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Not Broken Just Bent

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"I need your gun, John, " Sherlock said, leaning over John to protect him as best he could while scanning the warehouse catwalks above.

"I can't," John managed to reply. He could feel his legs, which was a good thing, but they both hurt like hell.

"I know you don't trust me anymore but I need it and you're in no shape to use it," Sherlock said, the anger clear in his voice. But that only covered the worry that was apparent only to someone who knew him as well as John did. And Sherlock was terrified right now.

"I really can't," John said again, in between shallow breaths. "I landed on it. And rolling me over," a few more breaths, "is a very bad idea right now."

"We have got to get you a real holster," Sherlock grumbled and they shared a weak smile at that.

After a few more tense moments of silence, John whispered, "Why haven't they come back for us? I knocked over so many crates on the way down that there's no way they didn’t hear it,"

"This place is so big that they couldn't pinpoint the sound with the way it echoed and at least you had the decency to fall in a dark area." So dark in fact that Sherlock almost stumbled over John in his desperate haste to get back to him. "With any luck, they're long gone." But Sherlock kept searching the warehouse, almost as if he was doing anything to avoid looking at John.

"Sherlock," John said, tugging at his sleeve, and he finally looked down at John.

"Are you alright?" he asked, the panic clear in his voice this time.

John was sorely tempted to remind Sherlock that he was lying on his back on a concrete floor after falling five feet but he knew that would only upset the man further. And he knew that he had more important things to tell Sherlock.

So he gingerly reached for Sherlock's hand instead and said, "No, but I will be." And he meant more than physically. John knew he'd already forgiven Sherlock but was long past time to let go of his anger. He was tired of being angry and tired of missing Sherlock when he was right there. And tired of punishing Sherlock. John would never forget but if he didn't let it go, they wouldn't make it. And he wouldn't survive losing Sherlock again, under any circumstances.

"And Sherlock, you need know, I trust you. I saw you trying to signal me to go left around the rotten boards. This wasn't your fault, okay? It's not that I didn't believe you, I just didn't move fast enough." Sherlock looked at him with such hope that John's breath caught. He wanted so badly to kiss him but the way his head was spinning, he didn't dare move up to close the gap between them. John settled for squeezing the hand that Sherlock hadn't let go of. "Alright, love?"

Sherlock nodded and opened his mouth to reply but was cut off by a very welcome sound from outside.

"Oh sweet Jesus, is that sirens I hear?" John asked, hoping that it was true but afraid it was a hallucination from hitting his head.

"Yes. I texted Lestrade before we left."

"You did?" John asked, completely shocked.

"I seem to recall you lecturing me several times upon my return about not going off without backup," Sherlock said, ducking his head.

"And you listened, " John said, questioning but with a smile.

"I always listen to you, John. Even when you weren't there, I always heard your voice."