Again, I apologise for any bad mistakes n stuff. This fanfic is not what I usually do, as I normally just spill out short snippets that could fit into their everyday life, but this is a little different. Ickle bit late but who cares!

R

...

'What happened?'

'Er,' John started, stumbling with his words. How did he explain Sherlock to this woman from the emergency services without making him sound like a psycho? She looked up at him expectantly as she and her colleague began to lift Sherlock up from the floor onto a stretcher. 'I mean, it looks like the wound has already been treated, are you a doctor?'

'I, well, it's not-' John started, but then the sound of the door opening downstairs caught their attention.

'John, dear, are you there? Mr, erm, Lestrange-'

'Lestrade-' said a familiar voice.

'- is here.' Mrs Hudson called from the corridor, now padding slowly up the stairs with a heavy clomping steadily behind her. The paramedic turned round as John began to move swiftly towards the lounge door, stepping cautiously around Sherlock's inanimate state. 'Hello, Dr. Watson, got your text!' Lestrade seemed weary but oddly satisfied.

'And what, exactly, are you grinning about?'

'What's he done this time, got his riding crop wedged up hi-oh.' Lestrade reached the landing and immediately caught sight of Sherlock on the stretcher.

'Yeah, they had to put him on the floor because they couldn't examine him with a coffee table and a sofa in the way.' John folded his arms and sighed as the pale, thin face with closed eyes and a dry mouth caught his gaze. Sherlock looked even worse. Was it something he'd put on the wound? All he'd used was antiseptic with a soothing lotion.

'But couldn't you have done that?' Lestrade frowned. John shook his head. He was so reluctant to get involved because if something did go wrong and it was his fault, he'd never live it down.

'So you are a doctor then?' said the female paramedic, now looking irritated and quite angry and John, who just ignored her. 'Sir, we really need some more information on the patient if weare going to give him a proper diagnosis at the hospital.' Said the other male paramedic, who was looking extremely annoyed that they were being ignored, trying to lift Sherlock but failing miserably because Mrs. Hudson, John and Lestrade were standing in the way.

'Oh, um,' John startled.

'Name, age, has he been vulnerable to any harmful substances?'

'Sherlock Holmes, erm...' how old was Sherlock? He certainly didn't look any older than 35, but too well-presented to be in his 20s. How did he not know this? They'd been sharing a flat for almost eight months now and the subject of his birth date had not even crossed Sherlock's lips.

'31, and probably, yes. Knowing Sherlock, most likely.' Lestrade finished for John.

The paramedics nodded and checked his arms. John frowned. Sherlock didn't do drugs. Not anymore. Mycroft had mentioned Sherlock's earlier days where he needed something better than caffeine to keep his mind stimulated, but he'd never even touched a needle or a powder since he'd been living with John.

'Don't bother checking for needle pricks. He doesn't do drugs.' Lestrade shook his head, frowning. Of course Lestrade knew about Sherlock's past tendencies, but he wouldn't dare mention it at a time like this.

'Well, I'm afraid we can't be certain of it without a police or medical record, sir.'

'It's Detective Inspector,' Lestrade looked bored as he drew his badge from his coat pocket 'and, believe me, I can vouch for him for now, so can you please get on with getting him to the ambulance?'

Lestrade gave a glance at his watch and then looked expectantly at John, who pursed his lips and watched the stretcher with Sherlock's long body get carried out uneasily through the door and down the rickety staircase. He was extremely grateful for Lestrade's help with the little trauma that occurred with Sherlock, but explaining it was just as difficult as Sherlock was after four cups of coffee. 'It's a long story.'

'I have approximately one hour, so make it short.' Lestrade raised his eyebrows.

John sighed, and then gave in.

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