The next day, John woke up stiffly from sleeping in his chair. He rubbed his eyes and looked around. He didn't see Sherlock, and he started to get a little worried. He checked outside, and bodyguards were gone.

"Sherlock! Are you in my room again!?" John yelled up the stairs. No response. Sherlock would know better than to piss him off twice in a row. 

John pulled his phone out and dialed Mycroft. He picked up immediately.

"You're worried about Sherlock. Don't be. I stuck a tracker in him awhile ago. He snuck off during the night to search for the hostages. I'm looking at his tracker as we speak." Mycroft told him before John could get a word out.

"Good. Where is he right now? My leg feels fine, so I can join." John asked.

"I don't think it would be wise for you to find him. He gave us the signal not too long ago that he's been captured. They'll never detect the technology we stuck onto Sherlock before he left. Sherlock is going to say with them for a bit to see what's happening then he'll give us the signal to storm in. We have them surrounded in a warehouse." Mycroft assured him.

"Well at least tell me which warehouse so I can storm in with the others." John compromised.

"Fine. But don't get yourself caught or killed. I'll send a car your way to take you there. Just wait till you see people going in, then join them." Mycroft ended the phone call and John quickly got changed and headed downstairs.

He walked out of the flat and into the car waiting for him. He was immediately driven to the location where the hostages were. John hopped out of the car and casually walked over to a blacked out van waiting next to the building. It must be Mycroft's people waiting to ambush.

He walked up and knocked on the door. "It's John Watson." He announced.

The door slide open and about a dozen semi-automatic rifles pointed towards him. John instinctively threw his hands up. 

"What are you doing? Lower your weapons." John whispered. 

He heard one of them say something in a completely different yet familiar language, and John soon realized he knocked on the wrong door. 

He felt a sharp pain in the back of his head and he blacked out.

John woke up suddenly as someone was kicking him awake. He rolled over and away from the foot, looking around. He had a throbbing headache, and could feel something warm drip down his head.

"Why are you here?" He asked. The accent was thick, but John knew the man was Arabic. He heard broken English many times before, and it sounded exactly like the men they'd detain.

"I don't know. Why don't you let me leave since I came at the wrong time?" John said sarcastically. He was waiting for the kick, and he did receive it. Right in the shoulder.

"Get up. We can use you." He ordered. John rolled over and pushed himself up. He finally looked around, and he saw many men dressed in all black gear, some with masks. All carrying semi-automatic rifles. He looked over to a corner, and there was a group of people working at desks with computers. Each had a capture watching them. And then he saw Sherlock. He was lumped over in the corner, bloodied, bruised, and unconscious. It scared John that no one was even patrolling Sherlock. 

"What the hell did you do to Sherlock?" John threatened the man.

"Sherlock is incapacitated indefinitely. Now move before I shoot you." He poked harshly into John's back to get him to walk.

John reluctantly walked over to a group of men, and they strapped him down to a swivel chair.

As soon as John was secured, they popped open a box. John looked over and saw hundreds of sticky bombs. The men started to slowly stick the bomb to the chair. And then they put a torso wrap around him that had more explosives rigged to it.

"You will be our 'enhancer'. We get to blow you up and anyone within 25 feet of you if someone does not comply or calls the cops." A more fluent man told him.

They dragged him over to the group of hostages, and they started to freak out being that close to the bombs. John looked closely, and saw that they were all chained to a metal weight on the ground. If they were to blow up John, the captures could run away while the hostages would be blow to smithereens. 

"What is your angle? Why are you doing this?" John asked them.

"Money. All these people are know for many unknown hidden accounts. Meaning no one will notice if large sums of money goes missing. All of the money goes to our forces in the Middle East. We'll be able to win the war in less than a year with the heavy artillery we'll be able to buy." He told John. The man was overly sadistic, that it almost reminded John of Moriarty. Except Moriarty almost never dealt his own business himself. 

John was positioned in the middle of the circle of desks and computers. He watched as Sienna Black, Demarcus Green, River Harvey, and Terry White anxiously transferred money into a single bank account at the same time. 

John looked around and surveyed the area. Every guard had a partner. Some were sleeping, and a guard covered them. There was certainly no shortage of terrorists. 

'If there were no shortage of men, then why is Sherlock left unattended?' John thought to himself. He started thinking the worse.

'Maybe Sherlock doesn't need a watcher because he's...' John couldn't even finish his own thought. His eyes got watery at the thought. 

It all reminded him of the time he and Sherlock were left with a bomb underground. He thought they were going to die.

John so wished he had some kind of communicator. If Mycroft is waiting for Sherlock's signal, he won't get it. And if he figures it out, it may be too late.

He heard a man speak in Arabic, and call the watchers over to him. John understood bits and pieces, and it seemed like there was a problem. While they were on the other side behind some boxes, John watched them carefully. 

John was able to move his body inch by inch, and scoot closer towards Sherlock. The only problem was John was moving inch by inch, and Sherlock was a good 20 feet away.

John moved fast, and soon he fit a little dip in the cement that helped him move faster. He finally closed in the space and was sitting next to Sherlock's limp body.

"Sherlock." He whispered. "Wake up. Come on, you've got to wake up." John pleaded quietly.

John scooted closer and put some pressure on Sherlock's leg with the chair rollers. John repeatedly nudged Sherlock with the wheel of the chair. He paused when he heard a breath from Sherlock.

'Thank god he's alive.' John thought.

John kept moving around and tapping Sherlock, but he didn't wake. He heard the voices get closer slowly, and John knew he was in trouble. John tried desperately to scoot back to his spot, but the little dip stopped him. John tried repeatedly, but it was no good.

He saw the men appear around a corner, and raise their weapons at John.

"Don't shoot! I just wanted to check on him! I won't bother him anymore, just don't shoot." John pleaded. 

Another man wearing a mask silently dragged him back to his spot, but this time, he pulled some more explosives out. He attached the bombs to the legs of the swivel chair, and then taped the detonation wires to the cement.

"If you move one inch, you will all die." He told John. John nodded shakily and kept stiff, keeping him breathing minimal.

He watched the English speaking man walk over to Sherlock.

"You wanted to check on Sherlock. Here's how he is doing." He aimed a pistol at Sherlock's gut, and shot once. 

John cried out, and he heard a yell from Sherlock. He was still alive. Sherlock woke from the pain and he curled felt his back. It was a through-n-through. No bullet lodged in his gut. Sherlock pressed on the wound and cried out in pain.

John desperately wanted to call out to Sherlock, but he was afraid to even move in the slightest. The cement was uneven, so just one move could arm the bombs connected to the ground.

As Sherlock scrunched up, John noticed something the others didn't. Sherlock reached to the opposite side and tapped his stomach. There must be some kind of transmission there. Meaning Sherlock alerted Mycroft to storm in. Hopefully.

John looked around, and heard no word. There were a good two minutes of agonizing silence, before the captures radios turned on. There were voices that sounded very urgent. And then a gun shot was heard from outside. 

John finally felt like there was hope. Maybe they would come and save them.

Very quietly, a little canister was dropped into the warehouse. It sat there for a moment, but then started to disperse a white gas.

They immediately tried to hide their noses, but it seems that everyone was starting to feel a little tired. But not completely asleep.

John watched groups of men run into warehouse, completely armed, wearing gas masks. They immediately took out every person, it seemed, and then advanced to them.

"Be careful. I've got bombs connecting me to the floor. If I so much as move the chair, it'll explode." John warned the man who came up to him. 

He nodded, and kneeled down. Slowly and meticulously, he undid the bombs connected to the chair.

The rest of the unit waited far away from the two, making sure that they wouldn't be caught in the explosion. John looked over and saw Sherlock slowly stand up, and lead on the wall for support. He was bleeding from his gut, but from that distance, John suspected it didn't hit any vital organs. But that didn't mean he was safe.

Sherlock looked up slowly and saw John strapped to the chair.

"John!" He called. He had to stop, as just yelling took the wind out of him. "Are you okay?" 

"I'm supposed to be asking you. Walk over to them so they can help you. You're bleeding and need help." John yelled to Sherlock as the man undid the rest of the bombs.

Once John was able to safely get out of the chair, the guy quickly rolled the chair to the far side of the warehouse. 

John limped over to Sherlock and helped him walk. He knew the others would be fine, and so he didn't worry.

"You are always causing me trouble, Sherlock." John told him, trying to keep his spirits high.

"Well we all can't be as amazing as you. It took a bullet to finally wake me up." Sherlock joked slightly, although talking made him weaker.

They broke out of the warehouse and an ambulance was waiting. Sherlock was immediately whisked away, and John rode in the back of the ambulance.

A nurse kept on trying to look over John, but John kept yelling at his to stop.

"It's just a couple of bruises! Now get back to Sherlock! He's the one with a bloody bullet hole in his intestines." He told them.

Sherlock was being treated for the bleeding, when he passed out. The ambulance rode faster and soon they arrived to the hospital.

John hopped out and limped after Sherlock who was being towed around on a stretcher.

They passed the Emergency doors and John had no choice but to wait.

A nurse took him to look over his bruises and his stitched leg. He may have stretched the skin, but he hadn't ripped the stitch, thankfully. John was given some pain medication and left in the waiting room.

After a little bit of waiting, Mrs. Hudson walked to him, having heard of the situation. 

"Is Sherlock alright? Are you okay?" She asked.

"We'll both be fine. Sherlock is in surgery to sew up some intestines, but he should be fine." John told her. Mrs. Hudson looked at him, and she seemed worried.

She sat next to him and put a hand on his shoulder. He had not realized that he was shaking until her hand touched him.

"He'll be fine. Don't worry." She assured him. They both waited for many hours while Sherlock was in surgery. Molly, Lestrade, and Mycroft had joined along the way. Mycroft came mostly to see what Sherlock found out, and Molly and Lestrade came to see Sherlock and John.

After the wait, a doctor came to them with a chart. "We finished Mr. Holmes's surgery, and it was a success. He just had a tear in his small intestines and the entrance and exit wound. He'll recover perfectly with rest and minimal movement. As for the other injuries, they aren't too bad. A couple bruised ribs, internal bruising, some cuts, and some external bruising. But nothing too dangerous. It should heal in about two weeks." He informed them.

He motioned for them to follow him, and they all walked through to hospital to Sherlock's room. 

Sherlock was in the hospital bed wearing the hospital gown, and had a couple of tubes connected to him. Thankfully the hospital learned from Sherlock's last mistake, and they didn't let him self administer his morphine. Sherlock was awake, but also in a little daze because of the medication. 

As soon as John saw his eyes open, he rushed over. John placed his hands on Sherlock's chest and placed his head on his chest. Sherlock immediately raised his arms and wrapped his around John. The rest of the room, besides Mycroft of course, awed a little.

"I missed you, you prat. You could've called for help earlier." John told him.

"Sorry. I was too busy being unconscious." Sherlock laughed weakly.

The two hugged for a moment and John let go. Mycroft rolled his eyes.

"Sentiment, Sherlock. Sentiment." Mycroft said.

"Piss off Mycroft. I'll feel sentiment if I want to." Sherlock grinned.

"How do you feel, Mr. Holmes?" The doctor asked.

"Great now. When do I leave?" 

The doctor looked through the chart and made an estimate. "I'd say in a week. Maybe less depending on how you heal." The doctor excused himself and left the room. The others approached Sherlock and were glad he was fine.

"You always did get yourself in bad situations." Molly told him.

"Be ready to make a police report when you get out." Lestrade reminded.

"That won't be needed. I turned in a report a little while ago. Sherlock won't need to recall anything." Mycroft assured him. "Now tell me what really happened?" He asked Sherlock.

"The Iranians were part of some military. They wanted the money to win the war. The connection was all the hostages had private accounts that only they knew about, so removing the money would be easy and undetectable. But before I could find anything else, they found me and knocked me out." Sherlock told him.

"Well I tracked the money and terminated the account. None of my people actually accomplished the transaction. They each set up a hidden timer, so the money would actually be put in the account 5 hours from the time they hit send. So they didn't get the money. Plus the group are all dead and being disposed of at this moment, so no one is in any danger." Mycroft told them.

They talked to Sherlock for a bit before the nurse came in to check on Sherlock.

"Visiting hours are over. Although you are allowed one visitor." She told them.

John already knew he wasn't going to leave, and so Molly, Lestrade, and Mycroft said their goodbyes and left the room, leaving John and Sherlock alone.

"You had me worried. I thought you were dead just by the sight of you." John told him.

"I worried you? You worried me. You had enough bombs strapped on you to completely burn a skyscraper. You would have died just by moving an inch!" He exclaimed.

John shrugged. "You alerted Mycroft in time. And that's all that matters." John gave him an assuring smile, although he still felt scared. Sherlock didn't seem fairly excited. He seemed sad. 

"What's wrong, Sherlock?" John asked. He held Sherlock's hand and rubbed circles with his thumb.

Sherlock squeezed John's hand and started to shake. He had a tear slip out of his eye, making him shut his eyes to block it.

John became worried and pulled him into a hug. Sherlock hugged him back and cried for a moment before stopping.

"I'm a coward, John. Such a coward..." Sherlock trailed off.

"You are not a coward. You're brave." John separated to look at him.

Sherlock shook his head, still shaking. "Mary and I have been hiding a secret of mine from you. I didn't know she knew it until she died, but she knew the whole time." Sherlock started.

John nodded, letting Sherlock pause to catch his breath.

"When I left for those two years, I was very lonely. I was being tortured in Europe, following a case for Mycroft. It was supposed to learn more about Moriarty, but it turned into another situation. Anyways, every day I thought of you. I couldn't wait till I was able to come back to London and solve murders with you. And when I finally finished and got back to London, I went seeking you. I found you at a restaurant, with a mustache, and you were waiting for someone. I was so happy to see you, that I nearly went straight up to you. But then I saw you pull out a box with a ring inside, and then I saw Mary sit down at the table. I didn't know why, but I felt my heart sink. But I felt happy for you. That you were able to move on. And so I surprised you and we all had fun. I hadn't realized how hard it was for me until the wedding." Sherlock paused for a moment and looked away from John.

"John Watson, you keep me right. I said that in my speech. Although after talking for a moment, recalling my memorized lines that I wrote the day before, I felt like it didn't fit. It didn't seem genuine. So I started speaking from my heart, not really thinking about it. And by the time I finished, I realized my speech sounded more like a love letter than a best man speech. You didn't notice, but Marry gave me a look. She looked sympathetic and seemed to pity me. And after that, I tried to continue with the reception, but I found it hard." 

John listened closely to him. He had stopped crying and shaking, but he seemed serious. It wasn't a joke for sure.

"I played the violin for you as you and Mary danced. I brought sheet music, but I ended up improvising. As I watched you two dance, I had to look away. It hurt too much. And later in the night I left. I couldn't stay anymore. I went back to the flat, alone, and I played the violin for rest of the night, the day, and the next night and day. I actually had to order another bow." He chuckled lightly.

"The next time I saw you, you were with Mary, and we had our little dilemma. But we dealt with it and then you two were back to being your old selves again. But it hard for me to be around you, especially after I found out she was pregnant. But I never, not once, wished she was gone, because you looked very happy around her. And when that man shot the gun, and Mary jumped in front of the bullet for me, I felt immensely sad for you. Because I knew immediately it was fatal. And when you yelled at me, and then later when you punched me, I felt like I deserved it. Because I killed her. Even if she had been dead for months." Sherlock paused for a moment to breath.

"She saved my life, in return, giving me her own. That is a currency I didn't know how to spend. I told the doctor not to tell anyone, but for a couple of minutes on the operating table, they thought I was going to die. My heart rate kept stopping and starting and I was loosing blood quickly. I had been holding on before, but at that moment, I let go. I let myself go, hoping I would just die. I was such a coward then. But, Mary came to me in my mind. She said something from her video, and I knew what I had to do. In order to spend the currency she gave me, I had to live for you. Because if I did not live for you, you would loose someone else. And that would be condemning you as well. So I fought. I fought so hard, that I resuscitated myself so I would be able to live. To live with you, and to not leave you. To protect you. So at the end of my life, I would have effectively spent my currency." Sherlock finished.

John didn't say anything. He just absorbed what Sherlock had said. "You are still not a coward for thinking that. You're not a coward because you are still here, and not in the morgue." John told him. "In shorter words, what is the secret you and Mary held from me?" He asked.

Sherlock looked at him, and cracked a smile. And then he started to chuckle. All his sadness had left and now he was laughing, holding his side as the pain hit him with every chuckle.

"Oh John. You may be honing your deducting skills, but you are still as dense as ever." He laughed.

John couldn't help but laugh as well, and they were laughing together, holding the other's hand. They were interrupted by the nurse, and they stopped chuckling. Though they were smiling.

"We saw a little flux in heart rate. I just wanted to check on you." She told Sherlock.

"Don't worry about that. I was just laughing." Sherlock told her. 

John and Sherlock started talking about different subjects, and the air of seriousness that was there awhile ago was completely gone.

Night came around, but John wouldn't sleep in the cot. John sat in a chair, and rested his head and arms on the side of Sherlock's bed. He fell asleep before Sherlock, and he spent some time running his hand through John's hair. Eventually, he fell asleep too.