A Grip of Hope

"We've almost got him John!" Sherlock called behind him. They had been trying to find this murderer for ages now, and finally caught sight of him. Seemed strange to Sherlock, that they suddenly found him so easily, but he was just thrilled for the chase. His long coat flowed behind him as he dashed after the figure running ahead of him, looking back every now and again to see if John was still behind him. They turned a corner, and the hooded murderer was cornered in a dead end. Sherlock ran up and wrapped his arm around his neck. The hood fell off the suspected murderer, and it turned out just to be one of the many vandalizers in London. Sherlock let go of the man as he started to laugh.

"Too late." The man said. All of the sudden, a gunshot went off in one of the buildings next to Sherlock, and John fell down to the ground, clutching his side.

Sherlock punched the man, knocking him out sprawled on the ground, and then ran over to John. "John, are you ok?!" He asked urgently.

John grunted, and then moved his hand from his side to reveal blood all over his jumper. Sherlock whipped out his phone and called the closest hospital to them. A moment later, an ambulance could be heard nearby, surrounding the block of alleys. Sherlock lifted John up, and they staggered to the nearest street. The ambulance saw them and drove over. After a minute or two, John was in a stretcher with a bloody rag tied around his waist and Sherlock holding his hand.

They soon arrived to Bart's hospital, and the people in the ambulance rushed John inside to a team of doctors waiting, who then took the stretcher and made their way quickly to an emergency room.
Sherlock ran after them, but then felt a hand grab his arm. "Sorry sir, you can't go in there until they're done." Said a man dressed in a white doctors coat.

Sherlock sighed with frustration and allowed the man to take him to the waiting room, where he sat with his hands together for about 2 hours, pacing the floor.
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"Sir?"

"Sir?"
Sherlock woke up from the same man who took him here. He shook his head and looked up. "Is John ok?" He asked quickly, getting up.

The doctor nodded, looking at a clipboard he was holding. "Yes, Dr. Watson is fine. He was shot in his side, but the bullet just missed hitting his pelvic girdle and large intestine. He lost a lot of blood though, so he is sleeping for the moment. You can still go and see him though."

"Please." Sherlock replied. The doctor led the way to a room and left Sherlock at the door. Sherlock dipped his head, and went in.
He saw John lying in a bed asleep, the blanket covered him up to his chest, but from the folds in the blanket he guessed there was a bandage wrapped around his friends' waist. He walked over to the bedside, pulling up a chair from the corner of the room and sat down. He brushed a piece of hair out of Johns face and sighed. He was more than happy that John was ok, beyond happy. He grasped Johns hand gently, rubbing his thumb back and forth slowly as he watched him. John looked more peaceful then during the case. Which on his blog, John named the Case of the Black Cloak. It seemed a little dull, but mysterious. Sherlock didn't show his liking in the titles John gave their cases, but he did like them.

The army doctor stirred in his sleep, only turning his head to the other side of the pillow. He must have known someone was holding his hand, for Sherlock felt John grip his hand. Sherlock smiled, scooting his chair up to the very side of the bed. He laid one arm on the bedpost and laid his head down on his arm, falling asleep watching Johns gentle breathing and holding his hand.

John was ok, and that's all that mattered. After all, Sherlock would be lost without his blogger.