Friends Protect People (Johnlock)

The rooftop

A/N: Yes, it's been too long but I got my muse back so yay here's a chapter! :) Medium length, was going to make it longer but i'm tired and I want to go to bed

I won't make you guys wait so long for the next update, but after this there is only 2 chapters left (and maybe an epilogue) *sobs* this book is my baby.

Thanks for all the comments on the last chapter you guys are the best! :)

Read on

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(John’s POV)

            We were on the roof of St. Bart’s hospital, Moriarty was sitting on the edge of the building casually while I was standing, tied up while having a gun pointed at my head by one of his men. Moriarty started humming quietly to himself.

            “Are you humming Stayin’ Alive?” I ask incredulously, and Moriarty sends me a playful smile.

            “Sorry, just having a weird sense of Déjà vu.” He winks. I blink confusedly a couple of times. Was I supposed to know what he was talking about? The door to the roof swings open, and Sherlock emerges. I feel the tension roll off my body in a nearly visible wave, and I can almost have the corner of my mouth quirk up into a little smirk, because if Sherlock is here than there is no way that Moriarty is going to win, when I see Callum right behind him… a gun pointed at Sherlock’s back.

            “Of course you’re working for Moriarty.” I spat, and the bastard has the decency to at least look guilty.

            “I had too.” He muttered, face blank.

            “John…” Sherlock whispered, looking at me as though he almost couldn’t believe I was there. There were deep bags under his eyes, I wondered if he had slept at all since I have been gone. He was so close to me, only 10 feet away.

            “Sherlock.” I simply said in response. Honestly, it was all I could say. And, judging by the look on his face before I said his name, it was all that I needed to say. Just an acknowledgement.

            “Aw, how adorable.” Moriarty crooned mockingly.

            “Shut up.” Sherlock snapped, turning his head quickly to glare at him.

            “I don’t particularly have time for your little reunion if all you’re going to do is make moon eyes at each other.” He sneers. “Besides, I’m on a tight schedule, and someone needs to die.”

            “I can make it an easy choice.” Sherlock says, pulling out his gun.

            “Oh, left hand Sherlock? I wouldn’t trust yourself, your arm is shaking terribly. What happened to your right?” My eyes follow Moriarty’s and I can see a dark stain on the sleeve of Sherlock’s coat.

            “I got shot.” He says simply, and Moriarty glares at Callum.