Okay, just a bit more to hammer out with Donovan so this story is actually logical and realistic, then on to my, and hopefully your, favorite part! SHERLOCK! :D

BTW the medical info in here is stuff i got from reading other fanfics and such. Really, i have no idea what's going on. But if you do, please ignore it, kay? I tried to research it, but apparently you have to be a doctor and such... :(

The wall cracked almost immediately due to the stress of the saw on the old wood. Soon, Leslie was pulling Sally out of a small crack in the wall.

She took a deep, gasping breath as soon as she was clear of the room. I shared an extremely worried glance with Leslie. She hadn't been breathing, at least not well, before now, and who knows what kind of affect that would have on her brain?

I wished John was here to do his doctor things, but I commanded Leslie to carry her downstairs immediately, while I followed.

"Here, I have her, I have her!" Leslie shouted at the new paramedics, "Hurry! Her oxygen levels might be too low!"

They soon had her hooked up to an oxygen mask, and I waited anxiously with Leslie to see how she was.

Her eyes soon fluttered, but she didn't wake.

"Is she supposed to unconscious still?" Leslie whispered tensely.

"Her ox-sat levels were uncomfortably low, almost in the sixties. I don't have any medical history on her, but for an average person of her height, weight, and amount of physical activity, that's borderline fatal. You got to her just in time." The paramedic said solemnly, like she was on her deathbed.

Leslie opened his mouth, but seemed unable to get the words out. Finally, he said, "Will she be okay?"

"It's possible she could have some memory loss, but it should all be recovered in time. Her balance and cognitive functions likewise will be slightly off for a few days. She'll probably wake up in the next few hours."

I had to smile. Even though the diagnosis was grim, it sounded like she would be fine in the long run.

"And Anderson?" I asked, the pit in my stomach returning.

"Slightly better condition. He'll be sore for a couple of weeks, and won't be able to life his arms above his shoulder for a while, but he should make a full recovery. I'm unsure of whether physical therapy will be required for his shoulders, but if I had to venture a guess, I would say no, it's not required. He also had a nasty blow to the head, and two broken ribs, but those will all heal in time. He's already awoken, but we put him back under to help him heal and relax, and not stress those shoulders."

"John?"

"Still holding on, I'm afraid. He has stated expressly that he doesn't want to be drugged until Mr. Holmes is found, but it would better for him if he would just relax."

"How is his spine?" I winced in sympathy just from thinking about the excruciating pain he must be in.

"Not broken, thankfully. But it will be extremely sore, and bruised for a while. He'll be in a wheelchair and confined to bed rest for up to a month, maybe even more."

I shuddered to think of John being stuck in his flat with Sherlock Holmes for over a month, unable to get away. And the sociopath, high-functioning or not, would not make it any easier.

"Will there be surgery?" I wondered.

"More than likely, if only to make sure that there are no complications."

"Thank you. Radio if you need me or something changes."

"Of course, sir."

I wandered back into the house, but found nowhere to search for Sherlock that at least three people were not already searching. Some weren't trying that hard, but others were genuinely looking for the man.

"Hey, I think I found something!" Someone finally yelled from the second floor, "I got a loose floorboard!" I ran upstairs along with a flock of curious people, but shoved my way to the front.

"Let me see, let me see," I said impatiently, "This is Detective Inspector Lestrade, and I will fire you all if you do not step back immediately!"

(AN: Sorry, I just had to put an awkward break here just to say that I love that last line! Really, I just need to here the real Lestrade say that to a bunch of people now!)

There was an instantaneous ripple through the crowd as a large space appeared around the broken floorboard. But no one left. Wonderful, I had an audience.

"Show me." I commanded of the junior.

He lifted the board slightly, and I saw that it looked…newer, somehow. Less scuffed and rotted.

"Pull it all the way up." I said, bending down to the help him. By removing a surrounding circle of floorboards, we revealed a circular pulley system for leading down into what looked like a basement.

"It goes behind the stairs," I noticed, "So it wouldn't be noticed in the building plans."

The junior nodded, "Shall I go down first?"

"No, I will. Stay here and don't follow until I tell you too."

Another nod, and I stepped on the wooden platform that would lower me down the hole into the basement. I had to use the rope to take myself down, and I gripped it tightly, wondering if it was too old to hold my weight.

I descended slowly, keeping an eye on the approaching ground. It was definitely a basement; I went down about the distance of the first floor before I reached an open space.

I looked around the space, but saw nothing but a slight glow from behind a curtain that acted as a wall.

I walked towards it warily, wondering if I was about to find Sherlock hung like Anderson was.

What I found was much, much, much worse.

Of course, we already kinda know what kind of trouble Sherlock is in...

Please review! And if you didn't understand what I'm saying with the pulley, if you've ever seen National Treasure (With Nic Cage! Morgerdorffer!), just imagine that rickety old wooden thing in the end of the movie, only less sophicated and smaller. :D