Disclaimer - I do not own Holmes or Watson

Gymnast

We ran across the rooftops - Holmes first, me a couple of metres behind. The heat of the blaze pricked at my back, and although I did not turn, I felt the fingers of fire licking ever closer to us.

The pain in my thigh blazed, and I fell further behind, limping slower and slower after my friend. Holmes turned and looked back at me. I motioned for him to keep going - to get out! - but he took no notice, running back to put one arm around my shoulders. I leaned heavily on him, feeling guilty, but at the same time relieved, as I proceeded to take the weight off my leg. "You should go on, Holmes," I muttered.

Holmes looked down sharply at me, before shaking his head "Do not talk nonsense. Of course I am not going to leave you."

We carried on, me being half-carried, and made up some distance on the flames. The rooftops we were running over were flat, luckily for my leg. But soon came an obstacle. In order to cross between two parts of the roof of the house, separated by a courtyard, we had three options - taking the long route around and probably perishing in the fire, jumping from the rooftop to the courtyard below, there being more than half a chance that we would be killed by the impact, or the quick way across - a beam, no more than twenty centimetres wide, stretching over the twelve metre expanse of courtyard and sharp, hard cobbles.

Holmes looked at me and I stared at him "What do we do?" I asked. It looked almost impossible. Even without a useless leg, I am broader and more muscular than Holmes, and would, almost certainly overbalance. Holmes cast a glance around the rooftop, looking for another way. But there was none.

"It seems," he said "That the beam is our only hope."

"But - but that's not possible…for heaven's sake, Holmes! I am a Doctor, not a gymnast."

"I will help you…"

"No! If I must do it, I will do it alone. I will not fall and take you with me." I spoke the words with such vehemence that Holmes looked surprised and not a little touched.

He nodded "Very well. But I will go across first - show you where to step."

"Very well."

Holmes took a deep breath, and walked across carefully, seeming completely composed. He was as balanced as a cat, and went across quickly, before motioning to me to follow.

I nodded, tried to calm myself, and started across the beam. My hands shook terribly, and I felt sweat running down my face. My leg was in agony, as every other step I had to put my full weight on it. I looked down once, and had to stop, fear freezing me. My back, however, was getting hot. The flames edged closer.

I was roused by Holmes' voice, stern, steady - "Watson! Watson, look at me!" I acquiesced "Watson, you have to keep going. Keep your eyes on me. You are almost there."

Keeping my eyes locked with his, I continued, until I was about three metres from the edge. Holmes flung out his hand to me, and I came closer to it, ready to grab on and hold it with all my might, until I was safe. I was looking so intently at Holmes, I did not see the bump in the wooden beam. Unexpectedly, it jarred my bad leg. I yelled out in pain, and tripped, falling forwards and banging my head and feeling myself start to slip off the beam. Then everything went black.

Looking back in hindsight, I realise that I was aware subconsciously of what was going on. I felt Holmes' hands tighten around my wrist, felt him pull me up onto the beam with strength I did not know that he possessed and felt him pull me towards terra firma. I was aware of him flinging me over his shoulder - again, where did that strength come from? His stature, his figure, the lack of meat on his bones all belied it - and then carried me to a place of safety, before laying me down on the stony, gravelled ground.

He placed a handkerchief on my head wound, and began to shake me, hard, back into consciousness. "Watson…" he said, and I noticed a slight tremor to his voice "My dear fellow…please…wake up!" I opened my eyes, and saw Holmes bending over me, the hand clutching the handkerchief against my head wound, the other gripping my arm. "Oh heavens, Watson."

I groaned and shifted, trying to make myself comfortable. "Are you alright, Holmes?" I murmured, wanting to make sure he had not been injured in our flight.

Holmes' eyes glinted - were those tears? - and nodded "I am fine, old man. It is you we have to worry about."

"I -"

"Do not say you will be fine. We shall hail a cab and get you to hospital."

"No…Baker Street…"

"Do not be stubborn, Watson."

"Holmes…you were injured…made us take you home…"

Holmes sighed and nodded "Oh, very well." He helped me up and we wondered slowly down through the house of a very surprised Duchess, and Holmes got a cab. He helped me in, and tucked a blanket around my leg, his hand still on the handkerchief clutched to my wound.

I felt a little better and smiled dryly. "Next time we celebrate my birthday, Holmes, I do not care if Mrs Hudson is spring cleaning, we are having a cake and candles in Baker Street, not in one of your bolt-holes, especially not one which you use as a laboratory."