Arduis Fidelis (TheBlogger/Sherlock Holmes)

Sherlock rubbed his hands together thrilled at the way things were panning out.

"The plan is a simple one and don't worry John, I'm not going to allow anyone to kill you...." he clapped his friend on the back in a cheery manner.

"We go back to Baker Street and we wait. The killer has been striking quickly and efficiently, it's only a matter of time before he goes for his final victim. It's just a simple stake out. No big deal. You've got a gun John, I'm sure we can defend ourselves sufficiently. Lestrade, if you could have a couple of men waiting outside in a car that would be helpful."

John smiled awkwardly, over Sherlock's absence he had missed this part of being with Sherlock, and this was getting the adrenaline going.

"Sounds good, be like the old days. Why not?" John was now concerned, the idea of a stake out at Baker Street was a little bit worrying - the last one there led to Sherlock being severely injured and a man nearly killed.

"Yes, yes. Fine. I will be ready."

They then hail a cab back to Baker Street where John sat there quietly, and trying to keep a plan of exit in his head. "I am glad Mrs Hudson is out for the weekend, she hates when we bring work home with us."

After arriving back at Baker Street, Sherlock swiftly headed over to the windows and closed the curtains. Then he turned off all the lights except one small side light on the table, and crouched down by John's armchair.

"OK..." he whispered. "We'll wait in here for a couple of hours then we should probably go and wait in your bedroom. If the killer comes after midnight he'll be expecting you to be asleep in your room. Where's your gun? I think we should have it handy..."

John watched Sherlock with curiosity - he was known to pull off some excellent stake-outs and taught Lestrade's team how to execute a good result.

"Would you like some coffee?" John spoke, knowing that a long night may be ahead of them.

When Sherlock explained the plan, John nodded and was thankful for his friend's skills. "Sounds good Sherlock. So am I to lay in the bed and then we ambush him, is that clear? Yes, yes - my gun is in the desk." John then walked over and got it out - and looked at it with a thrill of excitement.

Sherlock nodded. "Coffee would be brilliant. Thanks."

He watched John as he removed the gun from the desk and was rather looking forward to the night ahead. Sherlock was confident they'd get their man and the result they were after.

"Lie in the bed then ambush him, yes. I'll need to be with you just in case there's two of them, or in case anything goes wrong," he paused at John's surprised expression, "Don't worry I'll leave my clothes on." He smirked to himself.

John was about to go to the kitchen and when Sherlock mentioned about mention he was joining him in bed John cracked a small laugh.

"I do not mind what you wear Sherlock, we have to make it look realistic as possible, maybe put the dressing gown on."

He then made the coffee and walked back over and nodded.

"I suppose he may have some lackies with him. Very well then, have you got some cable ties to keep them restrained?" John asked, trying to clear his head from the thought of Sherlock in John's bed.

Sherlock smiled. "Yes, a dressing gown will be sufficient I'm sure." John came over with the coffee which he took with a thanking nod.

He took a sip then stood up. "I'll just get some provisions from my room. I'm pretty certain I've got some rope and a couple of pairs of handcuffs. And the riding crop."

Sherlock darted across the living room and headed to his bedroom to pick up the relevant items.

John shook his head in disbelief, Sherlock was a curious man and the fact he had such things are a riding crop and handcuffs still amazed John. He trusted Sherlock with his life.

John then received a text from Lestrade, explaining that a team would be nearby.

"Okay that's good. Lestrade has a team on standby."

John sipped his coffee,then made another one for them both and time passed and it was about 1135 when they decided to go and get themselves in place.

"Ready?" spoke John confidently, picking up the gun as he went passed.

Sherlock had spent an enjoyable couple of hours sat in his armchair drinking coffee after coffee with John. But the time soon slipped away and it was clear their killer was planning to wait until the dead of night before attempting to strike. Sherlock silently nodded at John to indicate they should head through to the bedroom. He got up from his arm chair and waited for John to grab the gun off the table.

"I'll be through in a minute," he said, "Just need to get my dressing gown on."

Sherlock made his way to his own room where he got changed out of his shirt and trousers, hanging them up in the wardrobe. Leaving only his boxers on, he slipped his favourite deep red dressing gown over the top and headed through to John's room.

John was already in bed waiting, gun in hand. Sherlock peeled back the covers on the opposite side of the bed and climbed in beside him, making sure they weren't physically touching each other. He would hate to give John the wrong impression. He was, after all, married to his work.

John smiled at Sherlock, and finished his last of the coffee. And there was an anticipation in the air. John picked up the handgun and headed into the bedroom to get ready.

John returned from the bathroom, with adrenaline running through his veins. He took a few calming breaths so his pulse and breathing was realistic to sleeping. John crept in the bed and got as comfortable as possible. Gun slightly under pillow so he could get it at ease.

When Sherlock entered he was slightly aroused by the image, as he knew Sherlock had only underwear on underneath.

"This is interesting, are you okay there? You will need to calm your breathing down - it will need to look realistic, I recommend you put your arm near me. We need it to be as realistic as possible."

John smiled to himself and closed his eyes, slowing his breathing down. It was going to be an interesting night.

Sherlock nodded at John's remark.

"Indeed. We need it to look like we're asleep, without actually falling asleep..." he poked John playfully, insinuating that he might be the one to fall asleep. He knew it wouldn't be a problem for him.

"You want me to put your arm near you? I thought you hated it when people thought we were gay..." he teased.

John shook his head, he was not even tired and was used to late nights etc being in the army.

"Excuse me, I am fairly capable of running a whole nighter. I will be wide awake - we are only acting asleep. REM will not be occurring."

John nodded. "We need to act like we are a couple especially in this case. Did you hear that noise?"

There was a creak in the floorboards below, John gripped his gun tight. The assailant was early, and it sounded like he had company.

Sherlock heard the creak too. He grabbed hold of John's shoulder, his senses on full alert, his body tense.

"They're here John..." he whispered. "We didn't have to wait too long after all...." He strained his ears, listening carefully, and could make out two sets of footsteps, creeping around in their living room. "There's two of them...good job there's two of us..."

Sherlock moved closer to John and wrapped his hand around his friend's waist, creating the illusion that they were a couple in bed together. "Now...back to sleep...." he hissed and closed his eyes, forcing his body to look relaxed despite his nervous energy and excitement.

John's adrenaline response was making him dizzy, and possibly the fact that Sherlock was so close to him was not helping.

John nodded and whispered "Ready as we will ever be."

When Sherlock wrapped his hand on John's waist, he gasped slightly. Then with the other hand gripped his gun tightly. John then close his eyes, listening out. He tried slowing his breathing down.

They could hear the footsteps heading up the stairs, then heard the turn of doorknob. John noticed they were speaking in Farsi, John tried to keep mental notes on what the men were saying.

One of the men opened the door and scanned the room and noticed the pair on the bed, he approached the bed and put a cloth over John's mouth - John instantly gasped.

Sherlock's heart was pounding with adrenalin. The hand he had wrapped around John's waist found its way to his hand and rested over the top of his gun, so they were both holding it together. The footsteps grew closer and the door creaked slightly as they pushed it open.

Sherlock could hear two men's voices, speaking in hushed Farsi. He couldn't understand what they were saying, he just prayed that John would be clever enough to translate and try and remember it.

He opened one eye ever so slightly, so that he was just squinting out from between heavily closed eyelids. He could just about make out the two shadows of the men drawing closer to their bedside, then suddenly he felt John jump beside him, his body tensing. Sherlock snapped open his eyes to see one of the men with a cloth held tight over John's mouth, his friend struggling against him. He grabbed the gun from John's hand and shot out in the dark at one of the men.

John was trying not panic, carbon dioxide was increasing in his bloodstream making him dizzy, he was struggling against the man. When he heard the shot John jumped and the man held the gag tighter, he felt a gun being forced into his side.

A muffled shout to Sherlock came out to make him aware the other man was about to grab Sherlock. The other man grabbed Sherlock, and struck him on the side of his chest then began fighting with him.

John was feeling quite threatened and controlling his breathing. He then grabbed the man and fought back against his assailant.

The room was pitch black and it was difficult to see anything except what was right in front of him. Sherlock's shot had obviously gone wide, as there was still someone on top of John apparently trying to hold him down. Sherlock sat up in bed and aimed the gun right at the man's head. They were close enough now...there'd be no chance of this shot missing.

He heard a small cry escape John's lips. It sounded like his name but before he could react he felt strong hands around his chest and neck pulling him backwards. The gun went off in his hand but fired into the ceiling then dropped from his hand altogether as he was struck violently in the side of his chest by some kind of blunt weapon. Sherlock rolled off the edge of the bed, winded, and received another kick to the torso. He managed to grab the foot of the leg that was kicking him and rolled over backwards, dropping the assailant to the floor with him.

John began defending himself and the sound of the gun made the man on top on him jump so he was able to restrain him effectively. John was panting and dry heaving from the gag. He then heard Sherlock grunt and thump on the floor - he could not see so was unsure of any possible injuries.

He told the man whom was his assailant to stay down whilst he knelt on him, he had called Lestrade to come - hoping he heard the gun shot's. John cuffed the man near him and knocked him out, just long enough to see what was going on. In a dry cough; "Are you okay Sherlock?"

John felt sick and dizzy, his military instincts pushed his symptoms aware to go and help Sherlock.

Sherlock was scrambling around on the floor with his assailant, trading kicks and blows, rolling around on top of each other. He heard John speaking something in Farsi and assumed from the tone of his voice that he had got the better of his opponent.

He turned his head for a brief second to look towards John, then he saw the glint of something sparkling. Sherlock snapped his head back round to his assailant just in time to see him raise a knife in the air. He rolled his body to one side quickly and the blade struck through his shoulder. Sherlock cried out with a gasp of pain and with his uninjured arm sent a punch flying into the man's face, knocking him from off the top of him.

Sherlock sat up, he grabbed the baseball bat off the floor that the man had used to attack him with originally and smashed it over his head, knocking him unconscious just as John came running over to him. The knife was still stuck inside his shoulder, he didn't want to remove it just yet as he knew it would start the excessive blood flow.

"Turn the light on John," he winced through gritted teeth.

John took an inventory of possible injuries to his friend and ran over to see Sherlock. He picked up his gun and then switched the light on.

John then restrained the the other unconscious man - hoping Lestrade would hurry up soon. That's when he noticed Sherlock's shoulder, he knelt down.

"Bloody hell, keep still. Let me see that." John quickly glanced at Sherlock, checking for signs of shock. "Sherlock, you will need stitches. I know you are not a lover of hospitals so I will treat you here. Just need to get my kit out."

John shifted to his desk where he had his medical kit and then returned to Sherlock. He put a gentle hand on his wrist to check his pulse, John smiled.
"I need you to lay on the bed." John assisted getting Sherlock on the bed.

"Right, I will remove the knife as it looks like it has only gone through some of the muscle sheaf. It will be painful and you will need to rest it."

John put some gloves on and got the sutures ready and a dressing. He proceeded with caution and removed the blade from Sherlock's shoulder, the blood flow was reasonable and he was able to stem the bleeding and finished suturing then placed a dressing on.
"Do you need any pain relief?"

"No I don't need a hospital," Sherlock muttered in agreement. "I'll be fine."

He staggered to his feet and hauled himself up onto the bed, giving the unconscious man a kick for good measure, then lay down on his back, the knife still protruding rudely from his shoulder.

Sherlock watched as John preparing and putting on his gloves, then gritted his teeth and looked away as the knife was removed. He emitted a small cry of pain then winced and groaned slightly as he watched the blood gushing out. John was quick fingered with the stitching and had soon managed to stop the bleeding.

"Please," Sherlock nodded and accepted the painkillers. It was pretty bad, there was no point trying to be brave around John, he figured.

John finished the procedure and looked through his kit for suitable painkillers. He then gave Sherlock a quick physical assessment.
"You will be fine. You need to rest the shoulder for a few days so no running after assailants, okay?"

Lestrade had come in and was shocked at the position they were in and the two fairly unconscious men.

"Lestrade, if you wouldn't mind take these men. You will need a Farsi interpreter. We will give you our statement tomorrow. It is gone midnight and we need a rest."

John looked to Sherlock, "Tea and bed? I may have to use the sofa as the bed is in a state of disarray

Sherlock felt safe under John's expert hands and the painkillers didn't take long to kick in. Soon, Lestrade arrived with a couple of other officers. Sherlock was very much amused by their surprised expressions when they saw the unconscious assailants, who were subsequently cuffed and taken away.

It had been quite a night, and Sherlock was pumped full of adrenalin and energy. He didn't think he'd be able to sleep a single wink but nodded at John's suggestion anyway. The tea part did sound good. Perfect in fact. He stood up from the bed and followed John through to the living room.

"Don't worry about the bed," he replied. "You can have mine. I mean....we can share. We've already shared one bed tonight so..." He trailed off, unsure whether this would be awkward for John. It didn't really bother Sherlock one bit. "I'll keep my dressing gown on of course," he added, just in case.

John went and made tea - and some customary toast. He then passed a cup to Sherlock who was sitting there looking very content. The adrenaline running through was wearing out and his throat was killing him.

John smirked at the comment of sharing a bed, he was accustomed to sharing with his military training and then laughed. "Very well then, do not worry about the dressing gown - it is in need of a wash anyway."

John smiled to himself, and sipped his tea contently.

"Huh. My dressing gown does not need washing!" Sherlock exclaimed indignantly. Then he peeled back one half of it and smelt around his arm pits. "Hmm. Maybe a bit." He caught John's eye and they shared a small smirk together. "Fine, I'll take it off."

Sherlock removed the dressing gown and hurled it into the wash basket, now just in his boxers. "Now I'm bloody freezing!" he joked. "I'm getting into bed, you can bring the tea and toast." And he ran through to his bedroom and climbed in between the sheets.