AN: In which we realize the author has no concept of the geography of London.
Not too long after leaving the flat, Lestrade found himself out side of a large, ominous hospital. Sherlock had taken one look at it and declared it was the wrong one and they would have to walk to the other. The two cabs had gone, Sherlock as usual had insisted on his own, and walking would be faster and cheaper. So it was with lead filled shoes and a quick, icy wind blowing over his face, ruffling his silver hair, that Greg had begun to trudge away from the warmth the hospital promised, into the frigid day and towards the other hospital. Greg tromped past a pier, jutting out into A strange movement from the corner of his eye attracted his attention. He walked onto the pier, mildly surprised and pleased to see a white swan, waddling around on the far shore. He turned around to call to John, who he thought would appreciate it and had already walked on.
"John look there's a sw-" His call abruptly turned to a shout as he quickly pivoted back and lost his balance. Lestrade's arms pinwheeled desperately for a moment before he lost his balance falling face first off the pier. Greg felt himself break through the thin crust of ice and gasped as he hit the water, accidentally inhaling some of the lake water and choking. His mind was working frantically, but he didn't know what to do and he couldn't breathe. Greg kicked, powerful legs propelling him towards what he hoped was the surface and just when his lungs felt like they would burst, his head hit something solid. The ice. Greg groped around hysterically for the hole he knew he'd made when he'd fallen in. His hands only met more ice. Making a split second decision, Greg punched straight up into the ice, hoping to break through. The ice didn't budge. Black spots were starting to swim in front of Greg's eyes and he made another hurried choice. Flipping around, he placed both booted feet against the slick surface and kicked. Hard. He thought he felt the ice shudder. Feeling a renewed sense of hope, he planted two more solid kicks, rewarded when he saw light filtering down. Fighting to remain conscious, lungs screaming for air, he lunged towards the opening, clearing it and sucking in a breath before he fell back under. Invigorated by the oxygen, Greg grabbed the edge of the hole, pulling his head above the water trying to gasp in air as he coughed, clearing his lungs of the water he had accidentally inhaled. He was shivering wildly, his hands clumsily grasping the smooth ice. He couldn't feel his fingers and the cold, beyond it's usual trick of running down Greg's spine, had dug it's claws in. Every part of him was filled with numbing ice, making it hard to focus on what he had to do.Greg was still sucking in great breaths of air, arms sticking out of the hole he'd made, the rest of him still submerged in the black waters. Get out, He thought, I have to get out now. Greg was well aware of the dangers of water in winter. He'd been to any number of crime scenes where cold turned out to be the culprit. He shuffled around so he was facing the way he'd come, the ice was probably stronger towards the shore. Lestrade began kicking his feet, simultaneously dragging himself out with his arms. A loud crack and Greg didn't have time to think before he was plunged back into the algid lake. He managed to avoid swallowing any more water. He struggled back to the surface, heavy winter coat and boots weighing him down. Greg floundered, he couldn't feel anything anymore and he'd stopped shivering. He thought that was probably bad. Greg struggled towards the pier, he could almost make it. He fell back for a moment, exhausted, the cold sapping every ounce of energy he possessed. After what seemed like an eternity in a frozen Hell, Greg managed to get to the ladder, clinging to it for a moment before trying to pull himself up. He fell back into the water with a loud splash. Greg grabbed it again, and heaved mightily, still unable to lift himself, discouraged he slid back into the water, utterly defeated. Even he recognized that he wouldn't be able to pull himself out. He was simply too drained. Greg hadn't been energetic before he'd found himself here and the freezing waters had leeched away his remaining strength. So he did the last thing he could think of; Greg shouted for help. He wasn't loud, he didn't have the energy. After a few feeble attempts a face appeared over the ledge. A face that Lestrade was ridiculously happy to see. It was John.
"Jesus," The other man swore before turning and shouting for Sherlock. John lay down and reached towards Greg who extended his arm towards his friend, their hands nowhere near touching. He heard John swear again as he sat up. "Hold on Greg, stay calm, we're working on it, ok?" Greg nodded miserably, wondering if he was going to die anyway. John's head disappeared for several long minutes and Greg could feel himself getting sleepier and sleepier with every passing moment, his eyelids drooping. "Greg!" Greg's head jerked up, John's face had reappeared. "Please try to stay awake we've got an idea alright? Just sit tight for another minute." Lestrade noticed, dreamily, that John looked worried. He didn't understand why, he was fine, just a bit tired. He heard shouting. Sherlock complaining, John's voice, "Just give it to me!" Then John was back, dangling a length of blue fabric towards him, tied in a tight knot. "Ok Greg, I need you to slip this over your head and under your arms, can you do that?" The DI nodded, swiping at the rope unsuccessfully before finally catching it and securing it as John had asked. Before Greg really knew what was happening, he was being hoisted through the air, accompanied by the grunts of the two men pulling him up. It was painful and slow, his shoulder scraping against the concrete pier as they hauled him up. After an eternity of uncomfortable pulling he crested the top of the pier and was dragged onto it. John was leaning over him, peering anxiously into his half-closed eyes.
"Greg, Greg can you hear me?" Lestrade nodded sluggishly. "Ok Greg, I've called an ambulance they should be here any second. I'm going to try and take of some of your wet things, ok?" John ripped off his gloves and started unbuttoning Greg's coat. Lestrade was simply lying on his back, staring up at the murky gray sky and not thinking anything. John looked about he could see both hospitals from here, where the Hell was the ambulance. Sherlock's uncertain hovering wasn't helping his temper either. Somehow, and he wasn't entirely sure how he did it, John got Lestrade's coat off him, despite it being soaking and heavy and Lestrade's stiff limbs. He quickly pulled the DI's shirt off, much to Greg's dismay.
"Oi! What do you think you're doing? Give that back," he growled, struggling to sit. John pushed him back down, firmly.
"Lie still. You're soaking wet and severely hypothermic. I know what I'm doing."
"I'm fine," Greg protested weakly as John pulled off his own coat and draped it over the DI.
"You're not fine. Be quiet. Sherlock give me your coat too please," his tone brooked no room for argument. Sherlock pulled off his long coat and handed it to the doctor without complaint. John wrapped the additional protection around the Detective Inspector. And then, miraculously, the sound of sirens filled the air and brief minutes later, paramedics were swarming around Greg, despite his continued protests. They wrestled him easily onto a stretcher and in one last ditch attempt Greg called to John. "I'm going back to my office!"
"No," John replied, drawing the word out, "You're going to the hospital." The paramedics finished loading the DI into the ambulance and asked which one of them was coming to the hospital, to John's surprise. Sherlock volunteered. And as the ambulance sped away, lights flashing, John realized that Sherlock had forgotten his coat, leaving John to carry everything to the hospital.