John opened his eyes with a feeling in his gut that told him he wasn't alone.

He glanced around nervously, anticipating a doctor with more morphine. He didn't see anything, though, and straightened up to see the door slamming shut with a loud, echoing bang and a click.

The room was eerily silent, spare two thrumming, beeping monitors on his side. John glanced over at the readings- normal, that's good. Better than flatlining, I guess. He shifted around, once again thanking Mycroft for the comfy white t-shirt and pajama pants he insisted the doctors let him wear. John wasn't about to stoop down to a humiliating hospital gown just yet.

He heard the shuddering rumble of the A/C and subconsciously pulled the covers a bit closer into his sides. It was beginning to get cold in the room almost as soon as the rumbling stopped, and the steady stream of air came through.

BORED!

Honestly, if this is what Sherlock feels like all the time, I might actually ask Moriarty to make a case myself. I'm about to explode from boredom, John thought, purposely avoiding the term 'die,' even in his thoughts. The idea of himself ceasing to, well, exist was a bit too much for him to wrap his brain around. Not yet, anyways.

Another shuddering rumble came from the A/C, which then abruptly stopped. The room was silent, spare the steady beeping of the monitors. Beep. Beep. Beep. John wanted to throw them out the window to the side, and was seriously considering it before the speakers crackled to life. The hospital had a speaker system?

"Patient John Watson," the voice- a man's- began. "John H. Watson... So good, indeed, to see someone back from the dead, isn't it?"

Beep. Beep. Beep beep beep.

"I should think it is. I do apologize if it gets a bit rough in that room, or cold, or anything- this building is hardly very reliable when it comes to such menial things like structure."

Beep beep beep beep-

"Do realize that this will not be quick and painless. It may not even result in death, though. I honestly can't tell what will happen. It is simply a sacrificial play. And I'm willing to sacrifice, Patient John Watson."

Beep beep beep beepbeepbeepbeepbeepbeep-

The voice laughed before the speakers abruptly shut off, followed by a low rumble. John sat up in his hospital bed, his heart monitor beeping erratically. Gritting his teeth, John placed his hand over the I.V. and was about to take them out himself when he heard a knock on the door.

He turned to see the face of Jim Moriarty staring back at him, baring his teeth in a grin as he waved.

John's heart jolted in terror as the building crumbled again. He noticed a few bits of dust shifting through the air from the corners of the room. The shrill beeping of the heart monitor wasn't helping his panicky thoughts, so he ripped out the I.V. drips and began to throw his covers back with a gut-wrenching pain tore through his lungs.

He immediately sat back with a groan, clawing at his chest. Two inches from the heart, Mycroft had said. Two inches.

After a while, the pain subsided- John sat up much more carefully, noticing even more dust coming from the ceiling. Suddenly, with a loud crunching noise, the entire room shifted, and John was jolted a bit to the side. He quickly braced himself with his arms, glancing around wildly before deciding to try his luck at making it to the door.

The bed rattled around on its wheels as he stood, one hand still on the mattress- suddenly, the room shuddered again, and John staggered over to the window, clutching at the sill with one hand while the other was over his heart as he tried to control his breathing.

He suddenly heard a pounding at the door again and whirled around, expecting Moriarty.

"JOHN!"

"Sh- Sherlock?"

No, it wasn't Moriarty- it was Sherlock, banging on the glass and tugging at the handle like a madman. The door, it seemed, wouldn't budge.

"JOHN!"

Sherlock, noticing he had John's attention, pounded on the door again- almost to the rhythm of his heart. Thump thump thump thumpthumpthump. John coughed, struggling to keep his heart in his chest as he straightened. The building creaked and groaned, and he was- again- tossed to the side. Thankfully, he was close to one wall- he stumbled into it, bracing himself with his shoulder, and glanced up at Sherlock, terrified. The detective jumped up and seemingly kicked the door before resuming his banging on the glass, bright blue eyes wide and gaping at the doctor locked inside.

"JOHN! JOHN, THE DOOR'S LOCKED! COME OVER HERE!"

Of course, why would Sherlock understand the phrase 'I almost got shot in the heart, you can't expect me to perform amazing feats of fitness right away?'

"I'm trying," he rasped back, trying for all the world to make himself as loud as possible and make himself move as fast as possible all the while not collapsing from exhaustion. God, had he been starved for the last two weeks? He staggered a few more steps forward as the building shook again.

Sherlock yanked on the door handle every few seconds, his eyes still trained on John through the window until he finally reached it. The doctor's hands shook wildly as he placed one on the window and the other on the handle to steady himself.

"John, can you open it?" Sherlock yelled, struggling against the handle again. John gasped for breath but tried pushing down on the handle- it refused to give way. He glanced around for a lock on the side, but there wasn't one. He shook his head worriedly at Sherlock.

The detective swore, stepping back and running his hands through his hair. The building rumbled again, and he barely managed to keep himself standing- John held onto the door handle as if it were a lifeline. Thumpthumpthumpthump.

Sherlock resumed kicking at the door, trying to bust in. John glanced around the room for anything that would help.

"John! The window!" Sherlock gestured wildly behind John towards the room's one window. "Check the window!"

"Sherlock, I- I can't," John wheezed, half hunched over.

"Yes, you can, John,"Sherlock retorted.

"N- no, Sherlock, I can't," he cried with desperation laced in his tone. "I'm not-" the building shook again, nearly crashing him to the floor- "not exactly... strong enough to walk all the way over there."

Sherlock's eyes widened fractionally before glancing at the door. "We'll, there's got to be-"

There was suddenly a loud groaning noise, and the entire hospital pitched to the side. Sherlock and John gripped onto the door handles for dear life, trying to stay standing. John felt his head spinning a bit, and shook it before realizing something. It was also the moment he heard a loud clang, and looked up in horror to see his door handle had simply snapped off.

"Sherlock, your gun!" He croaked, pointing at Sherlock's coat.

"My what?" More dust fell on either side, coating their hair and making Sherlock's turn a mousey grey.

"Your GUN!" John braced himself on the angled wall with one hand while making a shooting gesture with the other. "Shoot the glass, it'll break!"

Sherlock nodded in realization before pulling out his gun and pressing his barrel to the glass. He glanced down it at John, who was staring expectantly.

"Well? What are you waiting for?" John demanded shrilly.

"Move out of the way," Sherlock barked hoarsely. John took a step to the side just as the hospital lurched again. He barely managed to hold himself up while Sherlock was pitched backwards, his gun skittering down the hall as he scrabbled for a hold on the tile floor.

"Hey!"

John heard a muffled shout that wasn't Sherlock's from outside the hall. He tried to peer through the window for a better look and saw several men dressed in all black racing down the hall.

"Sir, you need to get out of here," one of them barked at Sherlock. He shook his head fiercely, pointing to John on the other side of the window.

"I'm not leaving," John heard Sherlock growl. "He's stuck in there."

"Sir, we'll try to help him as best we can, but you need to leave right now before this building collapses on both of you," the other man replied. "We don't have time to waste arguing."

"I can survive a building fall," Sherlock replied harshly. "I'm not leaving."

"Sherlock." John pounded on the glass, grabbing everyone's attention. He managed a weak smile at Sherlock, his hand still on the window.

"It's okay. Get out of here, and I'll catch up later. It'll be fine, yeah?" His somewhat convincing tone wasn't helped by his cough at the end, but he kept his eyes on Sherlock, who refused to budge. Another groan came, this time from the floor of the room, and John's heart jumped into his throat. Thump thump thump.

"No! I'm not leaving again," Sherlock growled, walking up to the glass and placing his hand opposite John's. "You- you know you said almost exactly that two weeks ago, right?"

"Guys, take him out, we'll start on the door," a voice called from behind Sherlock, who stiffened.

"No, I'm staying. No-! STOP!"

A few of the men had grabbed Sherlock and were dragging him away as he thrashed wildly in protest. "JOHN!" He roared, trying to push past the two men. John watched from the window as the other three began working at unlocking the door. A crash sounded from behind him- John whirled around in horror as a slab of the ceiling fell onto the heart monitors. Thump. Thump. Thump.

"JOHN! Let- me- go!"

Sherlock struggled against the holds of the two men, who refused to budge as they practically dragged him down the hall and through the stairwell. Sherlock was screaming the whole way until they pitched him backwards out onto the pavement. He stumbled before regaining his balance just as a hand grabbed his arm.

"Sherlock! What's going on?!" He whirled around to see Lestrade, glancing up at him with wide eyes.

"I- John- hospital- building-"

Moriarty's chilling words rang in his head over the intercom: "It is simply a sacrificial play. And I'm willing to sacrifice Patient John Watson."

"All right, hey, take a deep breath." Lestrade patted Sherlock's back as he bent over, gulping in lungfuls of air. The hospital let out another groan as the building began to crumble. Several people were in a panic, rushing out of the doors and onto the street. Lestrade began to pull Sherlock backwards, who refused.

"No," he choked. "No." He straightened, glancing down at Lestrade and jerking his arm away. "John's still inside. Third floor. His door-" he broke off, starting back towards the hospital. "I have to go get him!"

"Sherlock!" Lestrade grabbed him and yanked him backwards. "Sherlock, I can't let you go in there. The building's falling apart!"

"But John's inside!" He yelled back, trying to push himself away. Lestrade shook his head and dragged the consulting detective backwards, away from St. Bart's. The building groaned again, throwing up more dust, and the two watched in horror as a section of the corner simply fell off of the building. The heap of bricks landed with a crash on the pavement, sending the scared crowd into an outright panic.

"Lestrade!" Sherlock heard Donovan yell as two sets of footsteps came rushing up to them. He turned to glare at Donovan and Anderson, who were gaping up at the crumbling building. "What's going on?!" she went on, horrified. "We were just-"

She was cut off as the building gave another groan, and another section of the top floor crumpled to the ground. The four of them scrambled backwards instinctively- but through the dust, inside the falling hospital, Sherlock caught a sight of blonde hair.

"Wait-! John!" Lestrade and Anderson both had to hold one of Sherlock's arms as he threw himself forward.

"Sherlock, wait, no!" Lestrade yelled, yanking him back by the collar. A section of the roof fell off again, landing a few meters in front of the entrance. The entire street seemed to shake, then, as the pillars holding up the first floor began to crack.

The three policemen and consulting detective watched in horror as the first floor of St. Bart's Hospital was crushed right in front of them.

"JOHN!" Sherlock yelled, coughing as dust billowed up several feet into the air. The crowd, which a moment ago was in chaos, simmered down to a mute shock as the dust settled. The foursome froze, Lestrade's grip tightening unconsciously on the scruff of Sherlock's jacket.

Sherlock suddenly yanked himself forward. Lestrade let go hesitantly before he and the other two policemen raced after him. Sherlock dashed around the section of the room, glancing around wildly, chest heaving.

"Sherlock-"

"Where is he?" he asked, whirling around to look at the three policemen. "I- I just saw him. Where-" he broke off again, turning in circles like a lost dog, scampering towards a pile of bricks and half-heartedly tossing them aside.

"Where's John?" He cried, his voice breaking. "Lestrade. Help me find him."

Lestrade, Donovan, and Anderson stood staring at Sherlock before slowly moving towards where the entrance of the hospital had been. Sherlock trodded forward, occassionally shifting bricks and mortar out of his way as he moved towards the crumbling building.

As he moved another pile out of his path, dust and dirt flew up into his nose, making him cough. Sherlock waved it away absently, surveying the rubble again. His ears practically pricked up as he heard another cough, and turned to the three policemen questioningly.

"Did you hear that?" he asked Sally, who was standing closest. She started before glancing over, raising an eyebrow.

"Hear what?" she asked. Sherlock raised his hand, waiting, until he heard the cough again. Donovan had heard, too- she dashed over and Sherlock practically leaped into the mound of debris. He tore into yanking away the bricks while Donovan skirted around to the other side, making Sherlock freeze with a sudden shriek.

He and the other two policemen raced over to where she was standing, just as one of the men in black shoved a bit of a ruined stone column away and dragged himself up. He reached down into where he had been buried and all-too-slowly pulled out John Watson- covered in dust, nearly hyperventilating and clutching at his chest, but alive.

Sherlock choked on air as he rushed forward, crouching down in front of John so that as the doctor double over, he was eye-to-eye with him. "Are you all right?" Sherlock demanded, his hands outstretched but untouching as if he wanted to help, but was afraid John might shatter if he touched him.

"Are you all right?" He demanded again. The man in black kept one hand on John's shoulder as he gasped for breath. Sherlock caught John's eye and held his gaze, silently willing him to slow his heart rate as well as his own.

"Ye-" John coughed and spluttered momentarily before shakily straightening as he stood. His shoulders were heaving with effort and his hands shook at his sides, but he managed to look Sherlock in the eye before replying. "Y-yeah, I'll be fine. Just- just a bit... difficult to breathe."

By now, several police cars were surrounding the building. A few ambulances (probably from nearby, smaller hospitals, Sherlock realized) accompanied them, helping any other patients or injured civilians. Rescue teams scowered the area, handling several rescue dogs as they sniffed around.

"M- mor-" John broke off with a cough again, and Sherlock and Lestrade whipped back around to him.

"More? More what? Air? Do you need to sit down?" Sherlock rushed out, stumbling as if he had tried to step forward too quickly.

John shook his head before replying. "Moriarty," he corrected, making Sherlock's blood run cold. In all the previous events, he had forgotten the chilling speaker announcement.

"This was Morairty's doing?" Lestrade gaped at John, who nodded slowly.

"He- he-"

"John, you need to sit down or something, mate." Anderson looked on worriedly while Sally whirled around, rushing off towards one of the ambulances in search of a doctor. John, with Lestrade's help, slowly lowered himself down onto a pile of rubble as a makeshift chair.

"Sherlock?"

He turned slowly away from John, analyzing him with his eyes, to see his brother a few feet away. Tie is tied loosely, shoes are scuffed, wearing his Audemars Piguet chain, pinkie finger tapping on the umbrella... Mycroft was worried?

Sherlock ambled over, and the two Holmeses glanced over each other in a way that would only express concern in their family.

"Is he...?"

Sherlock cast a quick glance over his shoulder at his doctor, who was now being examined by another and surrounded by the three policemen. The only safer place at that point, really, would have been at Sherlock's. "He will be fine," he replied offhandedly.

"Quite. I should be making arrangements for him to continue his recovery on Baker Street, then, I presume?"

Sherlock shot his brother a flash of a grateful glance along with a nod before smirking. "How was Switzerland?"

"Oh, rather boring. You don't want to hear about it," Mycroft retorted, sticking his nose in the air ever-so-pompously.

"Oh, but the scratch on your knuckle says-"

"Well, I say you should go back to Doctor Watson. You'll find everything he needs in the flat by the time you return," his brother said, pointing with his umbrella behind Sherlock. They both smirked to themselves as they turned away, Sherlock brightening a bit as John headed towards him, and walked quickly to meet him more than halfway.

"John."

"Sherlock."

"Are you all right?"

John let out a tired sigh, glancing around. "I will be, hopefully."

"I-" Sherlock cut off, trying to make the words form in his mouth before shaking his head in recognition. "Shall we take a cab home?"

"I'm going to assume that was Mycroft, 'making arrangements' for me to finish recovering at the flat," John grumbled, but nodding in assent as they slowly began walking a few streets down, around the traffic, to catch a cab. Sherlock held himself back, walking as slow as John- which was, to Sherlock's mild aggravation, a bit painfully slow.

"Your deduction skills are improving, John." Sherlock gave him a smug smile as they went down, finally catching an empty cab and heading towards Baker Street.

"I found out how he did it," Sherlock began. John's eyebrows raised impossibly high.

"Sherlock, you were on the scene for a minute and didn't even see him. How do you know how he blew up the whole hospital?"

"No, not that," Sherlock went on impatiently. "I found out how I didn't catch you were missing during the chase. Moriarty had fixed the tapes, and we went through them. There's a man who was involved- we caught him- and we're working on the others."

"Oh." Understanding- and another sort of confusion- washed over John like a wave. Yes, that was all good and fine- he guessed Sherlock would want to redeem himself for his slip-up, but why did Sherlock care? Sure, he had been tricked- in a way- but wasn't the case more important? Like finding out where Moriarty was?

Sure, the salt bomb deductions (Donovan and Anderson had totally filled him in on that) were rather genius, don't get him wrong. But it seemed all of Sherlock's efforts were focused, well, elsewhere- according to the police department.

"Of course, tomorrow I will definitely being returning to the crash site and figuring out how he 'blew up the whole hospital,' as you said," Sherlock added, interrupting John's thoughts.

John shook his head with a smile. "Of course you will."

There was a semi-awkward silence after that for a few moments.

"I'mgladyou'rebackJohn," Sherlock suddenly blurted out. He tapped his fingers anxiously on the windowsill of the car, casting worried glances towards John. He had apparently heard Sherlock, and beamed in reply.

"I'm glad you're back, too, Sherlock."

Sherlock could barely suppress his smile as he nodded in assent and turned back to the window. He had a gut feeling that he wouldn't be alone again for a while.

Author's Note:

John's alive, he's (going to be) all right, and the Dynamic Deducing Detective-Doctor Duo is back! (Would you believe me if I told you I made that genius up on the spot? Because I did, and I'm proud.)

But yes. Moriarty blew up St. Bart's . No, it's not just a pile of rubble now (except for most of the first floor), but it's not exactly the safest building to be in anymore. Sherlock'll ease back into his 'normal' self quickly as John recovers, which is good, because it's case time and I feel like clapping my hands like a child every so often as I plan this out. It's great.

And oh my gosh you guys' comments are THE BEST EVER. They are literally so fantastic to read each and every time, and they're pretty much the reason I'm so excited about writing this (the first chapter was originally a one-shot on it's own, you know). I don't reply to them because I'd feel like replying to them all, and it's a bit like birthday presents- I'd feel like I seemed monotonous if I replied "asdfghjkl thankyousomuch iloveyou you'rethebest [some unintelligible noise]" to each one, even though it really is my reaction every time. You guys don't understand how happy it makes me to check my phone during the day and have any reviews or favorites or follows on this story. If I had to write a morbid simile, it'd be like Sherlock finding a triple-homicide or something.

Wow yeah that was creepy and not happening again but you get my point, right? It's amazing and I love you guys tons and can't thank you enough for your comments and reviews.

My heart goes out to any and all British readers who have been going through the strangely hot weather the past few days- and for the sake of the story (and in part on my ignorance and lack of knowledge), let's pretend/assume St. Bart's has a loud, old, train-engine-rumbling A/C like most American buildings do. The A/C is now dedicated to you guys, and as Doctor Johnny Watson would say, drink plenty of fluids, wear light clothing, and be safe guys 3

Well. He wouldn't add the heart, really. But- again- you get the point.

One last thing- if anyone wants to come up with more creative, linked, or overall better chapter titles, t! I'm terrible at naming chapters- for now I'm barely coping with tying the first and last sentences of each chapter together to the best of my ability (it happened this chapter, which is good). For now I'm just naming them after small or repeated elements in each chapter, so they're a bit scatter-brained and last-minute. So there's that.

All right, I'm going to stop the Author's Notes (aka ramblings) before they end up longer than this chapter. Thanks for reading, and as always, comments/critiques/reviews are greatly appreciated :)