A police car arrived, sirens doing that funny thing where the sound changed before they stopped.

Her favourite DI got out and jogged over to Sherlock.

"Good girl," he told her, scratching her head.

Gladstone wagged her tail. Yes, this man was here, and he would look after Sherlock. She hopped in the truck to supervise the treatment of John. Sherlock would want it like that.

They scooped John up similarly, putting him on a stretcher and rolling him around the car to near where Sherlock was. Gladstone sat over John, watching what the other men did. They put a mask on his face, and poked his arms with things that looked like they hurt, and Gladstone wanted to protest, but she knew they were only trying to help, in their so very human ways.

There was a noise behind her, and Gladstone looked over to see Sherlock mostly awake, fighting the belts holding him to the stretcher.

"Mr Holmes, stop," a paramedic pleaded. "We're trying to help you."

Sherlock made a displeased noise.

"Get off of me," he snapped. "I'm fine. I don't need this. Stop being ridiculous."

Sherlock managed to get the buckles undone, and pulled the thing off from around his neck. He looked around.

"John?" he called, struggling to stand up.

Gladstone barked. Over here you idiot.

Sherlock turned to look, and nearly sagged with relief. Or perhaps that was from It. Gladstone couldn't tell.

"He was drugged," he called more weakly.

He stumbled, and hands led him back to the stretcher.

"I'm fine," he snapped.

"Sherlock!" a voice bellowed.

Ah yes, her lovely DI would handle this.

Sherlock groaned. "A little bit late Detective Inspector," he said, perhaps a tad bitterly.

Lestrade smirked at him. "You seemed to do fine on your own. Now lay down. You just had a seizure, and somehow ended up face first in the road. I know you don't want to go to the hospital, but John is going, and this way you get there with him."

Sherlock scowled, but Gladstone was pleased to note he allowed himself to be strapped back down. He insisted the stretcher be raised to a sitting position, and he only glared at Lestrade as yet another shock blanket was draped over him.

Gladstone returned to his side, now that she knew John was in good hands. She had her own human to take care of.

There was more talking, Sherlock being irritated about It happening for the second time in a day, blaming the stress of being kidnapped. Gladstone would agree.

Sherlock was loaded in one of the ambulances. Gladstone hopped in behind him, and Lestrade climbed in as well.

Sherlock frowned. "What are you doing?" he asked.

"Taking care of you of course. John's still unconscious and I can trust him to behave on his own. You? Nope."

Gladstone couldn't help but agree, and nuzzled the DI's leg affectionately.

Sherlock grumbled, but stopped as Gladstone let him stroke her until he drifted off to sleep.


They gave Sherlock medicine in the ambulance, and he slept until later that night, a fact about which Gladstone was relieved. He was usually pretty miserable after It happened more than once in a day.

When he did awaken, John was already up and eating, and Lestrade was camped out in their room, reading a crinkly paper.

He and Lestrade started bantering back and forth, but she'd had a long day and wasn't really listening.

"...Bet Gladstone didn't like that."

Gladstone perked up. Certainly whatever it was they were talking about, she most likely didn't approve of it. She started listening after that.

Sherlock made a non committal noise in response.

"A truck? Sherlock, were you driving?" John demanded.

Sherlock only shrugged. "It was necessary. You were unconscious, and could have been for who knows how much longer, bleeding from a head wound of unknown origin, and besides, I pulled over before I had the seizure. It was fine."

John gaped. "Seizure? Sherlock!"

"Oh, did I say seizure? I meant-"

"Shut it," John ordered.

"Necessary," Sherlock muttered.

Gladstone only sighed. She was tired of settling argument between them.

She looked to Lestrade.

You're on this one, she told him.