Hi, this my first fanfiction, it's about Sherlock and John's friendship and what they mean to each other. No Johnlock yet but maybe I'll add some later on if I think it fits but this is mainly about their friendship. I hope you enjoy it and I'm welcome to suggestions for later chapters and I'd really appreciate some feedback. Enjoy!

In the past few years, John had grown accustomed to Sherlock's addiction to danger and habit of putting himself in potentially harmful situations. Gradually it became apparent to John that no matter how many times Sherlock put himself in harm's way, nothing tragic would ever happen and believed his immunity to injury to be long term luck. So you can imagine his shock and horror when he got the phone call.

He'd been enjoying a quiet Saturday morning, watching rubbish TV with a cup of tea in one hand and a paper in the other, sitting on his chair. Sherlock had left late last night and told John not to bother waiting up for him as he had a case that he doubted he would finish before dawn. John was tired from getting back late from work and hadn't bothered to even ask what case it was or what it contained, all he could think about was a quiet evening by himself with no Sherlock disturbances. As the morning reached 11 o'clock John glanced at his phone, surprised to find no texts or calls from Sherlock letting him know where he was, or if he needed any help. Deciding to dial Sherlock's number, John got up to put his now empty mug into the sink when his phone started to ring. Hesitant at first, John frowned as he searched his brain to recognise the number but found nothing. He realised he was being paranoid for nothing and answered the call.

"Hello?" John questioned, walking over to the sink, "Sherlock is this you? You've been gone ages where-"

"Is that Dr Watson speaking?" a voice interrupted.

John didn't recognise the voice. "Yes?" he answered, confused.

"Hello this is Nurse Ranson from St Bartholomew's hospital and I'm afraid I have some bad news. Earlier today your friend and roommate Mr Sherlock Holmes was admitted to our hospital with severe injuries and he was been asking for you-"

"What?" John gasped, "How did this happened, what's exactly wrong with him?" He started panicking and noticed a weight in his chest causing him to struggle with his breathing. Calm down he told himself you need to calm down.

"Unfortunately I don't know details Dr Watson you'll have to come down and speak to one of his doctors" The nurse replied sympathetically.

"I'll be right there" John said, ending the call. He grabbed his coat, his keys and headed to the door when suddenly he stopped. It was as if he couldn't move his legs from the shock. Horrible thoughts were chasing round his head, knawing at his sanity and he was overwhelmed with concern for his infuriating, yet, best friend. Guilt flooded his mind of the glee he had felt the previous night for having an evening to himself, if John had insisted to accompany Sherlock then perhaps he wouldn't now be lying in a hospital bed with his life hanging in the balance. All my fault, all my fault, all my fault.

When the cab reached the hospital John had finally managed to calm himself down. To be honest he wasn't aware of how strong his feelings were towards Sherlock until the moment that his death was possible, and John had decided that he was never, ever going to let that happen. He tried to picture gazing over to the kitchen and not seeing Sherlock staring into a microscope, or not being dragged out of bed in the middle of the night on a last minute case and it just wasn't possible. Sherlock had become too big a part in John's life, and to lose him would be to lose a part of himself, and to lose a part of himself would be to not have a life at all.

John ran up the hospital stairs faster than he even thought he could run, and found the reception desk. Catching his breath he nearly shouted the name in pure desperation.

"Sher-Sherlock Holmes" he gasped at the woman who looked very startled indeed. "Please I need to see him right away"

"Ah yes sir one moment," she slowly began to type at her computer while John tapped his fingers impatiently. Was there no way she could type any faster? Eventually John's anxiety got the better of him.

"SHERLOCK BLOODY HOLMES!" He shouted, "Please I need to see-"

"Dr Watson!" a voice shouted behind him. He turned round sharply and saw a man with light brown hair wearing scrubs and a stethoscope wrapped around his neck. He extended his arm out to John and John shook it quickly.

"Sorry for the wait I'm Dr Rhodes, Mr Holmes' doctor, if you follow me I can show you up to his room" he smiled. John agreed and left with him after glaring at the receptionist in anger. He wondered if Mycroft had been told about his brother's accident and if that's the reason Sherlock was in a private room, or if it had just been due to the severity of his injuries. John knew Sherlock wouldn't want Mycroft poking his nose into his affairs but since John was no relative of his, the hospital would have insisted.

"Right in here Dr Watson" Dr Rhodes gestured, interrupting John's thoughts. Through the transparent door John could see Sherlock's lifeless body sleeping on the bed, with numerous wires hooked up to him connected to machines beeping. For someone so robotic, the artificial heartbeat fitted Sherlock perfectly, yet when John looked at his face he saw that despite his occasional beliefs, Sherlock was human. Humans get damaged, and he looked more damaged than ever.

"Oh God" John muttered closing his eyes and putting a hand over his mouth. "Sorry, sorry just seeing him like that-"

"I understand the difficulty Dr Watson, really I do" Dr Rhodes sighed, "shall we go in so I can explain everything to you?"

John breathed deeply and nodded. He pushed the door forcefully open and went over to the side of Sherlock's bed, and sat down. Sherlock's face had a black eye and John could see blue and purple all around his neck and arms. The gleam in his eyes was choked by his pale lids like lungs struggling for breath, and he seemed so empty for a man so full. Every few seconds his fingers would twitch as if part of Sherlock's mind was bleeding through and John knew he felt his presence- he just knew it. He carefully wrapped his hands around Sherlock's not wanting to disturb the fearsome wires forced into his skin. Closing his eyes, John held up Sherlock's hand to his face and kissed it lightly, wanting to attempt to comfort his friend and get him through this difficult time. John had needed Sherlock since the day they met, but now it was time that Sherlock needed John.

"So tell me what happened." John whispered softly to Dr Rhodes.

Coughing, the doctor sat in the chair on the other side of Sherlock and flicked briefly through his notes before making eye contact with John.

"I'm afraid I can't tell you exactly how he got the injuries, you'll have to ask the police since they're the ones that found him and have been working on the case." He began "but I assume that they found him whilst attempting to solve the case Mr Holmes was working on at the time. When he arrived there was a deep wound to his stomach which we've managed to patch up the best we can, but the bruises, you must have realised also, indicated he had been badly beaten and he has suffered mass internal bleeding that we've stopped for now, but there is a risk they could start again. Minor scratches were found on the body but stitched up, blood loss is our main concern. Mr Holmes will be very weak when he wakes and it's important that he rests to allow himself to heal as quickly as possible. Also his chest will be sore as he broke a couple of ribs."

John stared at Dr Rhodes in shock. Someone did this to him? His Sherlock?

"I'll kill them" he whispered, "I need to talk to the police, I need to know who this was and why they did this to him"

Just as Dr Rhodes opened his mouth to answer, Mycroft strode through the door was a grim look on his face. He was wearing a black suit and his hair was slightly ruffled. His hands were empty due to the absence of his umbrella, and John realised why. Mycroft must have been in such a hurry to get to Sherlock, he hadn't even stopped to pick it up. John stood up to shake Mycroft's hand, and offered him his chair. Mycroft graciously accept and muttered a small 'thank you' before turning his attention back to his brother. Doctor Rhodes stood up to leave, indicating to John that Mycroft already knew all the details of Sherlock's injuries, and he must have just been speaking to the police.

"So how did this happen?" John demanded. Mycroft let out a deep sigh before looking at John rather morbidly.

"I have pieces of information from both the police and Sherlock-"

"Wait, Sherlock was able to tell you what happened?" John questioned.

"When I first arrived he was conscious and told me everything he could. It wasn't the police that found Sherlock, it was me John." Mycroft said stiffly. John was confused.

"How did you know where he was? Even I didn't know" John asked.

"He rang me"

"And he didn't ring-"

"John." Mycroft interrupted. "I swear I will tell you all I know but you can't keep asking questions, I need to start from the beginning"

John slumped back into his seat, taking Sherlock's hand once again. "Ok" he answered. "Tell me"

"Yesterday evening a letter came through the letterbox for you. Whoever sent it believed you to be in the flat but-"

"But I was late from work" John whispered. "So Sherlock opened it?"

Mycroft looked annoyed at John's second interruption, but didn't say anything. "Yes, you know he has that habit of opening things that don't belong to him and his curiosity got the better of him again. Anyway, he opened it and was shocked at the message." Just then Mycroft pulled out a crumpled bit of paper from his jacket, gently splattered with blood.

"Did Sherlock give that to you?" asked John. Mycroft nodded and read it out.

"Dear Dr Watson a.k.a Sherlock's lapdog,

I've grown tired of lurking in the shadows Dr Watson, it's time I came out to play again. I want to have some fun. And you Sir- unfortunately for you- are my game for today. Meet me in the alleyway off Northumberland Street ALONE, at dawn or I swear I will kill your precious Sherlock at the earliest opportunity, and everyone else you hold most dear. And if you tell anyone about this the same will happen, and believe me, I will know if you do.

Lots of love your friendly buddy, JM"

John couldn't believe it. If the note had been sent to him, why had Sherlock gone and not told John anything about it? Before he could ask, Mycroft continued.

"Sherlock spent the rest of the evening alone trying to decide what to do, when eventually he came to the conclusion that Moriarty was going to either hurt or kill you and so he went and took your place and offer his life in exchange for yours. Just before dawn I got a call from him telling me a location and hinting there may be a lead for Moriarty there, but when I arrived Sherlock was lying in a pool of his own blood with a hooded figure above him. My men ran after him but we've had no sign of him since. That's when Sherlock told me everything and I rang the ambulance." Mycroft finished.

"Then if the hooded figure wasn't Moriarty who was he?" John questioned.

"My guess is that Moriarty sent him to fetch you in as a hostage to attract Sherlock's attention. But when Sherlock turned up his new orders were to just kill him" Mycroft shrugged.

John felt his eyes sting with tears. He gazed down at his broken friend and couldn't help think that he was to blame for all of this. Sherlock had nearly died, trying to protect John.