at him. Sherlock moved about an inch.

"Sherlock," John coughed shakily, "Now is really not the time. Please, just..."
whatever John was about to say went unheard, as his eyelids started fluttering closed.

Sherlock had moved his scarf-wrapped hand, but Donovan was still so busy glaring at Sherlock, waiting for him to move despite there being plenty of room, that she hadn't even noticed that John was losing consciousness until Lestrade shouted at her. She hurriedly wrapped her hand in a spare shirt Greg handed her.

"John? John?!" She started to put pressure on the wound in a brief attempt to wake him, but it was no longer working. The pool of blood had grown significantly and was starting to coagulate.
Sherlock felt his insides dissolve as he looked at his- at John, gradually slipping away from him. He grabbed his uninjured hand and put his fingers to his wrist. It was a slow and delicate beat, and Sherlock prayed to God that it wouldn't get any slower. It was funny; he'd never prayed before.

The last thing John saw was Sherlock's scared face and the others swarming around him as the piercing shriek of sirens sounded in the distance.
He passed out.

**********

The rhythmic beep of the heart monitor was what woke John up. He stirred, immediately feeling a slight stinging in his left hand. He glanced down at it, and did a double-take.

His hand was bandaged and looked mostly clean of blood, save for a little bit under his fingernails. It was weird; his hand felt numb, yet it was aching at the same time.
He could tell he'd been put on morphine.
Wondering how much they'd put him on, he looked over to his other side and paused.

There was Sherlock, slumped over right next to him, seemingly asleep. His coat was draped over him as a sort of blanket. There was also an actual blanket, a shock blanket. Lestrade probably forced him to have it again.

He lifted his right hand to try and wake Sherlock up, but realised that it felt a bit heavier than his other hand. Looking down, he saw Sherlock's hand grasping his own. John's face flushed scarlet as he carefully put his hand back down, now unsure if he should just leave him to sleep or not.

Either way, the movement woke him. He snapped awake, a lot quicker than John did, his eyes widening when he saw his friend awake.
"John! Oh my- Jesus Christ," He stammered, standing abruptly. He almost reached down to hug him, but hesitated. "How's your arm?" He asked softly, looking down at his bandaged hand.

"Oh, its okay. I've had worse. I mean, I didn't die, right?"
Sherlock gave a watery laugh and John faltered. He looked at Sherlock's face, really looked, and realised that he had been crying. His cheeks were splotched with red, his eyes were glossy and his lip was trembling slightly.
John bit his lip, thinking of something to say, when a nurse came into the room.

She was rather pretty, with a small pointed face and long, mousy brown hair tied in a bun. She was holding a clipboard and had a gentle smile on her face.
"Hi honey, I'm Nurse Vaila. Now, i just gotta check your blood pressure and morphine level. Is that alright?" She asked sweetly. She had a soft, welcoming voice and, surprisingly enough, Sherlock nodded in greeting, grinning pleasantly at her. John was kind of shocked but brushed it off, watching as she gracefully sidled around him, checking things off on her clipboard and reading the heart monitor.

'You know, your boyfriend is very lucky he's good friends with the DI; I wouldn't dare to say half the stuff he said." He heard the nurse giggle, before shaking her head and winking at Sherlock.

He was no longer grinning at her, instead giving her a "wait don't you dare" look. John frowned.

"Oh, he's not my bo- wait what? What happened?" He said, glancing between Sherlock and Nurse Vaila.

"Well, its not really my place to say, I'll let him tell it. But it is quite the story, love." She said with a grin. She checked off one last thing on he clipboard then, after a knowing look at John and Sherlock, walked out of the room.

Sherlock was avoiding John's gaze by blatantly staring at the ceiling, fiddling with the hem of the shock blanket. They stayed like that for about a minute before John broke.

"Okay. What happened." It wasn't a question, more of a statement and Sherlock knew that.

"I don't know what you mean, nothing happened."

"Sherlock."

"John."

"Sherlock I swear to God-"

"God is a fictitious being and I have nothing more to say about this-"

"Sherlock don't make me ask Lestrade-" Sherlock's eyes widened.

"OKAY- okay, fine."

**********

As soon as John was safely in the ambulance, Sherlock rounded on Lestrade.

"Why did you call Donovan?! We were doing just fine without her! As soon as-"

"Sherlock, I was-"

"As soon as she came over, John passed out. You know why? Because she was too busy glaring at me that she didn't even notice that her patient was dying! She didn't care! You didn't care!"

Lestrade sighed and ran a hand through his hair, "I know Sherlock, I know. She should have been more focused, but everyone was stressed out-"

"NO, THAT IS BULLSHIT AND YOU KNOW IT!" He shouted, getting right up in Lestrade's face and pointing an accusatory finger in his chest.
"SHE WASN'T STRESSED AT ALL! DIDN'T YOU EVEN SEE HER? SHE WAS SO OCCUPIED WITH TRYING TO MAKE MY LIFE MORE DIFFICULT THAT SHE BLATANTLY IGNORED HER DYING PATIENT! JOHN COULD HAVE DIED BECAUSE OF HER! THOUGH IT'S NOT LIKE YOU WERE MUCH BETTER, JUST STANDING THERE STARING STUPIDLY AS DONOVAN HARMED YET ANOTHER PERSON. BUT WHY SHOULD YOU HAVE TO CARE, RIGHT? HE'S PROBABLY JUST ANOTHER DEAD BODY TO YOU, ISN'T HE? YOU WOULDN'T EVEN CARE IF HE DIED, WOULDN'T YOU? YOU NEVER CARED ABOUT HIM!"

That seemed to shock both of them, and Sherlock stopped in his tracks. Tears welled in his eyes as he sank to his knees, burying his face in his hands.

"You didn't care..." he whispered, trying furiously to wipe away his tears. This was stupid. He shouldn't be crying, why was he crying?

He felt Lestrade's hand on his shoulder, and flinched sharply. He was crying in front of him, and probably Donovan, too. He was in public, on the floor, crying.
He felt pathetic.

"That is not true, Sherlock." The edge in Lestrade's voice was gone, only to be replaced by a soft concern. "We all bloody care. I admit it, I was expecting Sally to be more... professional, and I will be having a word with her about it, and I am sorry. I know that doesn't mean much to you, but I am. John's a great bloke, we all like him, everyone at the Yard does. He isn't just another body; hell, you two basically come as a package deal at this point."
Sherlock sniffed and nodded.
After a moment, they both heard Donovan walking over. Sherlock's face hardened once again.

"Sir, the ambulance is about to leave, but they were just wondering if-"

"Not now." She seemed taken aback by his harsh tone, but continued,

"Greg, they want to know what happen-"

"I said not now, Sally. I will tell them later but for God's sake, I am not in the mood to hear from you right now; you're already in the doghouse so I suggest you go do something useful. Maybe go write up the reports for the bastard who shot our friend."

With one last withering look from Sherlock, whose eyes were still red and raw from crying, Donovan silently strode away.

**********

"Woah, I'm flattered." John said, batting his eyes and grinning at his friend, whose face had turned red while recounting the story. Sherlock shot him a half-hearted glare.

"Shut up."

"Nah," John smiled. "So, what was the deal with that Nurse?-" Sherlock sighed, making John laugh.

"Nothing important, John. She is just the only competent Nurse who has checked on you thus far, and actually did her job properly."
He looked up at John, only to see him wiggling his eyebrows an glared.

"John, nothing happened-"

"Do you liiiikke her?"

"No, shut up!"

"Never."

They shared a fond look, then burst into fits of giggles.