A/N This is a little idea that popped into my head and I had to write it down. I hope you like it! Enjoy!

Always there for you

"S-Sherlock.."

"John? What is it? What's wrong?"

Sherlock was sitting in his chair inside their dark flat. He had been half asleep when his phone started to vibrate on the side table where it was laying. Looking down, Sherlock was shocked to see it was his John. John had left to the store a few hours ago. Glancing, at the clock Sherlock saw it was 3a.m. That was the first sign that something was not right.

"John, answer me?" Sherlock questioned, running a hand over his sleepy face. He could hear John's sharp and short breaths which made him sit up even straighter and start to worry more.

"I…" John was obviously trying to sound close to normal, but the way his voice kept trying to speed up on him let Sherlock know he wasn't nearly as okay as he was hoping John would be. John sounded a step away from panicked. "I don't really know where I am, and it's getting cold, and I thought I wouldn't need my jacket, because it was just supposed to be a little walk to the store, but then, then they…I got jumped and now I'm lost…but they're gone..and I don't know."

"John. Slow down. What are you talking about?" Sherlock asked hurriedly, trying to keep his voice low so he did not wake up Ms. Hudson. But inside he felt like freaking out.

"Please help me, Sherlock."

"John. Hey, calm down, ok? You're outside?"

"Yeah. I just…I need a ride. I'm sorry, Sherlock. I can't find a cab. I would walk some more, but…"

"John, no, you're fine. You're okay. I'm glad you called. Tell me what you see."

"It's really dark out here."

"Look hard. I'm going to come find you. I promise. Give me a point of reference."

Sherlock could practically hear him nod. He was trying hard, but boy, he sounded scared. "Okay. Right. Um, there's a water tower, I think. It's down the street from where I am. I can't see if there's anything written on it though. There's a phone booth near me. And there's a bunch of real old buildings with rated R graffiti. They look mostly vacant, kinda like where you'd think drug dealers would come to do business. Drug dealers and murderers."

Sherlock smiled. He would have laughed out loud if John didn't sound so terrified.

"Hey, John, you're going to be fine. All right? You hear me? You're going to be okay."

"Yeah. I hear you."

"Okay, you said you're near a phone booth?"

There was a pause as Sherlock was pretty sure John nodded and then remembered he couldn't see him. "Yeah. I am. I think I'm a couple of miles from home."

"All right, I think I know where you are. Get in the booth and try to stay warm. Stay put and wait for me. I'll be there in ten minutes."

"You…really will?"

"Of course."

"Ok.."

Sherlock was his only option. He realized it right then. He would only call Sherlock because he literally had no one else to call. And Sherlock knew that if he didn't show up…damn. That thought scared Sherlock way more than he was willing to admit. "You have my word. I'll be there."

"Okay. Sherlock, if you could hurry…?"

"I'm on my way out the door."

"Right. Sherlock?"

"Yeah."

"Thank you."

"Of course John." Sherlock then pulled on a pair of pants and his jacket and then grabbed an extra coat.

"Okay. I'll see you in ten, then. And I am really sorry."

"Not your fault. Concentrate on keeping yourself warm, okay?"

"Alright."

After John hung up, Sherlock practically ran out of the flat, flagging down a cab. Once inside the car Sherlock asked the cabbie to drive faster than any officer of the law would've appreciated. John was out there alone in one of the worst parts of this town that he knew of. That did not happen.

It was cold outside. Sherlock didn't feel it, though. Because inside, he was boiling.

John

I hung up the phone and rubbed some of the fog off the widow of the booth, looking down the road, like Sherlock would magically appear. I really, really hoped Sherlock would hurry, because if he didn't..I was as good as dead. I probably should have just walked farther and flagged down a cab. But for some reason, I pulled out my phone and automatically went to Sherlock in my phonebook. Sherlock was a pain in the arse sometimes,but he has always taken care of me. I know Sherlock will always be there. And that makes everything a lot better.

I shivered and wrapped my arms around myself again. I figured I should probably move around if I wanted to keep from freezing. So I left the booth and started pacing a few steps each way on the sidewalk beside the or fifteen minutes went by until my lungs told me to knock it off, and I figured they were right. I probably shouldn't be moving around that much. I just had to sit down and pray that Sherlock would hurry up. I hated being dependent on people. It very seldom worked out in my favor. Like you really have a choice this time. Suddenly, fear hit my stomach.

I sat down on the curb and wrapped my arms around my legs, resting my chin on my knees as a particularly hard gust of wind tore through the fabric of my sweater like it was nothing. Okay, new plan. Sit down and wait inside nice, sheltered, rusty old phone booth. I stood and was about to implement the aforementioned brilliant plan, when I saw something move in the shadows to my left.

No, that was still stupid. Nobody was out here. Not now. My logic was very cruelly ripped to shreds as a man stepped out of the alleyway. He was mostly shadow, but I could make out the rough edges of his coat and the tattered knit cap on his head. He stood maybe 6'1", 185. Sherlock is rubbing off on me. I froze, my hand on the door to the booth as my heart sped up. Don't be stupid; don't be stupid; don't be stupid, I told myself over and over. My mind kept jumping to conclusions, and none of which I particularly wanted to conclude. He probably didn't even realize I was there.

Then as his head turned and eyes landed unmistakably on me, he spoke with a voice that made my heart drop into my stomach, "You lost or something, sonny?"

I took a step back, shaking my head quickly, lungs jerking in my chest. "I-I've got a ride coming. Thanks."

His yellow teeth glinted in the faint glow of the street light as he slowly looked up then down the street. "I don't see no ride, son."

I didn't wait another second. I tore down the street as fast as my legs would go. My feet were pounding on the pavement, lungs tearing across my ribcage with every cold intake of breath I took, and I thought my heart would explode out my ears. I heard the guy's footsteps running behind me as he shouted the kind of words that were spray painted across the sides of those dead buildings, and my vision got blurry. No, no, no, no!

I couldn't stop. Couldn't stop. No option. Go, legs, go. Oh, please, God, help. God, help me, please! I couldn't breathe. I was running, and I couldn't really breathe. Please don't let me pass out!

I turned around the corner and smacked straight into something that was hard and soft at the same time and felt arms tighten around me, squeezing right at that spot my mugger had earlier punched me in my side. I let out as much of a scream as my lungs would allow, and it came out all hoarse and pathetic, but I was not gonna give up. No, I struggled against those arms for all I was worth. Terror fueled my muscles as I fought hard for all of three seconds before I heard the voice.

"John! Hey! Calm down, it's me!"

I stopped fighting and all but collapsed, letting out a sound that was somewhere between a sigh and a terrified sob. It's a sound I would love not to ever make ever again.

Sherlock

I stood there for a moment, arms full of John, when a man came running around the corner. He stopped when he saw me, and a horrible feeling dropped into my stomach. I let go of John and pulled the wide-eyed man behind me.

"You got a problem?" I fairly hissed, hand moving to my back pocket for the gun I brought with me. The man's eyes looked me up and down. Apparently he didn't like his odds against both of us.

He held up his hands and said with fake innocence, "No problem, sir. No problem." He let his eyes linger on John behind me for a moment, with a look that made my stomach knot before turning and walking away. I watched him go to make sure he wasn't coming back before turning to look at John in time to see him lean back against the side of the brick building and slide down until he was sitting on the ground, his breaths coming in short, terrified gasps.

I stepped closer and went to touch his shoulder, try to help him, but he shrank back from me, "Don't touch me," he wheezed. "Sherlock..Just don't…I…give me a minute." He was shaking all over, hair sweaty and sticking to his forehead. He was trying to slow his breaths, but it wasn't working, and he started clutching at his chest, eyes filling up with tears from pain and fear. I didn't give him anywhere close to a minute.

I reached down and hauled him up onto his feet. "Come on." He didn't resist as I led him to the cab, which was parked a few yards away right in front of a phone booth. Turns out I was one street off. Not knowing the exact time-table, I'm still not sure if that fact saved his life, or if it's the one that put him in so much danger. I nearly tore the rear right door off the cab as I yanked it open. Pushing John into the backseat, I followed suit, sliding in next to him, grabbing up the extra coat, thanking God I'd thought to bring it. I wrapped it around his shoulders. His breathing was getting really bad. "John, just breathe."

"Where to, sir?" The cabbie asked.

"221 Baker street," I replied, closing the small window between the front of the cab and the back seat, for some privacy.

John worked a little contraption out of his pocket. An inhaler? Since when did John need an inhaler? I thought as anger and fear rushed through me. Have to ask him later. He started sucking at it, trying frantically to get some of the medicine to his lungs as he reached out and slammed his hand down on the lock button for the car door. If the panicked look in his eyes was any indication, the meds were getting nowhere close to where they were supposed to be.

"John. Listen to me..You've got to calm down. It's okay. You're safe. Nobody's going to hurt you now, I promise. I'm here."

John squeezed his eyes shut and shook his head, a tear slipping out from under his defenses. His breathing got worse.

Without knowing what else to do, I reached behind him and leaned him back into my chest. "All right, listen to me, John," I told him, keeping my voice calm and level, though this sentiment felt wierd. But this was John. I could see his face reflecting off the window. Damn, he looked scared. But he was listening. "If we don't get this under control, you're going to wind up in the hospital. You want to go to the hospital?" He quickly shook his head. I could feel his chest heaving up and down as he sucked in each painful, labored, shallow breath. "I didn't think so. So you're going to make your breaths last the count of three, okay?"

I took the inhaler from his shaking hands and held it to his mouth. "Breathe it in. Let it get all the way down. Hold it. Come on, John. You're okay. You're doing all right."

It took five minutes of me coaching and him working past his independent instincts enough to let me help him for his breathing to level off. I think if it wasn't for the fact that he was cold, apparently sick and scared half to death, he would've died before letting me help him. We sat there for a moment, concentrating on breathing. He was nearly dead weight against my chest. "You okay?"

He took another shaky breath. Held it. The words "Fine. Sorry," came out as he exhaled.

"There's no reason to be. But I think maybe we should swing by the hospital."

"No." Ugh, he sounded almost betrayed.

"John…"

"You said…we only had to go if I didn't…start breathing. I'm breathing. No hospital." He waited a beat. "So please let go of me and let's go home."

I sighed as he awkwardly sat up away from me, keeping his eyes lowered in a way that I couldn't possibly have mistaken for an invitation to talk about anything that just happened.

The cab stopped, making me realize we have arrived home.

Of course when I opened the door to get out, the overhead light came on, and I got a full view of John's black and swelling eye. "What the hell, John!"

He winced and lowered his head further. "Can we not…talk right now?"

I bit my lip, anger clenching my hands into fists at my sides, thankful he wasn't looking at me. When I thought about what happened, what some ass out John through….No way was I letting this go. But he looked so exhausted, and so broken, and so very, very…alone, I didn't want to press him for details right then.

"Sure," I said softly.

He nodded. "'kay."

We got out of the car and hurried up to the flat. John sat in his chair while I made tea, checking on his every once in a while. He lost his battle with sleep before the tea was done, my coat pulled up to his chin. And I couldn't help but feel happy that when John needed someone, he immediately came to me. And I wouldn't have it any other way.

A/N Please let me know what you thought!