I’m not sure what this fic is going to be yet, exactly, but here’s the start:
Sherlock winced as the gun blast echoed in the space. He glanced over to see John had moved his gun to a different target. But the men were dropping weapons now, the wounded one holding his arm. Sherlock’s phone was in his hand, already texting Lestrade. He couldn’t help but see the fear on their faces, the ice in John’s eyes. They were amateurs: John was not.