"He must be around here somewhere." Lestrade scratched his head and looked across at Sally Donovan. "Sherlock's mobile signal was tracked to this area before it died."
"He should have had the sense to keep it charged." Donovan couldn't resist the dig.
Pulling himself out of the car, John walked over to join them.
"We should probably split up," he said pensively. "If he's here then it's too cold to waste time, we need to find him before he freezes to death."
Pulling his overcoat tighter around himself Lestrade nodded.
"Sally, you go that way." He pointed off to his left. "John, you go down there, I'll go right. Keep in touch."
John was worried, but although the wind was bitter, the chill factor dropping the temperature by nearly ten degrees, it was also keeping the clouds moving, and the rain away.
xXx
In the distance Sherlock could hear them calling. From his refuge under the window he realised that the old moth-eaten sheet he had tried to splint his broken leg with was the only thing he had to attract their attention; his throat was too bruised to shout.
Waiting until they sounded near enough, he put his lighter to the edge of the material, and as the flames took hold flipped it out of the window like a blazing banner.