August 13th, 2020
A/N: You know I had to some Hurt/Comfort lol

The sound of feet against the pavement echoed through the air as the two of them chased after the culprit. Their latest case had been a serial killer who's signature was torturing his victims with a gunshot to every major part of their body before shooting them directly in the forehead. John had seen a lot of horrible things, but the sight of all the holes in the victims they'd inspected definitely made his stomach turn.

It had taken Sherlock about a week to hunt him down. He had been difficult to find, but they'd been able to catch him in the middle of torturing his latest victim. They hadn't been able to save her. The anger of failing to save a life kept John running with determination.

They turned the corner into an alleyway, finding it to be a dead end. They stopped, seeing the killer frozen at the end of the alley.

"You've nowhere else to go," Sherlock said, staring him down. "Make this easier and just surrender. It's over."

The killer was panting and his eyes were alight with anger. A grin spread across his lips as he shook his head. "Not yet it's not," he cackled. He drew his gun from his pocket and pointed it.

John reacted at the same time and two gun shots went off. The air was charged as quiet settled.

The killer slumped to the ground, John's perfect shot to the chest killing him. He sighed in relief and put his gun away. "We'd better call Lestrade and tell him we got him," he said turning to his partner.

He didn't reply. He looked a bit pale. "Sherlock?"

The detective pulled his coat back, revealing a gunshot wound in his abdomen. Blood was already soaking his pristine white shirt. The world seemed to slow down as he fell to the ground.

"Oh god, okay," John managed. His heart was racing, but he'd been in this situation before. He could do this. "Sherlock, stay awake for me."

He propped him up against the wall of the alley. He pulled his coat off of him to get a better view of the wound. Searching for something to put pressure on it, he looked through Sherlock's coat for the scarf he'd tucked into earlier. John folded it up and pressed it harshly against the hole to stop the bleeding.

Sherlock groaned in pain, his breathing accelerating as shock started to set in. "You're gonna be okay, you're gonna be fine, Sherlock," he said quickly. He kept one hand on the wound as he reached into his pocket for his phone. He phoned for an ambulance and tossed the phone to the ground. Sherlock was starting to pass out. "No, no, no, don't you dare. Look at me, look at me, Sherlock."

He slid his free hand behind his neck pulling him to look at him. Sherlock's eyes met his own. "I'm right here, I've got you, just stay awake for me," John murmured.

"John..." he whispered, blinking as he tried to remain conscious.

The doctor smiled and nodded, feeling his eyes tear up beyond his control. "Yeah, it's John, I've got you."

"Well you are my doctor," Sherlock managed, hissing in pain.

"And you'd been lost without me," he replied. He moved his free hand to hold his cheek. They shared a small moment before Sherlock slid back against the wall limply. His breathing was pained but he was still awake. John kept pressure on the wound.

Eventually, the ambulance arrived, along with Lestrade. They hurried Sherlock into the back, John accompanying him. With a medical team attending to the wound, he moved to stay by the detective's side. He took a hold of his hand and felt Sherlock squeeze it.

A few hours later, Sherlock was laying on a medical bed. The bullet had been removed and he was stitched up. It wouldn't take him that long to recover. It was fortunate the John was a medical professional, otherwise he would've bled out before the ambulance had arrived.

John sighed heavily in his seat, waiting for his best friend to wake up. They'd given him some sedatives while they dealt with the bullet.

He looked at Sherlock's sleeping face. Now that everything was fine, the reality of the situation crashed down on him. John closed his eyes as he tried to remain calm. He could've lost Sherlock tonight. If the killer had shot him in the chest or the head, what could he have done to save him? He felt his breathing pick up as unpleasant thoughts swarmed his head. He already had to bury Sherlock once; he honestly wasn't sure he had the strength to do it again.

John reached up to run his fingers through his hair, slowly calming back down. He looked at the detective. He wasn't dead, he was fine. He had saved him this time.

A sigh escaped his lips. He still felt a tightness in his throat. It had been a close call.

Sherlock stirred and blinked his eyes open. They traveled around the room and landed on the doctor in the chair right beside him. "John.." he breathed.

"You're awake," John replies in surprise, looking up from his lap. "How are you feeling?"

The detective grunted. "Like I've been shot," he mumbled, his lips quirking into a tiny smirk. John let himself smile a bit too, but his worry was obvious. Sherlock frowned and reached his hand out in an offering. "I'm alright, John."

"I know," he replied. He took his hand and laced their fingers together. He then brought the back of Sherlock's hand to his lips and kept it there for a moment. "You just scared me."

"I'm sorry," he mumbled somewhat sleepily.

It was clear that the sedatives had not worn off completely. John leaned forward and pressed a gentle kiss to his forehead. "Get some more rest, love. I'll be here when you wake up."