The snow fell softly as John walked down the street, he breathed in the sharpness of the cold air as he continued to walk back to 221B Baker Street. Suddenly he received a text alert, but knowing Sherlock all too well he ignored it. John was almost back to the flat and Sherlock could wait the few minutes it would take for John to get there. Anyways it was probably nothing too important, most likely asking John to do a meaningless task such as retrieving a pen that was laying within inches of Sherlock's reach. John chuckled to himself about the silly detective but found his attention was drawn to bright flashing lights in the street in front of him. He quickened his pace as he noticed that the lights were outside of Baker Street and he began to fear for the worst. As he got closer he caught sight of a dark curly haired man being placed on a stretcher, the all too familiar trench coat being removed by the paramedics. He rushed forward and the scene slowed before him, the flashing lights, the blood stained pavement, and the faint cry of Sherlock's name, which John was surprised to realize was his own voice. He reached for the stretcher but was pushed back by paramedics, they warned him to stay back as they loaded him into the ambulance and all John could do was cry over and over again that he was Sherlock's best friend. They nodded and gave their apologies as they continued to deny John access to Sherlock. Eventually the ambulance pulled away and John was left standing in the blood stained snow, surrounded by policemen and noise, but only feeling silence. He stared down at the ground and found a phone lying in the snow. He picked it up and instantly recognized it as Sherlock's. He put it in his pocket and walked over to the police, deciding that he should find out what had happened. He was informed that Sherlock was struck by a car but the due to the snow the driver was unsure of why Sherlock was standing in the middle of the road. They thought maybe some sort of distraction but so far nothing had been found. They promised John that they would do their best to find out more and John thanked them, unlocking the door to their flat. He walked by Mrs. Hudson who offered tea and biscuits but John just dismissed her with a wave of his hand, slowly trudging up the stairs. He took off his shoes and sat in his arm chair, a sigh filling his entire body. It was unlikely John would be able to get in and see Sherlock tonight so he may as well wait until tomorrow. He removed his jacket and pulled out Sherlock's phone, that's when it struck him. John closed his eyes and pulled out his phone, taking a deep breath as he unlocked it and clicked on Sherlock's message, the message that had caused the accident. No message in the world could be important enough to be hurt the way Sherlock had been.
We need to discuss something John. I have something important that I have been meaning to tell you for a long time. Come at once if convenient, if inconvenient come anyways–SH
Although Sherlock sending this text should have upset John, more than anything it struck his curiosity. Why had Sherlock sent this text? It was very unlike him, most his text were meaningless tasks or needing more milk. Was this important thing just the need to run to the grocery store, or was it something more? Either way John definitely needed to talk to Sherlock about this. As he got ready for bed his mind was running a million miles per hour, what could have been so important? Why had he decided to send the text when he did? And most importantly, where was Sherlock going when he sent the text? John barely slept that night and when he awoke in the morning he hurriedly showered, dressed, ate, and ran out the door, heading straight for Barts. Mrs. Hudson called after him but he was way too determined to respond, with a wave of his hand he rushed out of the flat into the cool morning flurries.