A/N: Thank you so much to people who still follow me, those who review and those still active in the Sherlock fandom. I know there are less of us these days. My life does not make it easy to write and I have a lot planned for this coming year but feel determined to get more written, and manage my time well.

Fear not, I have not abandoned this fandom or fiction writing! Second part to this story in the process already. Brownie points for those who know where Sherlock has been left.

Chapter 32: High heroics

The icy air hit Sherlocks cheeks, rousing him from his half conscious stupor. For several minutes all he could do was blink against the wintery blast, his eyes watering from both pain and the temperature, only serving to chill his skin further as involuntary tears spilled from his lids. The daylight flooding his retinas only sent more agony into his skull.

The detective squeezed his eyes shut and tried desperately to remember what had happened and exactly where he was. Reluctant to crack his eyes properly open, he used every one of his sluggish and dulled senses he could to ascertain his location and situation.

All arms and leg in tact, but not well. His hands were numb and from what he could tell his wrists were tied together with what he thought must have been cable ties. From what he could feel his coat and scarf was gone, that much was obvious from the whipping wind through his shirt, he shivered violently. His shoes and socks gone too, great, was his perpetrator short on footwear?

Couldn't have been here too long, otherwise would already be hypothermic, or was he already and just delirious? He shivered again, this time teeth chattering.

What day was is? His head hurt, something about today he needed to know, what was it.

He grunted in annoyance, stupid transport, if only he could just think and his arms would work. He tilted a little in an attempt to either stand or decipher if he was bound to anything. His body crushed forward, shoulder colliding with cold metal and exploding with pain, which quickly dissipated into his numb arms.

"Outside' the detective roughly mumbled, a small bluster of sleet hit his face sending more frozen tendrils into his body. Another shake of muscles.

He ground his teeth together to a bid to stop them chattering and in anger at his slow mind, think you fool.

No traffic, nothing. Not a sound of anything could be heard. Surely not good.

'John'

The name of his friend jolted him somewhat, 'where was John?'

A wave of horrendous nausea passed through him then and he gagged, making his headache worsen ten fold. Unable to brace himself up he lay bound on his side and vomited into the ground before him. It was the then the shivering began more relentlessly.

'Christmas'

Finally something of potential use popped into his mind. It was Christmas Day, he remembered now. And John was at Harry's for the day, with Rosie. That meant several things, one, he would struggle to reach John and two, wherever he was he may not be found quickly depending on location.

Terrific.

If he didn't hurry up and start thinking he would just die of hypothermia right here.

Think...

He growled, this time rolling onto his back he snapped his eyes open wide, this quickly followed with pain and then another wave of nausea, the detective swallowed it back hard and refused to allow his transport to rule his mind.

A white winter sky met his vision, and a shower of light sleety snow was falling into his face, the pain behind the eyes proving too much and only forced his lids closed again. A lack of buildings in his brief vision meant one of two things, he was in an open space or up high. But he was on metal which was less likely to be in a open space such as park or reserve. So up high it was.

The lack of traffic was not usual for Christmas Day but he expected to at least hear a few taxis ferrying people about the city to relatives and friends or whatever it is they do. So, not central then, not near a hustle of the city.

There was two issues here. One, he had no idea where he was, and two, currently had no way of contacting his one friend who would be able to get him out of this situation. With his coat seemingly gone, as must be his phone too.

But hang on, somewhere in the back of his aching head he remembered something.

No so long ago...

"This is ridiculous John, since when I'm I not going to be with you when I get into trouble?"

The doctor eyed him for a second and sighed a little. "What about the time you were stabbed on the Thames shore recently?" He said.

"Lestrade was with me." Sherlock announced.

"And incapacitated, and you had lost so much blood I'm not even bloody certain how you managed to remain conscious enough to let me know your location let alone save his life"

"You saved his life"

John folded his arms.

"What about the time you collapsed on Hampstead Heath in the snow after a stabbing?"

"Apart from that." The detective shot.

"The time I lost you at Surrey keys after being taken an assaulted by a mad man, by he time I found you?" John swallowed back the nausea the memory brought back to him. His eyes glared are his friend with the look of indignation.

"Your point is what?" Sherlock quirked a questionable eyebrow and pulled himself into his chair with a huff.

"My point is I'm not losing you again, not again." The blogger said firmly.

"We are not having this conversation John. Before you came along I was perfectly able to look after myself."

"Sure you were..." the doctor shook his head, "a junky unable to control himself at a crime scene, scraped up off the pavement by not just Lestrade but your brother many times."

Sherlock pulled his legs up into his body but said nothing.

John held out a tiny back item which looked more like a small usb memory stick. "Mrs H can stitch a few pockets into your clothes. I would recommend underwear, because let's face it everyone who kidnaps or attacks you loves that bloody iconic coat of yours."

"Your wasting your time." The detective grumbled. "If this is my brothers way of showing he cares..."

"It was my idea." John interrupted, "I just needed his contacts to come up with the thing, I have several spare too."

"You're not going to let this go are you?" Sherlock narrowed his eyes.

"Nope." The blogger held the small item out to his friend and the detective snatched it with the an inaudible mumble. "It's a GPS tracker." He added.

"Wonderful, another chance for my brother to have access to my whereabouts at all times." Sherlock smirked and emptied the contents of his hand onto the coffee table.

"He doesn't have access to its location, nor is the thing activated until you press the alarm on it. It sends a message straight to my phone with your co ordinates and alerts me to the fact your in trouble."

Sherlock side glanced the tracker.

"Please." John added, this time his voice softer and with more meaning. "What with Rosie and all, I might not be on one or two cases, and it would make me feel better to know I could get to you should you be in trouble."

"Sentiment." Replied the detective in a slight snarl.

"Humour me." John shot.

"I'll think about it."

Sherlock groaned and rolled onto his side again as a threat of nausea rose but amounted to nothing. He was sure that somewhere on him was the tracker, all he needed to do was activate the thing. If only John had considered what the detective was supposed to do when he was restrained.

Zip ties were nothing though, he thought, he was easily able to break bounds like this, all he needed to do was sit up a little more, maybe easier said than done.

He took three deep breaths before trying to roll back onto his legs, growling in pain as he did and finally heaving again as the floor beneath him tilted, he squeezed his eyes shut, berating himself for opening them briefly.

He attempted to pull his arms back and up behind himself but shots of agony fired from his arm and this time caused him to cry out more audibly. Okay this was a bit not good, he needed a plan B.

Plan B was find something else to break his bonds, but first he needed to decipher his exact location. He very slightly opened his eyes to slight slits and squinted at the floor beneath himself. Grey mesh, and below that white. He new this place, but what was it.

Very very slowly the detective pushed himself back onto his bum and tried to gently slide back until finally he came into contact with cold railings. Although shivering violently from the temperature the cold metal was slightly soothing against the burning agony now consciously spreading through one of his arms. The railing may just give him the leverage he needed to snap the small plastic binds, with some thought he may be able to push against them.

He braced himself.

And screamed from the agony. Even in his closed lidded eyes he saw white as the shearing pain seized up into his shoulder and neck before dissipating slightly.

No, plan C it may need to be. The less conventional method and also the most painful one. But if he didn't hurry up he would be taken by the effects of the weather, and John really would kill him, if he wasn't dead already.

The idea of Johns face looking over his dead one was enough to set the detective to work. This would not be pleasant.

"Your phones gone off John." Harry looked up to her brother, and shovelled a large slice of turkey into her mouth.

The doctor turned back from helping his daughter with her lunch. "I'm sure it's just Sherlock asking where I've disappeared off to for the day." He joked, adding food to his own mouth.

As he swallowed down his mouthful, something deep down made his stomach do a small flip of worry, something was very wrong. He pulled back from the table and retrieved his phone from the sofa.

"What's up?" Harry saw the colour drain from her brothers face.

"I have to go." Was the only reply.

"He lost his pen, need you to collect it from the floor for him."

John silenced his sister with a glare.

"That bad?"

John nodded and turned to Rosie who was doing he best to enjoy her Christmas lunch but seemed to be wearing the majority of it so far. "Daddy needs to go and find uncle Sherlock, he's in a bit of trouble."

"Uncy Lock." Rosies face brightened up considerably, "can I come?"

John glanced for his phone screen to see the GPS locater home in on his best friends location and shook his head.

"No Rosie love, you stay here with Auntie Harry and finish your lunch, Daddy won't be long."

"Oh..." the toddler frowned, "I like Uncy Lock."

"I know," John kissed her briefly on the cheek and turned to his sister.

"Sorry." He said, "I will ring you once I know what's happening."

An awkward silence fell across the room and Harry looked sadly to her brother, a slight worry not just about her brothers best friend but also the fact of being in charge of a 3 and a half year old alone.

"I trust you." The doctor added, "you have Mrs H and Mollys numbers, if you need a hand call them, I'll give them a quick text but you'll be fine."

"Good luck."

"Love you." John grabbed his heavy winter coat and car keys, flying out the front door.

"What have you done this time Sherlock..."