Sherlock Holmes' eyes flew open and he coughed. He coughed again and again and attempted to roll on his side. His body said otherwise. He gasped as a bolt of pain shot along his spine and he returned to lying on his back. He glanced at the stars and vaguely noted how bright they were.
Wait... stars? Where was the ceiling? Or the roof?
Finally his body allowed him to move and he raised his head slowly and took in his surroundings.
Carnage.
The ground floor of the warehouse (if it could still be called a warehouse) was in ruins. The majority of the walls lay in pieces around Holmes, and the gathering dust made it hard to see, whilst the tiny particles in the air ensured his breathing became difficult, despite being partially outside. The second floor and the roof were no longer there, and Holmes had no doubt they had contributed towards the searing pain in his head.
As he lay amongst the wreckage, his mind began to piece events together, until the memories caught up and engulfed him. Being knocked out, the confrontation between himself and Samuel Davis, Watson's intrusion, a gunshot, the blood, the explosion, Watson instinctively protecting Holmes...
Watson.
Holmes was staggering towards his feet immediately, coughing and covering his mouth as he desperately squinted through the dust and the now-approaching blizzard for his dear friend. Every so often loud creaking noises were produced by the remaining walls and beams, and Holmes knew that the rest of the building was going to collapse on them if he didn't get the pair of them out soon.
"Watson?" Holmes coughed through the dust as he clambered over debris, cautious of the objects he was stepping on. The faint London breeze was beginning to clear the air, and Holmes vision gradually grew more accurate. Soon enough, he noticed a small figure lying limply on their side amongst the rubble a few feet away, dust and snow gathering on the unmoving form.
"Watson!" The detective leapt over the fallen beams and flew to his friend's side. He tentatively placed a hand on Watson's shoulder and ever so gently turned him so he was resting on his back. His eyes were closed, and his face had paled significantly more. Cuts and scrapes decorated his face and ripped at his clothing, and the front of his shirt was now completely drenched in blood. Watson's breathing was present but barely noticeable, and he showed no signs of waking up any time soon.
"Watson? Watson, please," Holmes whispered, softly shaking Watson by the shoulder. "Wake up. Do you hear me? Wake up!" Gradually, Holmes voice grew louder and began to crack as he continued to talk.
"Watson, please. Open your eyes. Listen to me!" Still, Watson remained unresponsive, and his eyes stayed firmly closed. Holmes tenderly brushed the doctor's forehead, hoping for a reaction, but none came.
"What do I do?" Holmes whispered again. "Tell me Watson, what do I have to do?" Desperately, Holmes placed his hands back on Watson's wound, but the man did not stir at the sudden pressure. Holmes could feel fresh blood attempting to make its way past the barrier of Holmes' hands, and he took this as a good sign, that Watson wouldn't die from loss of blood. Yet. Holmes continued to keep his hands on Watson, but never looked away from his face. He noticed that Watson's lips were becoming bluer, losing feeling from the harsh weather, and Holmes cursed loudly. Suddenly, the faintest of movement came from Watson, as his eyelids fluttered but did not open. If he was too cold it was likely his eyes would not open at all, but Holmes could not think of a way of keeping Watson warm without removing his hands from the wound. John Watson would either die of blood loss or freeze to death.
"Watson," Holmes called. "Wake up! You need to open your eyes! Watson!" There was still no reply. "Dammit, John, open your eyes!" Nothing.
Suddenly a foreign pair of hands replaced Holmes' own on Watson's wound and began applying pressure. Holmes looked up, confused and found himself staring at the face of one Constable Clarke. Clarky stared back and nodded once at Holmes. The detective snapped back to reality and quickly took Watson's ice cold hands, rubbing them vigorously and trying to get some feeling back.
"Why are you here, Clarky?" Holmes asked as he worked.
"I came with Dr. Watson to search for you, sir. We both split up and when I heard the explosion, I came to look for you both." he answered, still pressing down on the injury.
"Well, Clarky, I can honestly tell you that this is an unexpected yet extremely pleasant surprise."
"Much appreciated, sir. What – what happened to the Doctor?" Clarky asked hesitantly.
"He was shot by Samuel Davis. He saved my life." Holmes replied, looking fondly down at Watson. His lips had begun to lose the blue tint, and there was a slight colour of red in his cheeks, but he still looked the worse for wear.
"Well, did you honestly think he was going to stand and watch?" Clarky asked, confused.
"No, of course not. He's far too loyal to do nothing. One day, that'll be his downfall." But not today. Holmes finished in his head.
Inside Holmes' hands, Watson's fingers twitched, and the detective instantly bent closer to his face.
"Watson," he called softly. "Can you hear me?" Holmes placed a hand on Watson's cheek, coaxing him back to consciousness. The doctor moaned quietly and moved his head towards Holmes' hand. Holmes smiled and continued to rub his friend's hand. Gradually, the warmth returned to Watson, and his eyelids began to flutter.
"He won't last long here, we need to move him." Holmes told Clarky.
"Already thought of, sir. There's an abandoned church down the road that we can place him in. It's a lot warmer inside, and we can stay there until this blizzard passes." Clarky answered.
"Right." Holmes gently placed one arm under Watson's armpits, and another under his knees. Slowly, he stood up, cradling Watson as he did so. Watson's head lolled onto Holmes' shoulder as the two men made their way across the ruins and through what used to be the door. Holmes could just see the church through the snow, and they hurried through the storm to get to safety.