AN: hey guys! Since nobody expressly told me whether they wanted another chapter up, I am posting this with a due sense of timidity and dread. I've been away for four days and have the most horrendous day of exams tomorrow, so if more is required; it'll probably not be until next week. Or possibly Thursday. But I had to get this chapter up cos I wanted to share with you the EXCITEMENT of me at the moment. For those of you familiar with Britain you will know what I mean when I say I am irrevocably excited because I got INVITED by PRINCE CHARLES to go to BUCKINGHAM PALACE for THE DIAMOND JUBILEE CONCERT on Monday. For those of you unfamiliar with any of the above google it and you'll understand. For those of you that watched, did you see me? Purple polo shirt, ponytail, slightly off centre of the stage in the standing bit, probably standing in a group of people also wearing purple polo shirts. Anyways, here's the chapter, I decided to make Sherlock do a stupid thing cos we all know he would. Oh and you know that little thing out there that says no slash? Yeah, quite possibly can't say that anymore. Oh and this has quite a graphic description of a nasty injury, so maybe don't read if you're horrendously squeamish.

I genuinely would never have expected it. Never. I mean, I'm usually the clumsy one! He's such a silly sod. I doubt he'd thank me for that but he is.

We'd been chasing a suspect over an hour when Sherlock had suddenly decided that running over the rooftops would be easier, in this densely populated area of town, gaps between buildings where few and far between, and even if we did run up against any, virtue of architecture and time would generally have kept us safe.

After legging it across a government building at Grosvenor place, (purely to spite Mycroft I have no doubt), our quarry disappeared up an alley and Sherlock, self-confident dickhead that he is yelled,

'Come on John! Jump!'

I, my breath now coming in screaming pants, yelled back 'Sherlock, it's too high, we'll never make it!'

He sneered, 'Oh fine, I'll do it. Piece of cake!' ah, the fatal words had been spoken and I dear reader, could only close my eyes as I slid to a halt and wonder what was to happen next.

Predictably, he too skidded to a halt and then pitched quite gracefully really, over the edge and fell, catching a foot in the bars of the fire escape.

Commendably, he didn't shriek like a girl, although the suspect did as nine stone three of consulting detective landed on the back of his neck. Hmm, so much for deadly, highly trained assassins. The long string of rather creative swearwords that followed indicated that, not only was my friend alive, but he was also angry, usually indicating that someone was going to be spending a large amount of the rest of their life in a prison cell. Reacting accordingly, I slid down the fire escape and jogged over to the heap of Sherlock, which was moaning quietly.

'Sherlock?' I asked cautiously. A pale face appeared from the tangle of black coat and Cuban assassin.

'John.' It panted 'My leg…' he tried to sit up, alarming me slightly.

'No, Sherlock, don't move! I'm just going to have a look…'

I managed to remove enough coat and suspect to be able to take a look at the injured leg. It definitely did not look leg shaped. I grimaced but only slightly.

'Ok, Sherlock, I'm just going to..'

He yelped slightly and his face went pale green as he rasped 'John, Hurts!'

'Yes thank you Sherlock.' I said absently, sliding his pocket knife gently along the length of his trouser leg. He scowled and yelped again as I ripped the expensive fabric back.

His leg was a mess. One long gash ran smoothly from ankle to knee with the suspicious glitter of broken glass glinting along the edge, there was a broken bottle about a foot away. Oh good. Tetanus AND septicaemia…

Mostly, what drew the eye was just above the ankle. Sherlock's foot was at a right angle to the rest of his leg and while most of the long bone was in its proper place, the whole of his left ankle seemed to have been pushed to the right which indicated one if not two displaced fractured. It would have been fascinating, had I not had Sherlock doing his best not to make a sound but keening quietly through clenched teeth and going a pale grey hue. He grabbed my lower arm as I prodded at the smashed joint and gasped,

'What's wrong with it John?'

'Ummm…' I said watching the flesh around his ankle go a rather pretty shade of purple tinged with black. It'd even go with his suit, I remember thinking.

'John?'

I hurriedly threw his coat over the injury and plastered a smile onto my face.

'I can honestly say I don't know.' I lied. I knew from past experience that, if I told Sherlock the full extent of his injury he would go into hysterics and I'd have to have another 'conversation' with Mycroft about why I was causing his baby brother 'undue distress' as if he was a pet hamster or something.

'You don't know?' he asked looking slightly confused.

'No. does it hurt anywhere else?' I asked quickly.

'No. The suspect broke my fall.' I stared for a few seconds and turned away, before I felt the pressure increase on my wrist. Sherlock was staring up the alley eyes fixed on the opening. The suspect was limping painfully towards freedom.

I didn't think. Something kicked in; I knew that if I let this man go, he'd cause more chaos; more people would die, including probably my friend. I didn't think. I just pulled out my browning and shot the fucker in the knee. There was silence for a moment except the hired killer's moans and a nasty squelching sound as his injured knee hit the floor.

'Nice shit.' Sherlock observed coolly. 'Dig the bullet out.'

'What?' I asked, dazed.

He smirked again, wincing slightly 'Well, we can't say he fell onto that bottle if he's got a bullet in his knee.

About five minutes later, Lestrade and his team turned apparently having heard the sound of gunfire and made the connection between the afore mentioned and Sherlock. Lestrade climbed out of the squad car and sauntered into the alley.

'Jesus Christ!' he muttered kicking the bloodied splinters of glass.

'Is not currently present.' Snarled a voice from my shoulder.

Sherlock had buried his head there a couple of minutes ago and had a bone-crunching grip on my wrist.

'An ambulance, if you would be so good, Lestrade.' He said, somehow managing to sound imperious in spite of the hot tears that had been soaking into my jacket since we'd been sat like that. Lestrade looked at me and I nodded urgently. He despatched an eager looking constable to radio for an ambulance and looked down.

'What's this then?' he asked, poking the moaning suspect with his toe.

'That is the lead implementer in the Wilson case. If he is wearing black jeans with clay on the hem, arrest him.' He moaned slightly.

I squeezed his hand 'Five minutes Sherlock. Just hold on.'

An hour later, I was sat in a clinically white waiting room, being slowly talked to death by a middle aged woman with warts. After covering every topic from Boris Johnson, the Jubilee Concert and her daughter's new baby and shortly before I made my escape to the men's bathroom, a nurse came out and called

'Holmes?'

At which point Mycroft strode into A and E, pushed past her and shot me the sort of look most people reserve for puppy drowners. Only to return rather slower a few moments later, with his nose severely out of joint.

'Sherlock has asked to see you Doctor Watson.' He turned away and then turned back, looking even more like he'd drunk a pint of vinegar 'And may I take this opportunity to congratulate the both of you? I think my brother will make you very happy.' He turned away and strode purposefully down the corridor. Entirely bemused, I sprinted down the corridor and found Sherlock haranguing some poor nurse about his dose of painkillers. I took a deep breath

''retogetheranswermeSherlock!'

Dead silence

'One more time please.'

I breathed in slowly 'Why does Mycroft think we're together?'

He shrugged 'I wanted you in, I wanted him out.' He blew up through his fringe. 'it seemed the simplest solution at the time.'

'Oh. Right.' I have no idea why I felt slightly disappointed.

'If it's not acceptable I can tell the nurse…' he offered

'No, no… it's not worth the bother.'

He studied me for a moment. 'John I will need you to bring me a few things since they insist on pointlessly keeping me here. As you will certainly not get it right, I have written a list.'

I snatched it and glanced over it sulkily. 'Sherlock… I can't bring a skull into hospital.'

He grinned wolfishly. 'Of course you can. Piece of cake!'

AN: more? Less? Go and shoot yourself? Review! I'm still on the lookout for ideas so if ya got any let me know!