I was limping home, hardly aware of my surroundings. I had proudly and stubbornly refused Lestrade's offer of a ride home, but now the five block walk was beginning to seem like leagues. I was looking forward to my return. If Watson was not there I intended to go round to my brother to rouse him. He'd probably spent a pleasant evening with Mycroft discussing politics or something. I expected he'd be grumpy with me after all, but I knew it was for his own good and I was not about to apologize for it.
I looked up to see a carriage in front of the flat and smiled. So apparently Mycroft had seen Watson home. Grand. Of course Watson would have it out with me over my injuries but once he was certain I'd live he'd just grumble a bit and forget it.
I managed the steps with a great bit of effort. It was hard to find my footing with the stairwell dancing around in my vision. I got to the sitting room and was surprised to find it occupied by only one man.
"Where's Watson I asked?"
"Sherlock we have a problem." Mycroft started.
Before he had a chance to finish I was sudden overtaken by dizziness and we heard a shout from Mrs. Hudson. Something about blood.
A/N: Here's the tool I've been using. It's not really right of me not to share it: www . wordcounter . net. No I dunno what happened to Holmes and what the case was. I'm really far too tired to figure that out.