A/N: Once again, thanks and cookies to peaceandlove23 for reviewing every single chapter O.o I love you, m'dear. I'm still horribly under-motivated, but that story arc REALLY needs to get finished so here we are.
A cough sounded from somewhere in the direction of the crash.
"Holmes?" Watson called, stifling a cough himself. The air was full of debris and it took nearly all his concentration not to choke. "Holmes, are you alright?"
"Fine, Watson. You?" came the muffled reply. There came the sound of glass shards crunching and something - the table? - being shifted. A tall, soot-covered figure rose up from the floor. Holmes frowned in dismay at the wreckage and began shuffling through smashed chemistry apparatus towards Watson's voice.
"I'm - aagh!" The sharp exclamation was more reply than Holmes had needed. Disregarding his bruises the detective shoved chairs out of the way and kicked rugs and fallen decor aside to reach the doctor. He seemed to be pinned under the settee, one leg stretched out at an awkward angle. "It's not bad," Watson wheezed as he struggled to push himself upright. "Just - my bad leg - "
Holmes ignored his protestations and lifted the settee, then lifted his flatmate and laid him as best he could on the righted piece of furniture. Watson made no sound (after all, he was a soldier) but the tight set of his jaw left Holmes in no doubt as to the pain he was in.
"Steady, old chap. We'll get you fixed up," he promised.
Should be just one more installment . . .