Quick personal assessment.
Head? Good. No pain. Ringing in ears. Cut lip. Some stinging on left cheek, could be bleeding, definite shrapnel hit.
Neck? Good.
Upper body? Lacerations due to exposed skin. No wounds requiring medical assistance. (Arms likely wounded from ground contact)
Torso? Same
Back? Same
Legs? Alright. New tear in left leg. Shoes still on.
Now to environment.
Irene.
Head: Eyes open and blinking, focused. No concussion. Little blood. Could be mine. No signs of-
"Sherlock," she murmured, laughing. "If you wanted to go horizontal you just needed to ask."
"Strange, I didn't miss those comments when you were dead."
She glared at him.
No brain damage. Clearly.
Neck? Slight lacerations
Upper body? Same. Her clothing shielded her
Torso? Lacerations
Back? Unclear. Arms likely absorbed contact
Legs? Unclear.
"Come along, Edith," he said pointedly. "Lestrade will be here in all due time."
"Ooo, I get to solve a crime with Sherlock Holmes. A girl could get really excited about that." She shifted slightly, making no attempt to hide her pleasure.
A raised eyebrow was all she received in return before the rolled off her and rose to his feet.
Western wall blown up. Amateur job. Intended to kill but badly planned. Political.
He scanned the room.
Casualties but no fatalities. Stairs intact.
Sherlock spun and quickly descended down the stairs.
Halfway down he turned to the scantily clad redhead who followed him. "You will do exactly as I say, if I even ask for your help."
"Now Sherlock, of two things I'm certain: That first clause is no fun, and you need my help." She brushed casually past him. "Let's not forget who solved the boomerang case."
"You drugged me!"
"Details," she replied, dismissing his comment with a wave of her hand.

DI Lestrade was greeted with a shock when he arrived at the bomb site.
He was not fazed by the mess of reporters around the scene. A minor political official is found in a topless bar that explodes? Lestrade knew the tabloids would be teeming with the sordid details in the morning.
He wasn't unsettled by the crowd of spectators, barely and hastily covered girls, or the tipsy men trying to sneak away before their picture was caught and jealous wives learned their secrets.
No, DI Gregory Lestrade was unnerved by a shirtless Sherlock Holmes wandering around, trying to solve the case with a stunning redhead. And he seemed to like her.
What the bloody hell was going on?
"Holmes!"
The curly and slightly bloodied head turned towards the sound. "Busy doing your job, Lestrade!"
The redhead gently shoved Sherlock, who glared in return and silently returned to the case.
Chuckling at the sight of the detective as whipped as he'd ever be, Lestrade ducked under the police tape and walked towards Sherlock.
"So, consulting detective, who's your new assistant? Watson ill?"
"This is Edith Doe." The woman, barely modest, flashed a demure smile. "And I don't know where the doctor is."
"Right. So what have we got?"
"Attempted and poorly planned political assassination. No fatalities on initial explosion. Casualties of course, one of which I am."
"And I," Edith said with a nudge in Sherlock's back.
He winced and shifted away from her, though she didn't appear sorry. "And Edith, too."
Lestrade's mouth twitched. "Would you like a coat, either of you?"
"No. Mine's somewhere on the second floor."
"Thank you, but also no," replied Edith politely. "I'll borrow Sherlock's."
Lestrade twitched a smile again as Sherlock seemed to course with annoyance. "You should get that facial tick checked out, Inspector" he said brusquely as he about-faced.
"My dear, dear woman, however did you get in this privileged position?" asked the DI.
"Very carefully," she murmured and glided after Sherlock.
Donovan chose that moment to approach her boss. "Inspector, who the hell is she?"
"A lovely Edith Doe. I don't know if we'll ever see her after this, but I certainly hope she stays."

Sherlock, of course, found clues to the bomber and to his anger Lestrade wouldn't let him help chase the criminal.
"You're bloody and bruised. So is Edith. Go home for God's sake and rest."
"I can keep going. So can Edith." She let out a pained sigh in response. "Fine. We'll go home."
He immediately walked to the curb and flagged a hesitant taxi. "If you need me, you know where to find me."