Something wasn't right.

For example, he and Sherlock should be in the middle of a case right now. Looking for a bombmaker. Or at least some clues the man left behind. Something obviously went wrong. Pitch black. Cold. Dull feeling in the back of his neck. Sounds were distorted. Memory blurred. Than, he picked up a rusty smell.

"Christ."

They were binded down to a chair together, back to back. Ropes pinching down his arms. It hurt a little. Room darkened. And drafty. Cold. Vage sounds muffled like metallic waves. Only now John noticed his major headache, he must've forgotten about that since he'd woke up.

"Sherlock?" he tried to whisper through the ringing in his ears. Someone was there, leaning on him. He just assumed it was him, resting his curly head on John's right shoulder. Who else would it be? They were together before... before what? He did not know. Before the attack? The case! Some kind of bombmaker planning an attack... John's brain started to work again.

"That trailer." John suddently gasped out. It was about the last thing he saw while snooping around the abandoned boat. There was only one empty trailer left on there. Sherlock made him aware that someone had been here recently, and that was when John must've got knocked out. Another smell he noticed. coppery. Sickning to his stomach. Blood? Maybe. He just had woken up, someone must've cracked his skull open in the proces. It felt like that, to be honest. Otherwise he felt fine. The weight of his friend's head leaning limb on him started to hurt a bit. That could only mean they had been here for a while. Slowly but surely John started to move his painfull limbs, only just noticing his legs were free to move. His arms were tied down behind his back, though. And it started to irritate. Didn't he just noticed that earlier? John heaved a sigh. He did feel dull. They had to go. But he wouldn't go far on his own. While wiggling his fingers he could touch the cold lean hand of Sherlock. Indeed very cold. With some struggle John checked for a pulse. Slow but steady. A good sign.

"Hey... Sherlock? You awake?" He frowned to the stillness.

The fact that Sherlock still hasn't moved concerned him the most. The urgency of the situation just shocked him. Sherlock was still out. No sign of life in him, apart of his beating heart. Curls prickling down his neck, now. If only he could scratch the itch but John couldn't move. About the only thing he could do was shifting himself, away from the mob of hair. Something sticked to his skin. He could feel the wetness of it, dripping down his neck. Blood.

Sherlock was bleeding on him from his head. Oh no!

"Sherlock? Can you hear me?" voice a bit more tense.

He tried to get a glance of his friend but it was impossible unless he could spin his head. And eventhough he could, it was too dark to see.

Now the cramps started to show in every joint all over his body. They had to get out. It was cold and windy and John was so over this. Someone had left them like this hours ago. There was a possibility his friend was dying. Who knows what they did to him when he was down.

With a little force John wiggled his shoulder causing Sherlock's head to wobble some more. A puff of air came from his lips.

"Christ, Sherlock. Wake up already. It was just a blow to the head. I didn't know you were such a lightweight." Still nothing when the back of his head took in it's former place. "I was not prepaired for this, Sherlock. You can not play dead to me again, now." With some struggle John took a bit of skin of his friends hand and pinched hard. Gladly there was some movement. Only just one litte jolt until he went limb again.

"You said it will be a quick 'lookaround'. Now look at the time. It must be near midnight." John flexed his shoulder, harder this time. And then. Finally a soft struggle for air came from the detectives mouth.

"W-whasthis?" he whispers off. Some of the slow movements suggested John that his friend was having a hard time. "We were knocked down investigating this trailer, Sherlock. Any suggestions getting out of these ropes?" John swallowed hard when the weight of Sherlock's head came down on him once more. The scent of blood was sickenly obvious.

"No no no. Sherlock. Stay with me, now. You have had your nap. We need a plan to get out of here. First we need to get out of these ropes. Only then I can look at your head, okay? You might have gotten one hell of a concussion."

"No time f'r t-that now John... We need to get outahere. Someone is planning an attack," came the words slurred and unrecognizable. Behind his back he could feel his wounded friend fiddle with the knot. For some reason Sherlock blew out a sigh of relieve.

"Easy one. John, you are a soldier. This shippers knot is called the clove hitch. You can do this, John. Just... J-just find the middle part of it and push through." John wasn't happy about the puffes of air his friend made between his words. Instead of asking how he did John started to work on the knot. It was not so easy as Sherlock mentioned. John was never good with shippers knots. But it didn't take long for him to free himself. immediately, John had the urge to wiggle his wrists. They hurt a bit. "Now do mine" Sherlock mumbled tiredly. John, just out of the chair, popping his stiff joints for some relieve looked even more worried.

"Why can't you do it?" He didn't wait for his friend to answer, though. and just got on with it. In the meantime, Sherlock sort of let him do all the work. The doctor could hear Sherlock whimper in pain while staightening himself.

"Ah Jawn... You were right. I am having a hard time staying awake. Might have a concussion." John finally got himself afrond of his friend and grabbed one of his shoulders for support.

"I know. We'll take care of that later. Just hang on." One of Sherlock's legs then moved. "Let's just go, John. We need to inform Mycroft about the attack. We can rest later." John smiled.

"Yeah, no argue there. Let's go some place warm." As soon as the detective made a stand John could feel him buckle over. "Oh! stay put, Sherlock. Let me help."

"Kay." One arm got placed in his neck and the Doctor steered him slowly to the wall. "I'ts dark. How long have we been here?" the detective asked slightly more coherent. John shook his head.

"No idea. Woke up with your gigantic brain resting on my shoulder and that's about it." It earned him a snort from Sherlock. "I must've stopped the sirculation to yours then." John couldn't make out the joke but at least he was talking. "Now. Let's find the door, Sherlock. Can you hold onto the wall?" Sherlock didn't say anything but retreived his arm. He must have just nodded without noticing John could not see him in the pitch black.

With some effort the doctor found some kind of handle and puled the damn thing up. immediately when the first hint of light touched the glimps of his friends face John gasped in horror. Blood had spilled everywere. And ofcourse he knew about headwounds always tend to bleed more but seeing the mess on his friend's face made him sick.

"Oh Sherlock... Come here. Let me help you. Lean back on me."

Not only John was startled by the light. Sherlock now only just realized he was seeing doubble as fuck. It shocked him nearly off his feet and started lingering to the side. "Jawn... It's impossible to walk for me. Can't I just lay down now?" Again with slurring words. John felt so sorry for him. "Spinning... Jawn... can't feel my hands." Sherlock looked down at his hands before swaying sideways again. John was only just limitly capable to hold him upright. Afterall he was shorter. "What did they do to you? Jezus. You look like hell." Again, Sherlock's knees give out and John had to support al his weight. They had to take a stairs off the rusty boat before beeing on solid ground. But that was not going to happen if Sherlock was unconscious.

"Hey!" John grunted his discomfort while bringing him to the ground. The sun had only just sunken. But there was still enough light for him to see the poor man's eyes flicker close. Dark spats of blood that had come down from out his ear made John aware of the situation. Sherlock had a concussion. Possible scull fracture eyeing the blood on the side of his skull.

"Where did they hit you with? A schoolbus?" After positioning the unconscious detective correctly John started looking for his phone. Phoning the ambulance was about the only option now.

...

AN: Listen.. This is an very old idea for a story. I forgotten about it. This was before we got to see season 4. Please tell me what you think. I might make a chapter soon :)

X

Josie