A/N Hey My Lovelies!!! Here is another chapter!!! Enjoy<3

John flinched when his phone rang loudly, scrambling to find it in his pocket, flushing as an older lady glared at him. He was in a coffee shop working on his book, the one he had been trying to write for a couple of years.

"Hello?"

"Is this John Watson?"

"Who's asking?"

"This is Mycroft Holmes, I believe you met my little brother a while back?" John flushed and fidgeted in his seat as memories of Sherlock assaulted him. He cleared his throat and glanced around, knowing his discomfort was unfounded, but still couldn't help it.

"Y-Yeah, um, this is John. What's up?"

"Well, were you made aware of your films ratings?"

"No. At least not that I know of. Why? Is there a problem?"

"No, quite the opposite actually. Your film with my brother is proving to be one of the highest rated films either of you have produced this year. The casting board was wondering if you would return to do a follow-up film?" John almost choked on his tea, the excitement bubbling over almost instantly. He coughed as the fluid burned his throat. "Mr. Watson? Are you alright?"

"Yeah- yeah sorry, sorry, just choked on my tea there. Y-You want me to come back?" John had never gotten re-cast before, and to get a call-back to film with Sherlock Holmes again was even better.

"Yes. If that is agreeable I will have the details sent to your apartment."

"Yeah, that works. Thank you."

"Don't thank me Mr. Watson. Thank my brother." The line went dead, and John had to physically stop himself from jumping up and down. He had barely stopped thinking about Sherlock since they had filmed, and now he was going to get to film with him again.

He quickly packed up his computer and left the store, unable to sit still any more.

The paperwork had arrived the next day, and by the end of the week, John was back at the studio, being prepped for filming.

"Where's Sherlock?" He asked Molly. She was in a slightly better mood this time, but still grumpy.

"Don't know. Hasn't shown yet."

"He usually late?"

"Nope."

"You aren't concerned?"

"That's not my job. Its not the first time he has bailed on filming." John felt a flare of concern for the younger man and suddenly wished he had gotten Sherlock's number. He was about to ask if Molly had it when her phone went off.

"Hello? Sher? Where the hell are you? Yes. Yes, he is. Hold on." She handed the phone to John, looking suddenly very concerned. "He wants to talk to you." John grabbed the phone, fighting the swell of nerves that gripped his chest.

"Sherlock?"

"John! Thank heavens! You were a doctor in the army, correct?" John felt his throat close in fear at those words. Sherlock sounded strained and breathless.

"Yes. What's wrong? Where are you?"

"I-In the alley. Outside the studio. Please hurry."

"I'll be right there." John handed Molly her phone back and jumped from the chair, grabbing his bag and throwing his shirt back on. "Tell the director's that something happened and we'll be back." He shouted behind him as he ran.

He found the alley that Sherlock said he would be in, coming to a stop as he took in the sight before him.

Sherlock was pressed against the brick, a pair of large men pinning him there. His lip was broken and bleeding and his eye was bruised.

"Sherlock?" The pair of men glanced at John, their nasty smirks growing when they saw him.

"Oh, look at that. The Ice King's little Captain has come to save him." The taller of the two snarked, sending John's soldier instinct into overdrive. He straightened, reaching into his bag and instantly finding the pistol he kept hidden there. "Come on Captain Watson, make him squeal like you did in the video." John clenched his jaw and readied himself for a fight.

"Let him go, and fuck off." He deepened his voice, barking out the command in the same manor that he used to command soldiers. The men grinned, letting go of Sherlock and letting him slump to the ground. They stalked towards John, trying to intimidate him.

"Look at the little porn star, trying to play the soldier outside the studio. How adorable." John grinned and pulled out his gun, clocking the weapon and aiming it at the men.

"Yeah, here's the thing; My name is Captain John Watson, Fifth Northumberland Fusiliers, and if you two don't walk away right now, I will blow a hole in your fucking heads." The pair froze for a moment before continuing towards him.

He pointed the gun to the point just before their feet and fired.

"Tempt me again!" He shouted, aiming at their heads.

This time, they turned and ran.

Once they were gone, John ran to Sherlock. He pulled the younger man into his arms, checking his vitals as best he could.

"Hey, Sherlock? Sherlock, talk to me. Come on Gorgeous, wake up." Sherlock was unconscious, lying limply in John's arms. The soldier stood, carrying the pale man in his arms as he hurried towards the near-empty street.

He had to get to a hospital.