Hey y'all! This is my second attempt at a proper fanfiction, I lost the thread of the first one, so so sorry for those who used to read it. This one, I hope, I will stay determined and focussed, and might actually finish! Especially if I get enough good reviews and feedback. Also, I don't always have a fixed 'what happens next', so please, feel free to comment and tell me what you think might be great to happen! You never know, I may really like your idea and use in in here!
Thank you so much for reading!
SnazzyPiLock
Disclaimer: I don't own any of these characters, I'm just borrowing them!
Chapter One
Sherlock fell through the door of 221B Baker Street, blood coated his hands and forehead. His breath was raspy as he called out. ''John?'' He croaked. A hand grasped for the wall, feet dragged themselves to the stairs. A bloody handprint smeared across the wallpaper. Sherlock's legs gave out and he collapsed at the bottom of the stairs. ''John...'' he called out again, before falling into unconsciousness.
Opening the apartment door, John was pulling on his coat. Sherlock had been gone too long, it was worrying him. John frowned; it was cold on the landing, as if there was a window or a door open. He got to the top of the stairs and looked down. What he saw caused him to draw a sharp intake of breath. He ran down the stairs, being careful not to tread on Sherlock's outstretched fingers. ''Sherlock?'' He said, kneeling down beside him and gently shaking his shoulder. No response. Panic flooded through him when he noticed all the blood. How long has he been there? Why didn't he hear him come in? John put two fingers to Sherlock's throat. A faint pulse could just about be felt. Faint, but there. Relief peeked through the worry for a moment. John moved Sherlock so he was no longer lying on his front. On seeing the bloodied forehead, he gasped again. A gash ran along Sherlock's wavy hairline. John bit his lip. He rarely saw Sherlock so vulnerable. Pulling his phone from his pocket, John dialled 999.
''This is 999, which emergency service d-''
''Ambulance.'' John almost shouted.
''What is your emergency and where and who are you?''
''My friend is unconscious; he's cut his head, and bleeding badly. His pulse is weak. I'm at 221B Baker Street. My name is John Watson. Please, hurry.'' He breathed in a shaky breath.
''We shall be with you as soon as possible, hang on in there.''
''Thank you.'' John hung up. Oh Sherlock, stay with me. John looked down at Sherlock, but a gasp from the top of the stairs caused him to look up again. Mrs Hudson had a hand over her mouth, tears glistening in the corners of her eyes. She walked down the stairs slowly, her other hand on the banister, steadying her. She shook her head, tears falling now.
''He's not...is he?'' She whispered. John shook his head, reaching a hand out to guide Mrs Hudson round Sherlock's unresponsive body. She took it, and knelt down next to John. John's arm went round her shoulders, holding her close.
''What happened?'' She asked, quietly. John shrugged sadly.
''I don't know. I found him like this a few minutes ago. The ambulance is on its way.'' As if on cue, a paramedic came through the already open door.
''John Watson?'' He said, John stood up, helping Mrs Hudson to her feet as well.
''Yes, my friend...'' Turned slightly, indicating to Sherlock. The paramedic nodded, another one came through the door, a stretcher under his arm, a yellow emergency kit over his shoulder. The first paramedic took the emergency kit off his colleagues shoulder, and his breathing kit off his own. Kneeling down in John's vacated spot, he placed the mask on Sherlock's face, and tested for his pulse.
''It's very faint, he needs treatment, now.'' He said to the other paramedic.
After they'd set Sherlock on the stretcher and then in the ambulance, Mrs Hudson and John in the back too. They left 221B Baker Street for the hospital. The paramedic was tending to Sherlock's forehead injury. They soon arrived at the hospital and Sherlock was taken in.
''Please, let me come in with hi-'' John started.
''You need to stay here in the waiting room, sir.''
''But I'm a doctor, I can he-''
''I'm afraid not, sir, you need to leave him to the surgeons and doctors who work here.''
''But he's my friend...''
''I understand. We will keep you informed.'' John's shoulders sagged, and he sat in one of the waiting room chairs, Mrs Hudson sat beside him.
An hour later, a doctor in a white overcoat came through the doors into the waiting room. Looking round, he called out ''John Watson?'' John stood up hurriedly.
''Here. Right here.'' The doctor walked over. ''How's Sherlock?'' John asked.
''He's stable; we've stitched his forehead up, and cleaned him. He's lost a lot of blood, so he's undergoing a transfusion as we speak. He woke up five minutes ago, and was asking for you. If you'd like to follow me I can take you to him.'' John nodded, offering his arm to Mrs Hudson he followed the doctor. After a few corridors, the doctor opened a door to a private room. Sherlock turned his head slowly, he smiled slightly when he saw who it was.
''John...Mrs Hudson...'' He rasped out. The doctor moved forward to plump up Sherlock's pillows for him to sit up slightly. She smiled at him, and turned to John.
''If you need anything, press the red button by his headboard there.'' She smiled again and left the room.
''Sherlock...'' John whispered. ''What happened?''
''I got into some...gang trouble...they attacked from behind...I didn't...see them...stupid...''
''Sherlock...what were you doing near them anyway?''
''I got a lead...''
''For what case? We haven't had a case for so long.''
''I have.''
''And you didn't tell me?''
''It was...confidential.''
''Confidential or not, we tell each other about any case we get, Sherlock, I-''
''John,'' Mrs Hudson laid a hand on his arm, a warning tone in her voice. John hung his head. ''Sherlock, how do you feel?'' She looked at him, worry clear in her voice. Sherlock sighed.
''I feel fine...Mrs Hudson...I shall be out of here...once they've finished...feeding me blood...and I'll be...right as rain...I need to be...after all...I haven't solved...the case.''
''Sherlock, you are not going back to work for quite some time. Not on my watch.'' John was firm. I can't let him just go out and get nearly killed again. I could have stopped him. Gone with him. Prevented this. Sherlock looked at him, his stare cold and hard. Typical Sherlock, even with blood loss and a head injury.
They stayed at the hospital for another two hours while Sherlock's transfusion was going on. When it had finished, the doctor told him he was to take it steady, and rest a lot for the next few days. Like that's going to happen when he's on a 'case'. John thought grimly to himself. John helped Sherlock out of the bed, and steadied him when he staggered slightly.
''I'm alright, John.'' Sherlock said, shaking off John's hand. He strode out the door and down the corridor.
''Sherlock...'' John called out. ''This way.'' He motioned the opposite way down the corridor. Sherlock turned and walked down the right way, and out of the hospital.
''Where's your car?'' Sherlock snapped. Glancing at John, then around the car park.
''At home, we all had a lovely ride in an ambulance.'' John said, equally snappy.
''you didn't think to let Mrs Hudson ride in the ambulance and you take the car so we could get home?'' Sherlock looked genuinely shocked.
''When your best friend is lying in a pool of his own blood at the bottom of the stairs, and his pulse is very faint, you tend to only think of the now. So no, I didn't think that, but quite frankly I wasn't going to leave Mrs Hudson alone in there while you could be dying. I wanted to be there if you did die, not in the car behind only to hear when we arrived!'' John's face was red, his voice had raised, Sherlock was looking at the floor, and people had been turning to stare. Mrs Hudson was looking at them both sadly.
"I wouldn't have died, John." Sherlock said quietly. He walked over to the nearby taxi bay and hailed a cab. Mrs Hudson got in behind Sherlock, but John stayed outside.
"You go ahead, I'll walk. I need to clear my head." John shut the door to the cab and stepped back, allowing the taxi to leave. He walked down the car park and out the gate, the taxi disappearing rapidly. He walked slowly, and took a different way to the taxi. He wasn't going home; he was going to Scotland Yard.
How was that? Please let me know what you think of it, the good reviews will be my motivation!
Thanks again for reading!
SnazzyPiLock