A/N I had originally started this as a series of one shots as blog entires, but decided to go ahead and add a bit more. This is how it all started, followed by a series of one shots about how life progressed after the initial meeting.

I had the most amazing experience.

Actually, it was really, really,really horrible but it's all ended in a completely amazing way. My life has been changed forever. The police asked me nicely not to. However, I can relate my experience as long as I leave out the specific details.

I was kidnapped right off the street when I was out to get some milk and held hostage for five days. It sounds daft, but it's true. And because I want to relate how the week ended, and not recount the events preceding it (who would?) I will keep this portion of my story very short.. Please bear with me, even though it has been over and done with for about awhile now I am still very discontented thinking about it all.

Anyway, I was grabbed and tossed into a car that looked like it had never been washed in its life and smelled even worse. I don't know why they picked those of us they did. I know someone who does know, but he's not telling yet and I'm not sure if or when he ever will. They kidnapped me, and about a dozen other people and took us far out to the countryside. So far mobile service was almost non-existent. I don't remember too much about the ordeal, but when it was all finished our little group was locked in two rooms, the children being ushered to the second room along with the mother of the youngest with the rest of in an adjoining room. At this point, to save you the horrific suspense of the matter I have to say no one was injured during the duration of our stay save one brave boy who broke him arm whose story I will recount briefly now:

A brave 10 year old boy who was the only injured amoung the kidnap-ees. I did not see it with my own eyes, but heard it and later was told by the mum who had been in the room with the children, what had happened. Our captors rarely made an appearance other than to shove food in the rooms. On one such an occasion the boy's younger brother, who couldn't have been more than 4, had fallen and was wailing. The sound was shrill and desperately loud. As one of our kidnappers entered to toss our meager meal on the floor he was obviously put off by the child and made to hit him as he shouted at him to shut up. The young man quickly jumped in front of the attacker, shouting back at him in anger that he was just a small boy. From what I was told, the man barely slowed in his movements and instead unleashed a powerful swipe the knocked the young man down and in doing so, between the blow and hitting the floor, broke his right forearm. Thankfully this kerfuffle was enough to alternately cause the young brother to hush, and the man to leave. Unfortunately it wasn't until we were rescued that I found out about, and was able to treat in some small fashion, the lad who saved the day.

And now on with the rest of the story.

The first 24 hours or so were the worst. No one had any idea why we were there, nor what was to become of us. We did discover that all of us were brought approximately within a day or so of each other, in what little we allowed ourselves conversation. After the first day, things became somewhat routine and we all, I think, found comfort in the three small meals we shared, lights out just after dusk and a full supply of loo rolls.

So that is how we spent our time. Terrified, silent and trapped but unharmed.

At this point I can no longer go on without mentioning our heroes by name. Surely you've read about them in the papers over the last few years. They've been held up on pedestals, dragged through the mud then picked up, cleaned off and set down somewhere in the middle which is where they enter my life story. To be honest I didn't really recognize or understand who they were until later. I had a vague idea but I had other things on my mind at the time.

Our rescuers were none other than the great Sherlock Holmes and his companion Dr. John Watson.

The first indication I had that help was on the way was when the door leading to the front of the house was silently cracked just a bit and an unfamiliar face peeked in at us, then quickly disappeared (later I realized this had been Sherlock verifying we were there). I was the only one that noticed it, and the first person I engaged didn't really believe that I'd seen anything. A few minutes later we heard a bit of a scuffle, then the door burst open and one of our captors flew into the room, desperately trying to reach the second room and then most likely, escape through the room beyond. The one I had seen peek inside the room launched after him and caught him before he even got to the door. As they fought, a new face rushed into the room and quickly scanned the room as he headed toward his friend. In hindsight I'm certain he was trying to assess who needed him the most, Holmes, the group of stunned captives or the second assailant who they had yet to see but I'm sure they knew was there. He initially started toward us, but as he met my gaze anchored on the door they had all just come through he hesitated and turned toward his companion instead. I believe he changed course because I was the only one standing up and looking like I was paying attention, and obviously expecting another person through that door. In a split second the look in my eyes must have screamed danger as I turned my gaze to him, desperately trying to vocalize what my eyes were seeing – that I could see the second assailant coming through the door and he was armed.

I will try to relate what happened next, but it happened so fast I don't think I can do it justice. Imagine everything you are about to read happening in about 5 seconds or less.

Dr. Watson reacted immediately. He moved quickly over in front of Mr. Holmes, I think protecting his back as he finished his business with the man currently at his mercy. He raised his gun in anticipation but did not fire when the danger burst into the room. What I witnessed next was nothing short of miraculous. Dr. Watson adjusted his position to better be between this new threat that appeared and Mr. Holmes while he took aim. I heard a deafening blast as the assailant's gun exploded and I saw the bullet hit Dr. Watson, but he didn't even stumble as he instantly returned fire. I could tell he hadn't wanted to, but his aggressor wasn't going to find a diplomatic solution to their problem and was intent on killing him and Mr. Holmes (and maybe all of us). When I looked to the doorway, the assailant was already on the ground, dead within seconds I think, since the shot hit him right in the heart. Dr. Watson had not wanted to fire because when he shoots, he shoots to kill, apparently.

Mr. Holmes in the meantime had incapacitated his foe, with or without killing him I did not know (I later found out that he was only unconscious), and turned back toward Dr. Watson immediately on hearing the shots. He asked, very simply and quietly, "Are you all right?"

It seemed like a silly question to me, but I had seen the events transpire and could now see blood dripping to the floor. I was sure he saw it too.

Then Dr. Watson just said "Yeah."

And there is was. Whatever conversation that had just transpired was nothing that I heard. That short exchange told the taller man all was not well and he instantly reached out to catch the other as he suddenly collapsed.

This is when I started to react like I should have all along. Treatment for a gunshot wound already flying through my mind and my jacket coming off, I raced over to them and declared "I'm a nurse, I can help."

All I heard was "I know what you are, and he's a doctor he doesn't need your help, he has me. Go help these other people." and then "Shut up Sherlock I'm in a bloody lot of pain at the moment and I bet she has a better bedside manner than you."

And that, my friends was my introduction to Sherlock Holmes and Dr. Watson.

I knew of course, that just being a doctor didn't make you invulnerable to injury or give the magic ability to heal oneself. I also knew distracted, concerned chatter when I heard it. This man may have believed I wasn't needed but the fact another man lay bleeding on the floor in front of me said otherwise.

I won't go into details. It will probably either confuse you or creep you out if you are not in the field, not to mention it is a tiny bit personal. Dr. Watson had been shot and was bleeding very badly. The exit wound was oddly small which at the time did not seem significant and I assumed it had something to do with the type of bullet that I didn't understand. I used my jacket and pressed it hard into his side to stop the bleeding at the entrance wound, as the exit was hardly bleeding at all. Mr. Holmes finally seemed to think better of the situation and stood up and asked the doctor. if would be all right while he went to find a signal to call for help. All he got was another "Yeah, and tell them to be prepared for significant blood loss." before he disappeared out of the room.

It took quite a while before the bleeding slowed down, but it took longer for Mr. Holmes to call for help. It was probably around 20 minutes before he came back. While he was gone, I kept Dr. Watson engaged in conversation which turned out to be a sincerely easy task, considering. Apparently he'd been shot before in the army so this was not an entirely new experience and so together we assessed his situation and concluded that the damage appeared to be minimal, or at least minimal enough that he would be able to hang in there until the ambulance arrived with proper equipment. After the bleeding slowed and eventually stopped I was suddenly relieved and thought that maybe this was the worst of it. As far as gunshots go, this seemed to be a 'good' one if you could ever call one that. Soon after chatting about his experiences with the alarmingly calm doctor I felt grossly inadequate to be the one treating him when he obviously was an extremely competent emergency trauma doctor. I knew what I was doing though, so I tried not to be intimidated.

When Mr. Holmes finally returned I could see relief in his eyes upon seeing us chatting quietly, his hand in mine as I monitored his pulse and my jacket tentatively removed from the wound. Mr. Holmes relayed that he had talked to the Detective Inspector (Lestrade, I later learned) and there was an ambulance on the way but it would be at least another 30 minutes due to our remote location. Dr. Watson winced at that and all at once I saw simultaneously a look of a doctor who knew more than he was letting on and a worried glance of a friend who saw this and looked back to me for my assessment. As long as we'd stopped the bleeding I didn't see why he wouldn't be all right until they arrived and told him as much. I questioned the doctor about how he now felt, if there was something he was concerned about but he brushed us both off. The look Mr. Holmes gave me could only be described as pure accusation, as though if my competence did not equal that of the doctor I would long regret it. The words to convey this lack of faith had barely begun to leave his lips before Dr. Watson shushed him and directed him to explain what was happening to the other victims and to make sure the two attackers were definitely incapacitated. Mr. Holmes rolled his eyes and groaned, obviously annoyed at the task but with a look from his friend he left to tend to his duty without question.

After a few more minutes we were now about 35 minutes in, 20 or so to go. His pulse was becoming more erratic as it sped up and breathing more difficult, and this is when Dr. Watson told me what was on his mind as he continually glanced in Mr. Holmes' direction to make sure he wasn't listening.

Over the ten minutes or so, just before Mr. Holmes returned and set off again to talk to the other victims I was aware that Dr. Watson's pulse had been slowly increasing, his breathing becoming too shallow and his overall status declining slightly every few minutes. After being hopeful that he would be all right it I felt like I completely let them down. I had expected a decline but I didn't expect how quickly it was happening. It was even more distressing to know that we wouldn't see an ambulance for at least another 20 minutes or so.

"Look, the bullet must have fragmented. I think I'm hemorrhaging. It must be slow enough that the entrance was able to clot but it's enough that I'll still bleed out soon" Dr. Watson told me flatly (there was more to it than that but those are just details you don't need to know). That was a very bad thing because I didn't think I could do anything about it without some kind of equipment. But he took my hand and looked into my eyes, his confidence transferring to my own. He continued, "I know you can do this just from talking to you. I can tell you know you're doing. I have what you need. I think I can talk you through it, but only if you want to. I won't hold it against you if you don't." I knew he might not but his friend certainly would.

It took him a minute to get all of that out, and my heart was already breaking thinking how little I could do to help him. He had been remarkable since the moment I first moment I saw him and we both knew he wouldn't make it if I didn't at least try to stop the bleeding. I smiled and replied, as steadily as I could, "Of course I'll try."

As I started to loosen his clothes I calmly listened to him explaining how he could walk me through finding and suturing the source of the blood loss. That was when Mr. Holmes returned and he was immediately suspicious. What I didn't know at the time, but I certainly know now if that Sherlock Holmes didn't need to hear me say a word to assess a situation. Dr. Watson just looked up at me and nodded. I returned the nod to tell him I could, and would do it as soon as he wanted.

Mr. Holmes knelt down next to him and quipped something about the death of man he had shot and Dr. Watson gasped out something about having a beautiful woman undressing him and for him to let us alone. Mr. Holmes smiled. It's always a good thing to see normal behaviour but in their case it was endearing the way they were trying to calm each other. They were pretty good at it too, but I had seen it before. Mr. Holmes' hands were trembling slightly while the doctor kept trying unsuccessfully to hide how much pain I knew he was in.

I was examining the wound, thinking ahead for what I was going to have to do when Mr. Holmes grabbed my wrist. I met his fearsome gaze as he grumbled "Dr. Watson will be all right for a few minutes with me. I need you to check on the others. I believe that older boy is injured." This is when I heard his mum cry out and with another forced nod from Dr. Watson I rushed over to help them.

As I examined the boy's arm and went about securing it I glanced back at the two men. They were talking in low voices and I couldn't make out what they were saying but Dr. Watson was watching me intently, occasionally glancing up at his friend. I assume they were sizing me up, deciding how much use I would be and if it was worth the risk, but the look in his eyes said he was also thinking about something else. Our eyes met and smiled weakly, apologetically almost. When I looked over to Mr. Holmes he quickly looked away, letting out a deep huff that I could hear across the room. I remember having a strange inclination that he had been scolded.

When I was able to return to them Mr. Holmes held out his hand and motioned for me to take a scalpel. He simply said "You'll need this." He rifled through the pockets of Dr. Watson's jacket and laid out several other things that might come in handy. Why on earth a doctor would walk around with all these things loose in his pockets I had no idea, but I supposed it came with the territory. Mr. Holmes picked up a small bottle. I looked at him, expecting an explanation and all he said was "Suture."

Even through pain and shock Dr. Watson was able to roll his eyes and give an exasperated sigh at the lack of helpfulness in his friend. "I'll do my best. I'm starting to get pretty hazy though…" It worried me the way he trailed off but we didn't have a lot of options at this point. Plus I had been an A&E nurse for 3 years so I had quite a bit of experience handling significant traumas. However, I always had a doctor or surgeon doing the intricate work. By this time I suspected he had lost significantly more blood than we though and it was obvious he was nearing a dangerous level of shock judging from how rapidly he had declined and that he was beginning to have trouble thinking and speaking clearly.

Only about five more minutes had passed and the task before me was now more terrifying than being kidnapped.

The basic idea here is that I had to find the source of the bleeding and stop it. And, happily, I did. Fortunately once I made an incision it was completely obvious that the bullet had indeed fragmented and only nicked an artery. I take no credit for it, all I did was make a cut and press a button for some suture. Dr. Watson somehow talked me through the entire thing. I believe it was a testament to his military experience, having to deal with similar injuries in the thick of battle. It was the most terrifying, horrifying and more rewarding thing I've ever done.

But this story does not end here. While we were able to succeed with this one challenge more lay ahead. There was still about 5 minutes or so until the ambulance arrived. Dr. Watson was struggling every second to not pass out as he struggled valiantly for every single breath, not allowing his eyes to close. The three of us knew if that if he did, he probably wouldn't open them again.

Mr. Holmes seemed hyper aware of this. He was silent but could not stop moving. His nerves must have been completely shot because when I spoke to him he jumped as if he'd forgotten I was there. He would barely take his eyes of his friend even for a fraction of a second. He took Dr. Watson's hand awkwardly. I felt so bad for him watching his friend teetering on the edge of consciousness and death. When Mr. Holmes took his friend's hand, the doctor shot him a look of utter disbelief and it was almost funny that he'd done such a thing. While I watched the two of them I could again see words were being spoken without a single thing being said. It was like an unspoken language they developed just for them, and my heart skipped a beat even as it ached as though I were witnessing something fantastic and not to be forgotten. I took his other hand to check his pulse when he finally closed his eyes. His breathing was so shallow and desperate and I felt so completely and utterly helpless that all I could do was squeeze his hand.

However Mr. Holmes certainly felt no qualms about it and shouted "John!" I nearly jumped a foot in the air. Dr. Watson's eyes flew open and he looked up at his friend, confused. "Don't close your eyes John". It almost sounded like he was begging him.

The conversation then went like this:

"Sod off Sherlock. I had to watch you die."

"I didn't really die John."

"I know, I'm glad."

Silence.

"I'm still mad at you though."

"I know. I'm sorry."

Silence.

This back and forth continued for another minute until we heard the wail of the ambulance. Knowing how dangerously close Dr. Watson was at this point to going into cardiac arrest judging from his rapid, flailing pulse, I stood and rushed outside to lead in the paramedics and left the two alone.

I was greeted by Detective Inspector Lestrade. I begged the paramedics to hurry, spouting off Dr. Watson's status and needs. Thankfully they were prepared due to Sherlock's call and were set for anything that might be necessary. We had just come inside the main door when I heard the most anguished cry I'd ever heard in my life.

"John!"

I don't really remember what happened next because the next thing I knew DI Lestrade was pulling me inside. He left me by the doorway to the room as he rushed to Mr. Holmes, who had just let the paramedics take over. I heard "stopped breathing" and "still a very faint extremely rapid and fluctuating pulse" but the rest of the conversations simply ceased to exist in that moment. They immediately started a transfusion and patched up my shoddy work as they hooked him up to a defibrillator. Mr. Holmes suddenly knelt next to his friend's pale face and whispered something in his ear before stepping back and just watching the paramedics. When the transfusion was started they let the defibrillator do its work, deciding if there was enough of a heartbeat to shock back into rhythm. I knew this would be it. If he wasn't able to stabilize on his own now, he never would. The DI moved to Mr. Holmes' side and put his hand on his shoulder.

Three desperately long shocks later a very slow but consistent beep told us Dr. Watson had done it. I breathed out deep breath I don't remember holding and put my face in my hands. When I finally looked back up Mr. Holmes had already left and was in the corner talking to the DI, pointing to the different victims and assailants and his mouth moved rapidly.

I remember being perplexed at how the moment he heard the beeping confirming Dr. Watson was indeed alive he could turn off all that raw emotion I had just witnessed. He kept glancing back at the doctor every few seconds or so but otherwise did not seem to be bothered at all that his friend had just nearly died and would still be facing a serious uphill battle over the next few weeks, never mind if he made it to the actual hospital.

I turned back to Dr. Watson and knelt beside him, taking his hand and said "That was amazing. Dr. Watson, Absolutely extraordinary." I felt sad he couldn't hear me but I needed to say it.

"Couldn't have said it better myself" I heard Mr. Holmes' calm, deep voice remark from behind me.

I looked up at him and smiled. "I think he'll be okay."

"I know he will."

I think it was right then I decided I would have to see this through. I needed to know that our two rescuers recovered and needed to see them at home, happy and healthy.