Sherlock lifted his foot tiredly, placing it on the sixth step up. He had been out all day, all night, all of... whenever. He'd lost track of time in the midst of the case and now that it was solved, he was exhausted. So exhausted.

He tiredly raised his other foot to place it on the stairstep again - left foot in front of right - and then-

The sickening, swooping sensation of missing a step loomed in his stomach for a half second before he went down like a sack of potatoes. Decreased reaction time meant he didn't get his arms out in time to catch himself on the stairs and the laws of gravity sent him tumbling down all six stairs in a whirl of movement and pain and noise.

"... Ouch," he muttered, trying to pick apart the various aches and pains pervading his major senses, but his mind was slow, sluggish to keep up with the constant deductions. His arm, however, seemed to be smarting the most.

With a groan, Sherlock tried to push himself into a proper sitting position. His arms were weak, his entire frame trembling from overexertion.

Oh, stupid transport.

"Sherlock?" John peered around the landing, hurrying downstairs when he spotted him on the floor. "Sherlock!"

Sherlock shook his head impatiently, pushing himself up enough to lean against the wall heavily. "I'm fine," he mumbled.

"Did you fall down the stairs?" John asked, crouching next to him. "What's wrong? Did you get hurt? Take something you shouldn't have?" He reached out and pressed his hand against his forehead.

"Just tired," Sherlock muttered, working up enough strength to rub at his aching arm. "Missed a step..."

John frowned. "Are you hurt?"

"Just a bit," Sherlock muttered. "Few bruises, to be sure," he mumbled, stumbling to his feet and clinging to the wall for support.

"What hurts? Did you hit your head?"

Sherlock sighed. "No, John. I don't think so, anyway." He ran his fingers through his curls briefly. "Just arm... leg... knee..." He yawned widely. "Bed..."

John sighed, standing as well. "At least take a paracetamol if you're sure you didn't hit anything that would cause damage."

Sherlock yawned again. "Sure." He looked up the staircase forlornly. It felt strangely daunting when he was so tired, and now, aching.

John glanced at him. "You need help?"

Sherlock scowled. "I can manage," he muttered, managing two unsteady steps, realising that John was still staring at his back. "... Oh, come on, then," he said tiredly.

He could practically hear John smiling as he stepped up, placing his hand gently against his back. "One at a time, now."

Sherlock just sighed tiredly, allowing John to help him through the otherwise seemingly-impenetrable mountain that led into the sanctity of 221B.

Perhaps not entirely in character... but new, emotional Series Three Sherlock is pretty much a fall-back for anyone who's a little 'OOC' in their writing now. :P I really like this one.

Thanks to paula a rushing for the idea of Sherlock falling down the stairs. And this, actually, isn't the hurt!lock I was planning, so there'll be more there, too. And other sleepies. :)

I do not own Sherlock. Thank you for your continued support and I hope the upcoming chapters will continue to make you all happy, too!