Sherlock and Molly stood in companiable silence. She kept glancing at him, but he didn't respond. He was deep in thought.
        If it was Moriarty, then how could Sherlock protect John? Sticking by his side twenty-four seven was the only feasible option, but that wasn't entirely reliable either. If Sherlock was asleep, who would watch over John? Lestrade? Possible, but inconvenient. A schedule would have to be arranged, and Lestrade had a job with undefined hours, so even that option posed problems.
        Molly interrupted Sherlock's thoughts. "Do you plan on staying here the whole night?" she yawned.
        Sherlock turned to face her. "Hmm? Oh. Yes, I suppose. What else can I do? I can't leave him alone."
        "Good point." There was a natural lull in the conversation. Both Sherlock and Molly turned to look at John's sleeping form. He was no longer breathing in the same rhythmical pattern as before, Sherlock noted with a frown. Molly seemed to notice too.
        "John, are you awake? I can tell," Sherlock told him.
        John opened his eyes slowly. "Aw, you got me." He gave a faint grin, but there was pain in his eyes.
        "You didn't have to wake up. You could've kept sleeping," pointed out Sherlock, noticing the concealed pain.
        John sat up a bit. "How could I, with you two blathering on? What's this about protecting me, anyway? I didn't hear the whole conversation."
        Sherlock sighed, then decided he would have to tell John about what had happened. "Lestrade came to the flat at my request and I found a footprint. We got Anderson to come and collect the footprint for analysis. After he left I decided I would eat dinner." John opened his mouth to say something, but Sherlock silenced him with a look. "Inside the fridge, there was the milk. Remembering that I had dropped it by the door when I first came in, I picked it up and looked at it. There was a post-it note on the side." He paused.
        "What did it say?" inquired John.
        "'You forgot this.' It was signed JM."
        John closed his eyes slowly, exhaling. "Moriarty," he whispered.
        "We can't say for certain. It could be someone attempting to place the blame on him by using his initials."
        John smiled. "Or maybe it's someone who has the unfortunate same initials."
        Sherlock chuckled lightly. "Maybe," he agreed.
        "Well," John began, propping himself up on his elbows, "hopefully that footprint you found will give us some answers."
        "Mmm." Sherlock wondered what the footprint had revealed, and wished that he could just head over to the lab right that minute. Fortunately, he could get some answers from John, the only witness at the crime scene other than the attacker themself.
        "John, I have some questions about the crime."
        John shrugged. "Go ahead. Ask away."
        "Did you see the person that attacked you?"
        "No. I was taking a nap on the couch and I woke up and heard footsteps running away from me."
        "How heavily were they running?"
        "They were pretty light on their feet, I suppose. I wasn't really listening. I was a bit more concerned with the blood pouring out of my abdomen."
        "Was it just one person, or do you think it was more?"
         "Just one, I think."
        "Did they leave through the front door?"
        "Yes."
        "I thought so. Did you smear your hand across the wall after you put your hand on the wound?"
        John squinted as he tried to remember. "Um, maybe? I can't say that I remember doing that. Maybe I was trying to stand up or something. The whole thing was a bit of a blur."
        "No, this was a direct smear, in both directions." Sherlock demonstrated with his hand.
        "Strange."
        Sherlock nodded. "Last question: why didn't you text me immediately? I would've gotten there sooner."
        "My phone wasn't in my pocket. I think the attacker took it, since I definitely put it in my pocket earlier."
        Sherlock suddenly smiled. "Oh, that's good."
        "Sorry, what?" asked John. "Please tell me this isn't one of your moments when you're appreciating the actions of the villain."
        "No. Quite the opposite. They made a mistake." He began pacing the room, drumming his fingers together with glee.
        Molly and John glanced at each other, clueless.
        "Um, what exactly was the mistake they made?" Molly asked timidly.
        "They didn't realize that I might anticipate this situation."
        They waited for him to say more, then John said, "Annndddd...?"
        Sherlock whipped out his phone and clicked one of his apps. "I put a tracking device in your phone so I know where it is." He showed John, then Molly.
        "Wait, what? When did you do this? You're been able to track me?" John's eyebrows narrowed.
        "I said I'd use it in this situation, not just randomly checking up on you. Besides, I don't need it to know where you've been. I can just look at you once you get home."
        "Alright, fine. Just seemed a bit stalker-ish to me. Where does it say my phone is now?"
        Sherlock looked at his phone. "Cardiff," he replied.
        "Cardiff? That's pretty far. They've been moving quickly."
        "It's only about three hours to drive. They could be there easily by now if traffic wasn't bad."
        "How did you know that?"
        "I Googled it."
        John snorted, then his face tightened with pain at the sudden movement. Molly ran over to him.
        "You alright?" she asked, concerned.
        "Yes, I'm fine. Go on, Sherlock."
        "So, should I go to Cardiff?"
        "I mean, yeah. What's stopping you?"
        "Two reasons. One: the fact that I have no cash. Two: the fact that my assistant--you--is in the hospital and can't travel."
        "Go to the bank and then go without me. Catching this person is important."
        "Not as important as protecting you. I don't anyone to hurt you while I'm gone. That might be the whole plan: lure me away so that they can strike while I'm not there. I can't risk leaving. It might be a wild goose chase, anyway. They could've taken the device out of the phone and put it on a bird or car."
        John pursed his lips. It was becoming evident that Sherlock was going to stay put. "Alright," he began, "send Lestrade."
        Sherlock steepled his fingers in front of his face, thinking. "That's actually not a bad idea." He suddenly looked at Molly. "What time is it?"
        She looked at her watch. "11:57."
        "Hmm. I'd hoped it would be later. We have to kill time in here; you're obviously tired, go to sleep." He gestured at a chair beside the cot on which John lay.
        She sat down. "What if someone comes in?"
        "John'll wake you, won't you, John?" Sherlock turned his gaze towards his assistant.
        "Yeah, of course." John nodded.
        At this confirmation, Molly soon fell asleep.
        Sherlock turned to John. "You should get some sleep, too. I want you to heal as quickly as possible."
        John laid back on his pillow reluctantly. "But don't I have to wake Molly if someone comes in?"
        "Hmm. Fine. I'll wake her in...ten minutes. I'll tell her to go home, and I'll go in the closet. No one will see me. It'll look like you're alone in here."
        "Alright, fine. I'm staying awake for those ten minutes, though."
        Sherlock nodded as confirmation.

~~~~~Time Skip brought to you by the clever detective in the funny hat~~~~~

       Sherlock tapped Molly on the shoulder. It had been ten minutes. She woke immediately.
        "What? What is it?"
        "Nothing. I'm just telling you that you can go home. I'm going to hide in the closet. It'll look like John is alone," Sherlock explained.
        "Oh. Okay." Molly stood. She paused awkwardly for a moment, then pecked Sherlock on the cheek. She hurried out the door, her cheeks pink.
        Sherlock stared at the place she had just been standing. He touched his cheek gently and turned his head to stare at the closing door.
        He was shaken out of his reverie by John, who burst out laughing. "Your face when she kissed you! Priceless!" Suddenly, he wheezed and started coughing, his face a mask of pain.
        Sherlock hurried over to him. "Are you alright?" He touched John's shoulder, his eyes full of concern ((the shipping is going every which way XD)).
        It took John a few moments to get his breath back. "Yeah. Fine." He grimaced and fell back into his pillow. "I'm fine."
        Sherlock's eyes searched his friend's. "You sure you're alright?"
        "Yes, I'm fine, Sherlock."
        Sherlock stood slowly, still watching John to make sure that he really was okay. "Good. Don't want you to, um, be in the hospital for any longer than necessary."
        "Weren't you going to hide in the closet?" John pointed out.
        "Ah, yes. I was. Thank you for reminding me. I will, um, go in the closet now." Awkwardly, Sherlock moved to the closet. He took a few moments to rearrange the contents so that he could fit inside, then slipped in. He closed the door behind him, leaving only a small sliver of light at the bottom of the door.