AN- Alright, so I'm continuing this. I have no clue how long it will be, and I'm actually writing while updating, so I don't know how consistent posts will be.


Sherlock had been unconscious, which he realized was a bit unwise upon awakening, but a building had fallen on him dammit and he was going to be unconscious if he wanted to. It was rather difficult to maintain that unconsciousness when people Lestrade started digging him out of the rubble and jostled his leg. He'd rather hoped to return to unconsciousness after that, but then paramedics arrived and moved him on to a backboard, despite his protests he was fine, and he had to face that dreadful pain. Sure, they'd given him a line with some pain meds, but they barely touched it, only calmed the screeching pain to roaring, which really wasn't that much of an improvement. Not even that, but breathing was tiring, and it wasn't supposed to be that way, was it?

"Lestrade," he slurred. "It hurts... make it stop. Where's John? Is he alright?"

Lestrade frowned at Sherlock. The detective was making incomprehensible noises, no doubt thinking that he was berating them for something.

"Sherlock," he called to the detective, grabbing his hand in what he hoped was a comforting gesture. "You're not making any sense. Just calm down. You and John are going to the hospital."

Sherlock's eyes glowed with some sort of emotion that Lestrade couldn't begin to comprehend.

"Are you hurting?" Lestrade continued, choosing to ignore it rather than struggle over its meaning.

Sherlock couldn't nod because of the collar and backboard, but he made a little whimpering noise that Lestrade never wanted to hear from him again.

"Okay," he murmured. "Okay..." he trailed off, glancing at Sherlock's leg.

No wonder it hurts. Legs are not supposed to bend like that and they sure as hell aren't supposed to have inside bits poking out.

"I'll be right back, okay?" he said to Sherlock reassuringly, fighting Sherlock to get his hand free.

"Hey," he called to a paramedic in a hushed voice, careful not to disturb Sherlock. "He's really hurting. Can you give him something for the pain?"

"We already did sir," he replied.

Lestrade glanced back at Sherlock. "Really? It's obviously not working. Can you give him more?"

"That was the maximum dose."

Lestrade rolled his eyes. He didn't have time for this bullshit. "He has an extremely high drug tolerance. He also has a brother extremely high up in the government who would be very displeased to hear how his brother was treated."

The paramedic's eyes widened slightly, and he nodded, scurrying off to inject another syringe full of medication into Sherlock's IV line.

Lestrade took back the hand that Sherlock had been clutching him with before.

"Better?" he whispered, noting that Sherlock's eyes were already drifting shut.

Sherlock sighed, and Lestrade took that as a good sign.

Still, he climbed into the ambulance with Sherlock, deciding that John would likely behave on his own.