A/N: Alright, so here's the long awaited sequel! Okay, maybe not so long awaited, but... I'm pretty sure that was one of the longest 'not so long's of your life. Or at least it was for me.

White and blue flashing lights alerted John Watson that help had come.

The injured were now being put on stretchers and then into the back of the ambulance to be carried to hospital.

John looked down at Sherlock, who was still kneeling by the dead body of Moriarty, staring vacantly at him. John read the signs of his being in his mind palace

A police car pulled up closer to them than the rest, and a form, John recognized it as Lestrade, came running up to the both of them.

"I heard what happened." He said. "Are the both of you alright?"

John looked at Lestrade for a moment, then looked down at Moriarty, bidding Lestrade to follow his gaze.

Lestrade was speechless for a moment, before turning his gaze to Sherlock.

"Can he hear us?" Lestrade asked.

John looked down at Sherlock.

"No, he's in his mind palace."

"How's he doing?" Lestrade asked.

"Physically, bad, but I'm not sure how bad." John sighed. "He's got a concussion and I'd almost guarantee that the bruises and burns on his back, chest, and torso are quite extensive. He must have turned his pain receptors off."

"What about... not physically?" Lestrade asked, hesitantly.

John looked up at Lestrade.

"I have no idea." John said. "He's... he's Sherlock. Who knows what's going on in his mind?"

Lestrade nodded grimly.

"I've got to go help dig the survivors out." Lestrade said. "You'll tell me how he's doing once you know, won't you?"

"Of course." John confirmed.

Lestrade went off to help, and John was left with Sherlock.

"Sherlock, mate, we need to get you to the ambulance." John said, kneeling down beside him. "We need to see how badly you're hurt."

Lights flashing...

Why?

Hmm... I knew this before...

Memory fog...

Concussion then.

Hmm... Should probably turn pain receptors back on to make sure there aren't any side effects or something.

Done.

So tired...

Need to sleep.

"Sherlock-"

What's this? Someone is speaking to him again?

Yes, more specifically, John is speaking to him.

"Come on, help me out, you need to get up-"

Sherlock felt someone trying to pull him up into standing position.

Ow! Ow! Ow! Ow!

Pain! Stop!

John momentarily stopped, surprised by the first reaction from Sherlock to the outside world in a worryingly long time.

Sherlock's breath hitched, and became faster, and more labored.

"S-stop- please!" Sherlock said, now gasping in pain with every breath that went through him.

"Why?! What's wrong, Sherlock?" John said. "Tell me what's wrong."

"Hurts-"

Everything hurt, every single nerve in his body was sending messages riddled with agonizing pain to his already uncooperative mind.

Where is it? Where is the pain coming from? Sherlock thought desperately.

Pain coming from... from... from ribs. Broken?

Probably.

From the back too. Why from the back?

Back was facing the explosion. Would have been badly burned...

Sherlock's thought process was interrupted by another burst of pain, him then becoming aware of yet another source of it.

He felt John lowering him down.

John was startled. He had seen Sherlock in pain before, but... Sherlock never begged. He never said 'please'. That's just not who he was.

It has to be bad then...

John lowered Sherlock back onto the ground, to where he was laying down entirely.

John quickly straightened back up.

"Medic!" he yelled, as he waved his arms, beckoning an EMT over.

Sherlock swallowed audibly before taking several fast breaths, displaying just how much the pain was getting to him.

"Just hold on, Sherlock." John said. "It's going to be alright."

The messes you get yourself into... John thought. You skipped my turn, you know. You've already been stabbed, it was my turn to get hurt.

Two medics came over with a stretcher, and with John's help, got Sherlock situated on it.

They took him off to hospital in the ambulance, John riding beside Sherlock the whole time.

This happens all too often. John thought. Please stop, Sherlock. You're scaring me.

He knew the explosion had happened before he knew his brother had been in it.

Mycroft had ordered for extra medics and supplies to be sent to the site of the explosion, but called for a helicopter to take him as soon as the news of his brother's involvement reached him.

The helicopter was there in record time, due to Mycroft's insistence to throw caution to the wind when it came to how fast the pilot would fly.

They landed fairly far away, as the pilot wouldn't have been able to see where he was landing through the smoke if he had landed any closer.

Mycroft wasted no time, and was down and heading, running, towards the area of destruction.

He gazed through the people, and seeing no Sherlock, he asked the nearest person he recognized. Lestrade.

"Where is he?"

"At hospital." Lestrade answer. "John went with him."

"Is he alright?" Mycroft asked.

"I don't know. I haven't heard any more than that." Lestrade said. "You didn't hear he was going to hospital?"

"No, I left as soon as I heard what happened." Mycroft said. "Do you know which hospital?"

"St. Bart's, I think." Lestrade answered. "That's where they're sending them now. Most other hospitals are full."

"Thank you." Mycroft said. "I'll be on my way."

The amount of relief hearing the beep of his brother's heart rate monitor actually surprised the elder Holmes himself.

And that is no simple feat.

Sherlock was in bad shape, burns and bruising dotting his body. In the explosion, the stab wound Sherlock had previously obtained reopened internally, causing a some bleeding. They would have to do a small surgery to straighten things up in there, but Sherlock would probably be alright.

Caring is not an advantage. Mycroft reminded himself. Sherlock, he's safe, he's alive, he- he'll recover. He always does.

A/N: So, first chapter of the sequel, completed. I'm going to do a bit of a time jump next, so just be prepared for that. Reviews please!