Chapter 3: The healing doctor

This was the best week John had had since he was back from Afghanistan. Since the incident on the riverside, he could sleep not only sleep but also dream without the nightmares. His hand had stopped shaking that night and hadn't started again. And all that only because he had saved a crazy man, called Sherlock, who wasn't able to look after himself. And John was sure this was the case after what the detective had said about his eating and sleeping habits, and also his ignoring his own safety. John would have liked to meet him again, just to talk or something. But with only a first name and a description, there was no way to find a person in London.

John never expected to meet him again and especially not so quickly, just a week later. It was a normal day in the A&E, a car crash, a few household accidents and a bit of a domestic drama in the waiting area, nothing special. He was reading a few documents about his last patient as a familiar voice called his name. He couldn't relate where he had heard it before, as he turned around standing there were not only the detective from the riverside but also his crazy man, Sherlock. John was a bit surprised about the whole situation but he was a soldier and knew what to do. First things first: don't panic. But John didn't feel panic, he felt excitement and he knew that was a 'bit not good'. It was easier for him to divide situations in good and non-good ones. Like this one, the virus thing, was not good. So as a soldier he had to do something about it, especially if the police was asking. It wasn't a warzone, so it wasn't his turn to lead, but he needed to follow orders or, in this particular case, help a crazy man and Scotland Yard to evacuate the patients out of here. John was ready and his apparently calm manner surprised them both. A small smile of joy appeared on Sherlock's face, happy to find someone somewhat odd, like himself. He moved slowly to the middle of the room, eyed every person in it carefully and John could see his thinking, he saw the fire in the detective's eyes, the sorting and separation in yes could be or no better not, never losing sight of the suspect. John didn't know how he did, but it but it was fascinating. But the look John received from Sherlock as he turned again in John's direction wasn't one of excitement or joy. It was fear. Just for a short moment, maybe just for a second, but it was there. And then he felt the knife on his neck. John had been so concentrated on Sherlock he missed it. How could he miss a man with a weapon behind him. In the sandy desert of Afghanistan doing something like that was equal to your death sentence. John had been distracted and now he had a knife on his neck.

In front of him Sherlock didn't look concerned and after he had told the thief/murderer that he had a soldier as a hostage he also knew why. Sherlock could read people, he probably had found out more about John in the few seconds on the riverside thank John would know after living with the man for a decade. As Sherlock offered himself as a hostage in place of John, he couldn't just stand there and wait and tried to stop him. But Sherlock was immersed in his game now; no way would he let someone else play with him and the suspect. But the man behind John wasn't impressed or ready to make a deal with his crazy man.

"The nice doctor you are holding as a hostage, won't do anything, if you let us swap places." Sherlock said while closing the gap between John and himself. The man behind John moved his hand (the one without a knife) and showed them a small glass vial containing an orange liquid. "Don't come any closer or I will let this virus kill us all slowly and painfully. No one move. Nor the police nor all the nice people, the doctor here or you, whoever you are." The hand with the virus was shaking slightly. While talking he flipped his eyes to the police officer, the other patients, nurses and family members. During this time Sherlock's and John's eyes had time to meet. Without words, John knew, that whatever was going to happen, it would be his job to catch the virus if it was dropped, to grab it if the situation was right or a signal was given. "If anyone moves we will all die, so don't play with me." The suspect shouted again and moved his line of sight back to Sherlock.

The situation could have ended much worse. The way it all happened wasn't ideal but at least everyone survived. Something unexpected was always bound to come about and everything happened in seconds.

The whole room was silent; the threat heavy in the air, as suddenly next to John the door to the stairways pushed opened and a small boy not older than nine years old ran into John and the suspect. The suspect wasn't prepared for this, he moved his head fast in confusion. And there it was, Sherlock's signal and John moved fast then ever in his life before. Because the suspect let the vial fall the same second the boy bumped into them. With one hand John caught the falling virus and with the other pressed the boy to his side turning them both away from the suspect, still open for the knife to get him but with the virus and the boy secure. John couldn't see what happened next. Expecting a knife between his ribs, he instead heard a thumping noise and the suspect screaming and now lying on the floor, Sherlock on top of him, holding his hands on his back, the knife a few meters away in the corner. John hadn't seen what happened, but the red spots on the floor leading to the knife where definitely blood.

Lestrade finally back in action went over to Sherlock, putting handcuffs on their suspect's wrist and pushing him out of sight. John let the boy go and he ran over to his family, not sure what happened. The doctor turned around to his crazy man. But something wasn't right with Sherlock, his breathing was a bit odd and his movements were not as elegant as before, face white and sweating profusely.

For the first time, John talked to his crazy man. "Sherlock, are you hurt?" John moved over to the place Sherlock was standing. There was no answer to his question. John's eyes scanned Sherlock's whole body trying to locate the point of injury. John touched Sherlock lightly on the shoulder and the removed the dark coat and the jacket he was wearing. John discovered a big red spot on Sherlock's shirt. Sherlock looked down on the red blotch, touching it with a hand and then looking at the blood on his hand, before looking up again. Meeting John's eyes he said "I guess I need your services now." With this Sherlock's eyes closes, his legs gave way and if John hadn't caught him, he would have landed hard on the floor.

Already in action, John called for support and Sherlock was brought into an emergency room where he would be examined. He woke up, in the middle of being stitched up and watched John do his work. A small smile on his face.

John didn't know what to do with that and just said the next thing that popped up in his brain.

"You should try to be a bit more careful; you could be somewhere alone and there would be no one around to help you." John tried not to sound like a mother or a worried wife. But what else could you say to someone so reckless. Sherlock was hurt because he had jumped between John and the knife and before Sherlock had been able to disarm the man, he had got the change to cut Sherlock deep in the side.

"I guess it is sometimes better to have a doctor with you." Was Sherlock's only remark. Still following every move of John's work.

"Maybe you should keep me close to you then." John said with a smile, still concentrated on his work, patching up the detectives wounds, and seeing more scars on the man's chest then he had seen on soldiers he treated during the war.

"Maybe I will do this, I still owe you one." Sherlock answered with a surprised look on his face, not sure if this was the right thing to say to someone he barely knew, but his mouth was too fast and it was out before he could stop saying it or even think about it. Both men looked each other in the eye, understanding what was said and not said. No words seemed necessary between them.