A single gunshot rang through the house.
Death wasn't as painless as he expected it to be, Greg thought.
It seemed that the weight on his chest had just increased. Pain flared through his abdomen and chest. Every breath he took was getting more and more painful, harder and were delivering him less and less oxygen. He thought of giving it up altogether, maybe that would give him some deserved comfort.
Suddenly he heard a well known, voice. “Lestrade, open you eyes, can you do that for me? You've gotta stay awake and keep breathing”.
"John? What was John doing here?" Greg wondered while he tried to open eyelids that suddenly felt like they where made of concrete. He really tried but he had no strength at all. The solely task of breathing was using all of his stamina.
“Come on, Lestrade, help is here soon. Stay with us”
Greg felt himself drifting away. He turned his head towards the voice and tried to ask John why he was here, warn him about Greydon but the words where lost in a wet cough and Greg could feel something warm and wet running from the corner of his mouth, tasting the tale tell tang of copper in his mouth.
“Shhh, don't try to talk, just concentrate on breathing, everything's fine. Greydon's been taken care of.”
“Sherlock, give me your coat and hold Lestrade's hand, talk to him, say anything to comfort him” John shouted to Sherlock, who was leaning over Greydon, inspecting the bullet hole in the back of his head.
Greg felt his hand being picked up, being hold tight and that gave him some slight comfort. It was his last connection to the real world while his body got weaker and weaker and he could feel himself slipping into unconsciousness. He listened to Sherlock blabbering away, what an idiot he is going in here alone without checking Greydon's background, that John had made Sherlock talk to Sally on his phone and that she is on her way..."
Sherlock's voice slowly faded away and while he was really trying to hold onto this lifeline, fighting to get some precious oxygen into his lungs had now become a nearly impossible task.
The last thing Greg remembered before passing out was John reassuring him that everything is fine and that he'll be as good as new in no time.
John knew it was a lie. Lestrade would have a hell of a recovery if he would even make it. The two bullets that entered the DI's chest have most likely shattered his ribcage and tore through his lungs given the location of the entry wounds and the way Lestrade was breathing . He didn't want to think about the damage the bullet to the abdomen might have done. Wounds to the abdomen were always messy but what frightened him the most was the lack of an exit wound, unlike with the two chest wounds. He knew that it could mean that the bullet was lodged in the DI's spine but he pushed the thought back and applied more pressure to the wounds on Lestrade's stomach and chest, frantically trying to stop the man from bleeding to death.
He felt a wave of relive when he finally could heard the sirens of an ambulance in the distance. Lestrade's breathing was now virtually non existent and John wasn't sure how long further he could keep him alive without professional equipment.
“Sherlock, get out and show the medics the way” he said turning to Sherlock who was still holding the DI's hand even after he had long lost consciousness.
As soon as the Paramedics entered the room John filled them in with the status of the patient and while they where cutting away Lestrade's shirt to gain better access to his wounds John sat back and watched them work.
The paramedics hooked Lestrade up to a heart rate monitor and some IVs and while one medic put an mask on Lestrade's face to help his laboured breathing, the other one performed a chest decompression with a needle thoracostomy to relieve the pressure in Lestrade's chest. John flinched, that didn't look good at all.
Suddenly he heard an alarming sound from the monitor.
"Shit,“ one of the medics spat out. "The patient is going into shock. We need to get him to the hospital quickly.“
"He stopped breathing, give me the intubation kit," the second medic added. A flat tone was now heard from the monitor. "Cardiac arrest! Start CPR!“
John couldn't bare to watch this. The paramedics were fighting for Lestrade's life. One was applying CPR to his already battered chest while the other one was putting the patches for de-fibrillation on Lestrade's body.
He had seen scenes like that before, hell he was a doctor he was used to it but this time it was different. The man lying on the floor was his friend.
"Clear,“ the paramedic shouted before he applied the shock to Lestrade. Both paramedics leaned back and watched the heart monitor.
Seconds became hours to John but suddenly the confirming noise of a heart beating could be heard form the monitor. Not steady but beating and that was all John needed right now. After the paramedics where sure that their patient was as stable as the would get him at the moment they carefully lifted him onto the stretcher, trying to move his spine as little as possible, and wheeled him out of the house into the waiting ambulance.
John walked over to Sally Donovan who had been standing in the door frame and had watched the medics working on her boss. Police Officers where now swarming the room, photographing every small bit of the crime scene.
"He'll pull through," he said trying to reassure her.
She looked at him and he could see that she really wanted to believe him. "His heart stopped, John. He looked so...," her voice broke. John had never seen the normally strong woman so shaken.
"I know," he looked over where Lestrade's bloodied shirt and coat lay, now accompanied by some numbers put there by the crime scene investigation team. "But they got him back, he's strong."
Donovan nodded and turned towards one of the Police Officers who had asked her a question. When she turned back to John her face was all professional again. "What are you and the Freak doing here anyway? Lestrade didn't say anything about you being here when he called me."
"Well Sherlock had a hunch that something was odd about Greydon. And being Sherlock he just couldn't tell Lestrade that over the phone he had to check Greydon out for himself. So we took a taxi and when we arrived here we found Lestrade on the floor, Greydon dead on top of him. No idea what had happened." John said and pushed his old service weapon deeper into his pocket, praying that Donovan wouldn't notice.