Title: Through the Fires of Hell
Fandom: Sherlock BBC
Pairing: John/Sherlock
Rating:PG
Word Count: 250
Notes: Unbetaed. Written for prompt 17-hell. 

For  a second it was fire, burning, an explosion, then there was the sensation of John's weight hitting him, as he tackled Sherlock into the pool.

Then came terror, the realization that John wasn't in the pool. Logically, he should stay in the water, it wasn't safe out of it yet, but John was out there.

John, who could still be alive, who could need him to save him. John, who.... who was important, no essential to him.

He could hear sirens, ambulances and police cars in the distance, heading this way.

Blood, near the pool, near where he'd last stood as he'd fired the gun.  Tracing the blood, John's still body found.  Still breathing, good.... gunshot wounds, bits of debris crushing him, bit not good.

He pressed his hands to the wound that was bleeding the most. Keep pressure on it.... his mind kept repeating. A symphony of keep pressure on it, and John don't leave me, playing in his head. Then the paramedics arrived, he was injected with a sedative and the world went black for a while.

Several days later, Sherlock sat on the uncomfortable chair, in John's room. He was holding John's hand, tightly waiting for John to wake up so that he could yell at him for caring about Sherlock too much and didn't he know that he should have saved himself instead.

Then blue eyes, fluttered and opened, and the words that had been playing in his head, froze and died on his tongue.