This has been written especially for the talented writer AlessNox - Happy birthday, hope you have a lovely birthday!
Sitting reading his paper in front of the fire, John made the most of the peace and quiet in the flat, listening to the rain dashing against the window.
Sherlock's text, received just as he was getting off the train at Paddington station, had advised him that the younger man would be home late as he was chasing some information on a cold case he'd been looking at. John didn't question the nature of the information; he was too pleased that Sherlock had been keeping busy in his absence.
Mrs Hudson's call through the flat sounded echoingly loud in the empty flat.
"John dear, there was a message left on the doorstep for you." The slender septuagenarian said. "I heard a tapping on the door, and when I opened it this was wedged between the doorstep and the bottom of the door."
Putting aside his reading material John had risen to his feet, and he took the grubby scrap of paper from the landlady's hand.
Doc Jon, Mr Homes has been hurt. Please come quick.
John frowned.
"And there was no one there?"
"Only that child over there." Mrs Hudson walked to the window, moving the curtain aside slightly and indicating a youngster, no more than fifteen or sixteen years old, standing sheltering in a doorway looking up at them.
Seeing John at the window, the youth nodded his head towards the end of the road.
"Sammy." John breathed almost under his breath.
"He's one of Sherlock's odd friends isn't he?"
"Yes Mrs H, he is." John was already heading upstairs to get his med kit from his old room.
Hurrying back down and grabbing his coat, he yelled a brief farewell to his landlady, adjuring her not to wait up for them as he dashed downstairs and out into the rain.
Slinging his kit over one shoulder, John dodged traffic to cross the road. Sammy had moved down to the street corner. Following him, the doctor closed the gap between them, and then the youth moved on again, this time around the corner, stopping a few yards away.
Knowing the young man was nervous around people, John wasn't surprised that they made their journey from Baker Street to derelict arches behind Kings Cross station in this slightly weird and disjointed fashion, yet as soon as Sammy disappeared into the darkness of the archways, the doctor was greeted by a familiar voice.
"Thanks for coming Doc."
"Kallie! You're a bit out of your usual area aren't you?"
The girl smiled, although John heard it more in her voice that saw it in her face, as the pitch black meant that he had to concentrate on where he was putting his feet.
"I'd been helping out at the Needle Exchange on the other side of Kings Cross station, and I was just making my way home when I saw Mr Holmes." She led him into an area where a pile a pallet wood was burning merrily, and maybe a dozen homeless kids were sitting round, keeping warm, talking quietly amongst themselves.
Kallie's smile faded.
"He'd been beaten up, he looks really bad."
As she spoke John spotted his friend, propped against a wall, being watched by a couple of young lads. He hurriedly closed the gap between them, dropping his bag down and crouching down to get a better look.
Sure and gently fingers examined the bruised and bloodied face, and the lumps on his friend's head. Moving down, he warmed his chilled hands before slipping them inside the coat and shirt, feeling down Sherlock's ribs.
A hissed intake of breath alerted him to damage, and he looked into cloudy grey eyes.
"That hurt." He stated, and was rewarded with the briefest of raised eyebrows. "Yes, okay. Cracked ribs at the very least, they may be broken, but without an x-ray I can't be certain. Does it hurt to breath?"
A brief nod.
"And your head? That lump tells me there's pain, but dizziness?"
A negative response.
"Feel sick?"
Again that negative.
"You're a lucky git, you know that?"
Moving back to Sherlock's torso, John palpated his stomach, but was happy to find nothing more than a few bruises and scrapes. He looked up at Kallie.
"I probably should get him home, but he's more likely to do more damage if I move him now. Do you think your friends will mind if we stay?"
The young girl turned and looked around the circle, reading the body language, seeing the collective agreement.
"All good here doc."
John also turned and looked around.
"Does anyone need medical treatment while I'm here?"
One or two came forward, minor cuts and a couple of fractured fingers, and afterwards he reached into his bag and pulled out some small folded foil blankets, which he handed round.
"If you double up, two to a blanket, they work better, sharing body heat."
He pulled on out for him and Sherlock.
"Will you get home okay?" he asked Kallie as he prepared to wrap himself and his friend in the blanket.
"Oh, I'll stay Doc, just in case you need help."
Blue eyes stared defiantly down as him, and he knew she would rather say that than admit that it was a long way back to her hostel. He pulled out his phone.
"Ring the hostel, tell them you're with me, helping an injured friend, then wrap yourself up in a blanket and tuck up beside me."
With alacrity she made the call, and less than five minutes later was snug beside him, beginning to drift off with her head press against his back.
John meanwhile had wrapped a blanket around himself and his friend, gently pulling the younger man into his arms, settling the curly head in the crook of his neck. There was much he wanted to berate his flatmate about, but that could wait until they were back home.
Despite the uncomfortable surroundings, the ex-soldier was just feeling himself drifting off when he felt the other man move slightly.
"John." Sherlock's voice was barely a whisper, cracked and pained.
John bent his head closer to his friend
"What is it?"
"I found him John – I found the murderer."
There was a moment of stunned silence before the blond doctor gave an exasperated huff of laughter.
"You bloody nutter!"