John was helpless. There was nothing he could do. If the situation was reversed, Sherlock would have thought of something, would have saved the day. But because of his own arrogance, it was Sherlock who had the knife to his throat and not John. This serial killing thug had Sherlock tight; there was no way he could get free. Sherlock was a slip of a thing and although he did know how to fight, he had no chance against a man twice his size in every direction.

John stood with his hands above his head in surrender.
"I have no weapons and I will not come any closer, please just let him go." A sneer came from the ugly man.
"Shoot him John!" Rasped Sherlock, barely audible as the grip from the man was constricting his breathing.
"I can't Sherlock, I might hit you!" and John couldn't shoot Sherlock, not for all the serial killers in the world.

The murderer pressed the knife harder into Sherlock's neck as he decided what to do. A small trickle of blood ran down Sherlock's throat and was soaked up by his collar. John saw the blood and it felt like his heart was bleeding too. He hated seeing Sherlock in pain. The look of uncertainty cleared from the killer's face, he had obviously decided on his course of action. John prepared himself, he suspected he would run. What he did not suspect was for the knife to be dragged across Sherlock's neck, leaving a line with red liquid seeping out. Terror filled John up. He didn't even have to think twice. He ran to Sherlock's side immediately ripping a shirt sleeve off desperately trying to stop the bleeding. The killer had run for it, out of the door and onto the street.

"After him John," Sherlock whispered, fainter than before.
"Shut up Sherlock," he mumbled as he frantically put to use all the training he had had in the army into saving Sherlock's life. Once he had done all he could do he called an ambulance and then cradled Sherlock on his lap.

"Stay with me. We're gonna need to catch that bastard again."
"Shouldn't…have let…him go." Sherlock's breathing was getting shallower and his eyes were getting distant.
"Don't even think about it," said John with a lump in his throat. But Sherlock was slipping fast. "What about Moriarty? We need to get him first." John was getting desperate. He could hear the sirens in the background. "Please Sherlock." A tear ran down his face as he bowed him head and pulled Sherlock closer to him. In 30 seconds they had gone from joking to this. "I love you."