Gunshots rang through the crisp, cold air of London. John and Sherlock were running from a group of people with bad intentions, the group seemed a little bit stupid-- but also smart.

They seemed dumb because they shot in front of them, not caring who or what they hit. They only triggered their guns, and wouldn't stop even if they hit each other.

John held onto Sherlock as they ran, trying to keep up with him the best he could.

Rain started to fall, but it didn't loosen John's grip on Sherlock's sides.

Sherlock started to run faster. Before he was careful of slipping, but now they needed to escape. He knew John wouldn't be able to run as fast as he needed with his leg injury, so he picked him up.

The body of the small doctor trembled in Sherlock's arms. They were both sopping wet, and with extra weight they could slip in a puddle.

Sounds of the screaming men behind them grew softer, and softer, so Sherlock slowed to a stop.

John held onto Sherlock tightly, still trembling, and a little bit of pain crying. One of the bullets hit his left arm.

When Sherlock was about to let John go, he felt an incredible pain in his ankle.

He fell over instantly, still holding John.

Emotions of fear whirled in John's head as he watched a pool of blood form around Sherlock's foot.

The group walked up to them, their guns back around the belt at their waist.

One of them, most likely the leader, held out his hand and ordered to get Sherlock Holmes.

“We'd spare your life,” he said. “If you give us Sherlock Holmes.”

“I would never!” John hugged Sherlock tightly. He was still under Sherlock, and he wasn't going to let them take him.

They moved threateningly closer, John held tighter onto Sherlock, ignoring the stings of the shot wound in his arm.

Sherlock nuzzled against John, holding tightly onto him. “Don't let them take me...”

“I won't…” John gave Sherlock a fake, comforting smile.

“Give us Sherlock Holmes.”

“No!” John yelled at them. He felt his companion curl up and press against his side, it was distracting but John didn't break eye-contact with the enemies.

“We'll give you tons of money--”

“He’s worth more than any amount of money you can offer me! He's mine!” Although John knew they would probably take Sherlock he could try and defend him. Sherlock's ankle was shot, he wouldn't able to move fast enough for them to escape.

“Yours?” Sherlock asked in a whisper, staring thoughtfully at John.

Immediately a blush spread across John's face. “Yeah, uh, my friend…”

The men laughed, staring down at them. “You liiiiiiiike him!” They all teased John as if they were still in school.

“No--no I don't!”

“This will make it more fun to take him from you!” One of them came closer and bent down, getting ready to take Sherlock.

The two huddled close, looking away from the men above them.

“They're going to take me…” Sherlock mumbled. His face was so close to John's that he understood what was being said.

“No, they won't…”

John knew he wasn't with Sherlock, but he didn't care; he brought Sherlock's lips against his own, pressing against him gently.

Sherlock was left wanting more, but John was already letting his fighting instincts kick in. He wanted to hurt nobody, but would beat up those men.

They started fighting each other, John was getting beaten pretty bad. They hit, kicked, and punched John.

His nose started bleeding, and he took one last look at Sherlock before falling down.

Giving up was the only option. He wouldn't be able to do anything, he was beaten.

But Sherlock's face looked so innocent and scared…

“Stop!! Stop, let me out!” Sherlock screamed, kicking at the bag he was now stuck in.

John hazily looked up to see them walking away with Sherlock. What could he do? What could he do to save Sherlock?

Nothing.

He could do nothing.

“Sh-Sherlock…!” John was barely able to say it. He started crying as Sherlock went out of view. He felt scared, so scared.

-----

John woke up in a hospital. He couldn't remember much from last night.

“Uugghh….” The pain in John's head was killing him. “Sherlock?”

“John…”

“Sherlock--” John thought that maybe last night was a dream, but quickly he knew it wasn't. His arm was elevated, wrapped in a cast, bandages were all around his figure.

He looked around the room, noticing Sherlock was in the chair next to his bed. “Sherlock!” He cried, “you're okay!”

“Shhhh…. John.” Sherlock put a hand on John's jawbone, kissing him sweetly. “You're hurt. Don't talk.”

John looked surprised. He didn't expect Sherlock to kiss him, but he nodded anyways and pushed Sherlock into another kiss.

They continued to kiss, Sherlock cupped both the sides of John's face and inched a little bit closer.

“Are you okay with this?” John suddenly asked, playing with Sherlock's curls.

“Yeah. When you kissed me back there I just… Felt something indescribable.”

“Oh, yeah, I was going to apologise for that, I didn't really have permission to do that to you…”

“It's alright, I didn't have the courage to even kiss you.”

John smiled against Sherlock's lips, pulling him closer. “Then kiss me.”

“I will.” Sherlock kissed John again, and again, and again. He loved having John pressed against him.

Eventually Sherlock was cuddled against John's side. He ran his fingers against John's casts and bandages, kissing his neck.

They were both happy about what was happening, and happy about being okay. Though John didn't know how or when Sherlock escaped, he was glad they were both fine.