Wow, an update! I had this idea from watching Ride Along on Saturday (it's really funny, watch if you can!) and did lots of research in fear of inaccuracies. Fall Out Boy helps to. Anyway, enjoy! :)

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It started with a normal day in the life of Sherlock Holmes and John Watson, chasing a criminal down the streets of London in the middle of the night.

It was all going normally until the suspect pulled a pistol out of his jacket pocket and started shooting wildly.

Since neither Sherlock nor John dropped to the ground, they assumed that the criminal was a bad aim, like 90% of the people that attempted to shoot at the duo.

When the suspect was cuffed and shoved into the back of a police van, they thought that this was the normal end to a chase. However, John knew something was not right because of a streetlight shining on Sherlock's leg and the dull glistening of something that shouldn't be there.

"Sherlock, you're bleeding."

"What? John, I think I'd know if I was injured."

"No really, look at your leg."

"Ridiculo- oh. Oh. John."

Sherlock looked shocked, and almost didn't believe the dull burning sensation in his leg until a warm trickle of blood was coming out of the hole in his trousers.

John would've almost laughed at Sherlock's horrified expression, but instead of cracking up in front of the clearly terrified man, John went into his doctor mode.

"The bullet went straight through, and lucky for you there don't seem to be any bones broken."

John took off Sherlock's scarf an wrapped it tightly around his leg to diminish the bleeding.

"Right, we have to get to hospital."

"Yes John, just because I've been shot doesn't mean I'm an imbecile. I know that."

"Right then. Lucky for you, we are only about fifty metres to the nearest A&E and the adrenalin is still in your system, so you hopefully won't feel too much."

When the pair arrived at the hospital, they received strange and worried looks from the staff and patients.

To the duo's disappointment, Sherlock had to stay overnight.

To Sherlock, the first night hurt like the hounds of hell were gnawing at his leg, especially after the morphine wore off. After that, it was all pain and weird looks for a while.

When the hospital finally let Sherlock leave and their their taxi stopped at the door of 221B, they faced the most difficult task of all.

Climbing the stairs.

Thankfully, Sherlock had been given an extra dose of morphine before he departed, so he did not cry out each time pressure was out on his injured leg.

Recovery was fast, and exactly a week later, the pair were chasing yet another (unarmed) criminal up small alleyways and past downtown newsagents.

When John is asked about this event, he says that he didn't save his friend's life, because Sherlock wasn't in life threatening danger.

On the other hand, Sherlock stubbornly insists that without Watson's help, he would have died, or at least had an extremely more painful recovery.

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Hey all! I hope you enjoyed this story, and I think that I'm going to finish it here. If I get more inspiration I may continue, but that is quite unlikely. Anyway, bye and have a nice day :3