Ok so this story is going to be a bit much. It was designed to be read chapter by chapter for a good dose of John Whump. If you read it all at once it will probably be a bit overwhelming but as long as you are forewarned

John had spent a wonderfully lazy evening in the pub with Mike Stamford and was currently visiting the toilet before returning home to Sherlock. He was just washing his hands when he felt the hard metal of a gun being shoved forcefully between his shoulder blades.

'Unless you want me to put a bullet in your spine right away you better stand still and listen to what I say.' Came a man's hard voice from behind him. John did not recognise the voice but it was steady and calm and suggested that whoever was speaking meant business.

'You have chosen unwisely in your boyfriend, Dr Watson' The voice informed him and John could not help but sigh slightly.

'I don't have a boyfriend, I'm not gay. The man you saw me with tonight is just a friend.' John informed but even as he did so he had a nagging feeling that it was not Mike that the man was referring to.

'Don't play dumb, Dr Watson. You know to whom I am referring. Sherlock ruined my life and now I have every intention of ruining his.'

'Right, how did he ruin your life and how do I come into this?' John asked resignedly. He was so tired of nasty criminals using him to get to his friend. He feared this time would be no different.

Five years ago Sherlock Holmes put the love of my life behind bars. She did not deserve it. Her brother on the other hand deserved to be killed. What she did was a good deed.' John smiled slightly but said nothing. No one deserved to be killed, and Sherlock was nothing if not meticulous in making sure he got the right suspect. For a second a cabbie with a bullet through his shoulder flashed before his eyes. But that was different, the man hadn't died from the shot, he'd died from complications that the injury caused to his already diseased body, and after all John had shot to save a life, not to take one. No, this man was clearly mad if he thought that murder was ever justified.

'You have no idea what she suffered while inside. You will though, very soon. Five years of bullying. Slow torture drawn out over years. You can't imagine what it was like turning up to see her just to be told exactly what had been done to her, the beatings, the abuse, she was even raped. Can you imagine that? One woman raping another woman. They let her out last month and do you know what she did?'

'No.' John answered simply. He was fairly sure that he was about to find out.

'Only hours after her release she swallowed three packets of paracetamol down with vodka and then slit her wrists. The note said she was looking forward to finally being free.' The man spat the last word as though it was a curse.

'I'm sorry for your loss' John said, and was surprised to find that he actually meant it despite the gun pressed against his back.

'Oh you might be sorry, but not half as sorry as Sherlock Holmes will be. You see I'm going to make sure that he suffers the same way I have. I'm sorry that this means you have to suffer to, I have nothing against you personally, but it is unavoidable' The man did not sound sorry, he sounded angry.

Suddenly the gun was withdrawn and something hard impacted with John's back, sending him crashing to the floor where he slumped gasping for breath.

'I would tell you not to tell anyone, the way they told her, but that would rather defeat the purpose. You run home to him, and tell him what I did to you. I'm looking forward to seeing him crumble when he realises he cannot protect you, that he is helpless to stop you being hurt'. John twisted on the floor to look at his attacker, but he caught only the sight of a tall, dark haired man's back disappearing out of the toilet door.