A/N - Hey everyone! Its been a while. I've been away from writing for a while and sadly i know there are a few stories of mine that people out there really want me to finish. I am going to work on that i promise. But for now i had a little muse bug in my head for Sherlock! So i went with it.

No beta... enjoy

Steph

John Watson didn't consider himself an overly brave man. Sure he'd served for his country and took a bullet for his troubles but never did he think of himself as brave.

He did what he'd signed up and promised to do… fight… help… and even survive.

There were many other things he'd call himself… But not brave… no… not that. Never.

And as the ceiling came down around his head, blown free by a bomb that was once so very close to his heart, he knew for certain he was correct.

John Watson was scared shitless. Bravery had gone out the window.

His body had temporarily been frozen in a multitude of emotions. Fear… confusion… worry… sadness… helplessness.

He was a doctor. An ARMY doctor! But at that current moment he felt more helpless then he'd ever felt. This just wasn't right. He'd knocked them both into the water as the blast rumbled through the building. But what else? He couldn't remember… Why couldn't he remember!

And why were his eyes now locked on the unmoving body of Sherlock Holmes.

No… this just wasn't right at all.

Sherlock lay motionless a few feet from him, his body seemingly frozen stiff. John could see no rise and fall of his friend's chest. No twitch or movement as small chunks of ceiling dropped around him. His legs were still dangling over the edge of the pool but no water touched him. The blast had blown many gallons out and over the concrete sides and more seemed to be seeping out of holes John could not see.

He survived Afghanistan. He watched as his comrades died around him. His skills as a doctor had only gone so far out in the field without the proper equipment. But he kept going, knowing that others would need him.

Now Sherlock needed him and he couldn't move.

Fear had stalled him.

Shaking himself out of his reverie, Doctor Watson pulled his sore limbs up and crawled slowly over to the body before him. Rubble crunched under his knees but the pain didn't register. He could only focus ahead of him. John reached the prone form and gazed down with wide eyes, searching for any movement, any sign. There was no blood, no hint as to what had been injured. John had no obvious clues as to why his friend lay so still.

Finally he placed his ear to the soggy chest and waited.

"No!" John's fingers reached down to pick up a cold wrist and searched for something… anything. But nothing thumped back. Just the fast beat of his own heart in his chest as he looked upon the cold, pale form of his flat mate.

No no no!"

Another crack and a loud splash. The place was coming down but John Watson stayed where he was. He stared unbelievingly in front of him.

What had happened? How'd he get himself and Sherlock out of the pool? He didn't remember a thing after he launched himself at the taller man, sending them sideways into the water. He must have blacked out from the waters impact. His head did feel a bit fuzzy. But… how? How were they both across the pool… both out of the water?

Why was Sherlock's heart not beating?

John wedged his fingers under the wet black curls, still searching for any reason… a cause for Sherlock's silence. No blood… nothing amiss. No obvious sign to indicate a cracked skull. So why wasn't he breathing?

No! This couldn't happen! He wouldn't let it! He COULDN'T let it! Sherlock was a force to be reckoned with. His absolutely brilliant mind needs to be in motion to help save more lives, to solve crimes, to deduce.

To help John function.

John put his own body to work, placing his hands on the still chest. He pushed and pumped madly, willing the muscle inside the cold frame under his fingers to sputter back to life. He was buried so deeply in his task that he missed the heavy running footsteps come up behind him. Missed them stop and pause, taking in the scene. He didn't miss, however, the strong hands grabbing his shoulders. They started to pull him back.

"Stop!"

Did that come from his own mouth? Or the person who owned the hands… He couldn't tell…

"John Stop! He's gone… We've got to get out of here!"

Lestrade. John ignored the words and pulling hands. His arms still pumped up and down on the wet chest below him.

"John…. JOHN!" Suddenly strong hands were on his, stopping his movements. John looked up, something liquid dripping from his eyes as he did so. He noticed Lestrade balk at what he saw in his eyes. Suddenly the other man's voice became gentler. "We'll take him with us John. We'll get him out of here."

John Watson looked down slowly at the pale form. He was gone… Sherlock Holmes was gone. Nothing was right… wrong… All wrong. Lestrade was right. They had to get out of the destroyed building.

Then slowly John nodded and pulled his numb legs underneath himself. They both took an arm, slinging it over their shoulders. John tried to ignore the dead weight as Sherlock's head lulled forward onto his still chest. He barely withheld the sob escaping up his throat as Lestrade started the charge toward the gapping hall where the door used to be. All three escaped from the crumbling building… but John Watson knew one soul had been left behind. And he couldn't go back in and get it.

More to come... Thanks for reading!