He is definitely in danger - A Johnlock fanfic

Chapter two

He had first seen them a week earlier. A group of five, aged between 33 and 45, lurking around Baker Street. They all had their faces hidden behind their hoodies. "Hoodies! How unoriginal, boring, predictable" Sherlock had thought. Nevertheless, he'd begun observing them, as they were quite suspicious. It didn't take him long to figure out what – or better said who- they were after. It was John. Someone was after John. When he discovered this, Sherlock hadn't noticed he was squeezing his hands in anger until his knuckles had turned even paler than they already were.

The detective had spent the next few days investigating on them. From a quick look at them and a brief internet research, he soon knew everything about them. They had recently returned from military service in Afghanistan. At first Sherlock thought they were looking for John for political or military reasons, but he ruled that out because he found that they weren't active politically, nor did they have any interest in military politics. "No, John must know something about them, and now that they are back in England, they must make sure he doesn't tell anyone" Sherlock had thought. He had learned that knowledge was often a very dangerous thing. He had considered telling John about it, but he seemed to be glad having some time off from their investigating, so Sherlock had decided leaving him some space, even though he was potentially in danger. But, again, knowledge could be dangerous, so he'd decided to leave his friend unaware.

That evening, short before John was going to come back home from the clinic, Sherlock heard footsteps. And he knew. He went to pick up his coat, but the men didn't let him. Sherlock considered knocking them out but, after all, they were 5 soldiers. Plus, the detective wanted to talk to them anyway. He was glad they had come to him and not to John, but he didn't know why, and this annoyed him.

He followed them downstairs and into a black car with tinted windows. Again – unoriginal, boring, predictable, just like Mycroft when he wants a chat with John. They drove south until reaching an alley with an abandoned Irish pub and what looked like a homeless' cardboard bed. In his mind, Sherlock had pictured the map of London and where they had driven, and knew exactly where they were.

One of the men – Charles, 36, been shot in the shoulder, by judging the bump of his jacket – took a step forward and spoke in a low voice, one he was clearly faking.

"You know John Watson." 

Sherlock found it really hard not to roll his eyes.

"Yes, brilliant deduction. Can we skip to the important part, please?"

The man paused, then continued. 

"We don't know what he's told you, but we want to make sure you won't tell anyone else. We have a reputation to maintain, you know."

On of the men approached Charles and whispered in his ear. Charles nodded and spoke again.

"Tie him up. He'll serve as bait."

Before they could tie a rope round his wrist, Sherlock closed his fist and punched the hooded man, before bowing down to dodge the next blow. Soon, as the fight went on, he was bleeding from several injuries all over his body, and he was quickly scanning the area in his mind for an escape plan, when suddenly the man he was fighting fell to the ground.

He turned around to see John's face filled with anger and concentration as he hit another man. He'd never seen him like this on any of their cases, he looked like an angry mother bear who had just seen her baby getting attacked.

But the fierce expression on his face soon changed into shock, and then pain, as a bang echoed in the evening air. Sherlock froze for less than a second, before knocking down the two remaining men. Before they got up again, Sherlock had called for an ambulance and was now sitting next to John.

His usually cool and calmmethod was suddenly clouded. John. His blogger. Shot. 

"John, can you hear me?" His voice sounded unnaturally soft.

The doctor tried to mumble something, but his bleeding was making it difficult for him. Sherlock squeezed his hand and looked straight at his best friend.

"It's okay, the ambulance is on its way. Keep your eyes fixed on me."

John's eyes widened as he obeyed- he didn't look away from Sherlock's piercing blue eye. Sherlock put his free hand under John's head to make it more comfortable for him and prevent him to choke on his own blood.

After a while, John managed to speak, giving the detective instructions on first aid procedures. Sherlock did everything John told him, putting pressure on the shot with a piece of fabric torn from his shirt.

But as his flatmate's voice started to fade, Sherlock squeezed his hand even stronger. "John. John. Keep you eyes fixed on me. Please."

The last thing the doctor saw was Sherlock's eyes glowing in the ambulance's red light.

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I'm sorry jawn, forgive me 🙈

I actually don't really like how this chapter turned out, but I didn't feel like re-writing it. I'll try to do a better job on the next one. Feel free to let me know what you think :)