This is a gift for the talented KimberlyTheOwl - if you haven't read her stories then go now and read them...but don't forget to come back here afterwards and read this humble birthday offering.
Disclaimer: I don't own these guys - I wish I did.
"Tell me what to do John." Sherlock's voice sounded frantic, urgent even.
The pain in John's leg burned with every movement, and his jeans were wet and sticky with a mixture of blood and rain.
"What…" He croaked, and then licking his lips, he tried again. "What did we do?"
"The road collapsed, some sort of old mine workings." Sherlock explained. "I don't think that spike damaged any arteries, the bleeding stopped fairly quickly, but you may have mild concussion, and we've got no signal on our phones"
"C…c…cold" John leant in closer "P….probably sh..shock. Where…?"
"Miles from anywhere." Sherlock spat bitterly "Somewhere in bloody Derbyshire, and not a house in sight."
The injured man tried to steady himself as he peered around.
"Shit." His voice faded as he slid gracefully into a faint.
"Not now John. Don't do this now." Pulling his friend into his arms Sherlock staggered on, trying to find shelter.
Purely by accident he spotted the outbuilding, a darker shadow in the solid darkness of the countryside. Kicking into building he laid John down and took off his Belstaff, pulling the smaller man into his arms, covering them both with the coat, hugging him tight.
"Hang on John." he gazed down into the pale face, fear filling his senses. "You'll be okay. Please, you've got to be."