"SHERLOCK! COME BACK!" John shouts down the street. Sherlock continues to run, ignoring the pleas from his friend. "SHERLOCK!" He dashes across the street without looking.

John

"SHERLOCK!" He races across the street, and reaches the other side, turning back and grinning at me. He quickly pats himself down, looks toward the middle of the street and goes racing back to pick up his notebook. "SHERLOCK!" He doesn't even look up, but bends down to get the book. He glances toward me before straightening up. The headlights of an oncoming car light up the left side of his body. He turns to the source of the light, squinting. Oh God! "SHERLOCK!" I start to run into the street, trying to push Sherlock out of the way. He's not moving. Oh God.

Sherlock

I stare into the lights of the car, and my body involuntarily freezes. My mind is free, but my body refuses to move. The car inches along the street, probably moving at twenty five miles an hour or so, but I've slowed it down. The driver is talking on his mobile, typical.

"SHERLOCK!" John's calling my name. Out of the corner of my eye, I can see him racing down the road toward me. I blink and suddenly the car is a few feet from me, quickly closing the gap. The driver hasn't looked up yet. Finally I can feel my legs moving and I start to move out of the way. Not fast enough. The front end of the car rams into my body.

John

Sherlock crumples onto the hood of the car. Oh God.

"SHERLOCK!" The driver of the car looks up, screams and slams on the breaks. Teenage girl. Figures. She tumbles out of her car as I reach Sherlock's side. He's unconscious. Marvelous.

Sherlock

The car hits me and I hit the hood. Hard. I can hear the girl screaming and the car comes to a halt. The world starts to fade and suddenly, nothing is visible. My mind draws a blank and I slip into unconsciousness.

John

My eyelids start to droop as I sit next to Sherlock's bed in the hospital. He seems a lot more vulnerable in the hospital clothes they changed him into. At least he's sleeping now. The damage wasn't too bad, but it was still bad enough to break him, and cause internal bleeding. Luckily, I'm a doctor. I don't understand how Sherlock survived without a doctor before. I know my stuff, but he still needed a hospital, so I had called in. Now he's sleeping, he woke up as we pulled up to the hospital, he wasn't too happy about that. Kept telling me that he would be better back at the flat. As if. He couldn't even walk without hurting himself. Sometimes I don't understand him. The humming machines lead me into a sense of security, Sherlock's going to be fine, you don't need to worry John. I close my eyes, placing my hand under my chin, and slowly nodding off to sleep.

Sherlock

My eyes snap open. Anesthetic, sterilized cleanliness, beeping machines, white walls, scratchy clothes, ugly clothes, hard bed, only one place. Hospital. I try to sit up, but my chest hurts and with a pathetic grunt I fall back into the pillows. Ouch. Assess the damage? Bruised and or broken ribs, I can't tell apart from that. What happened? The memories come trickling back, sluggish at first, but slowly they all arrive in an order that makes sense.

Chasing a bad guy, running across the street, dropping my notebook, running back in the street to get it, John shouting, and a…. car? I got hit by a damned car! What kind of idiot….? Teenage girl. Right. I remember. She was talking on her mobile…. Isn't that illegal? Course it is! Dear God! I get sent to the hospital by some idiotic, little girl? A dirty little law breaking teenager? I sigh, but immediately regret it. I start to rub my ribs, the IV tugging at my arm. I snarl, I hate IV's. There's a shift on my left and I turn my head to look. John.

What the Hell? Why is John here? He had a date with Sarah didn't he? A smug sort of feeling settles on my shoulders, he obviously didn't get to meet that appointment. He moves in his chair to get more comfortable, in a way it's kind of…. Nice of him to wait for me. To Hell with nice. Nobody care about that kind of thing anymore.

John

"JOHN! WAKE UP!" My hand falls out from under my chin and the feeling of vertigo wakes me.

"W-t?"

"John! You awake?"

"Now. What Sherlock." Sherlock's awake, good.

"Take me home!"

"I can't. Sorry Sherlock, you're supposed to stay here for a while."

"How long is that?"

"Until tomorrow afternoon." Sherlock groans and rubs his chest.

"My pig lung is going to go bad by then." Wait…. What?

"…. You mean-"

"It's under the couch." I can feel my jaw drop,

"That's what I was smelling!"

"It's already smelling? Hm… It's gone bad already. But seriously John. You have to get me out. Hospitals give me the wiggins."

"You just said wiggins." He shudders,

"The only way to explain it. They make my skin crawl."

"You used the word wiggins."

"Yeah. So?" I've never heard him say anything like that before.

"The great Sherlock Holmes can't come up with a better word than 'wiggins' to describe something? I'm in shock here Sherlock."

"No you aren't. Get me home."

"No. I can't. It's against the rules."

"Help me escape?" That causes me to pause.

"What do I have to do?" Sherlock grins. I'm so going to regret this.