Chapter Text
Sherlock brought the pill to his lips. He was right. The cabbie would die. Sherlock was prepared to swallow. A shot rang out and the cabbie was on the ground. Bullet wound between the eyes. Sherlock quickly calculated the trajectory. When he turned and looked out the window into the building's twin he saw John. Pistol raised and aiming, no doubt, at the space the cabbie's face had been occupying moments ago. John quickly dropped the pistol as Sherlock moved toward the window and into his line of fire.
The two of them caught each other' eye and quickly began giggling at their state of affairs. Sherlock was about to comment on John's sharp shooting when a dark shadow whipped past him. It easily bridged the gap between the two buildings and knocked John down. He was below window level and Sherlock couldn't to see him. Needless to say, Sherlock was worried.
Sherlock dashed through the hallways, down flights of stairs and out the exit of this building.He then sped in through the other building and repeated the process in reverse. John was found lying on the ground. There were no visible wounds. Sherlock called Lestrade asking for an ambulance for John. When Lestrade asked about the case he remembered why he was here and briefed him on everything.
The paramedics arrived and carted off the cabbie, as is procedure. They glaced at John's vitals and responses. After hearing that Sherlock lived with John they aked Sherlock to wake him each hour - just in case of concussion. They conceded with Sherlock when they couldn't find any wounds. Lestrade swore when he heard the orders for John and Sherlock to go straight home. He joked around and said it may be the first, but it wouldn't be the last late statement from the pair. Chances were their last late statements would be made in their 90s the way they were going.
The duo got in a cab and went back to Baker St. They giggled the entire way how. The cabbie - the law-abiding cabbie, dropped them off outside 221 Baker St. And if the cabbie charged them an extra ten pound...well, no-one was paying attention really.
When they got inside John realised an issue.
"I haven't unpacked my stuff yet." It was true. Though he didn't have much, he'd prefer not to sleep in an empty room. Sherlock gave up his room if only so John could be a little more comfortable. Sherlock grabbed the leather armchair and sat on it just outside his bedroom door.
~
John had been sleeping quite well in hourly intervals and Sherlock had managed a few cat naps. When next he opened his eyes, Sherlock observed that it was 5:00am. Time to wake up John. He rose up gracefully and shook John from his light slumber.
"W't is it 'rlock?" John mumbled as he left the land of dreams. Sherlock replied with the time and John rolled until he was facing Sherlock.
Their eyes met like two rapiers and Sherlock would have taken a step back in shock if he were a lesser man. Both John's eyes were completely black. Sherlock's mind was racing with possibilities. But John blinked and seemed to shake off a prescence. When his eyes reopened, the were his normal, vibrant blue. The typical post-case fatigue must be getting to him. Sherlock agreed when John said, as a doctor, that he could not possibly have a concussion at this point. Sherlock left the room as John rolled back into slumber.