Thank you, RestlessImaginator for the prompt! I do hope this chapter is alright by you. I kind of rushed through this one today in an effort to try to get the story updated as quickly as possible. Hopefully it isn't too awful. :P

"Tell me again why you've decided to stake out in a tree?" John asked bitterly.

"I told you, John," Sherlock said, "It's best to observe this woman's behaviour in hiding. You know just how dangerous she is."

"Yeah, but it's below zero out here and I'm covered in snow. I'm starting to lose feeling in my toes."

Sherlock shrugged.

"That sounds like a problem of your own. Now hush."

John sighed and rubbed his hands together, hoping the friction would warm him up somehow.

He peered through the many branches of the tree at the ground below him. Well, in truth there wasn't any ground. Just a frozen lake which John knew would most certainly break if he were to fall.

He heard a rustle come from his flatmate, followed by an irritated growl.

"No, not now!" Sherlock whispered.

John looked off into the distance and saw a red car leaving the cabin which he and Sherlock had been staring at for the past forty minutes.

"No, no, no!" Sherlock hollered.

John went to shush him, but found himself panicking when he saw his friend scrambling across a branch right over the frozen body of water.

"Sherlock, be careful!" he shouted.

Before Sherlock could respond, the branch began to crack.

Perhaps what John did next wasn't exactly the smartest idea. But then again, self-preservation wasn't what was on his mind.

He lunged for the detective in an effort to pull him back. The added weight caused the branch to snap completely off, and the two men went tumbling down.

After recovering from the shock of falling into an ice cold lake, Sherlock made his way to the surface, gasping as soon as he felt the cold, winter air on his face. He scrambled onto the part of the ice that wasn't broken and stood up shakily.

"Well, this is rather inconvenient," Sherlock said with a huff as he ruffled the extra water from his hair.

He had expected to hear his flatmate begin to tell him off for being so careless or for getting him drenched in icy lake water.

But there was not a sound.

"John?" Sherlock called.

He looked around, only to find that he was the only one standing on the patch of ice.

And the only one who had resurfaced.

He looked down at the hole which his and John's fall had created, leading into the murky depths of the lake.

"Oh no."

Quickly, Sherlock removed his coat and scarf, made heavy by the water, and dove into the lake. It burned when he opened his eyes; the lake wasn't exactly the cleanest. But, nevertheless, he pushed through the unpleasant sensation, knowing that John was in serious trouble. If John hadn't resurfaced, that meant that he couldn't, whether that was the result of a head injury or restricted movement. It took far longer than Sherlock would have liked for him to find his flatmate. But finally, he saw a white jumper through the cloudy water.

John lay at the bottom of the lake, unconscious.

Hit his head on the way in.

Sherlock wasted no time in swimming over and wrapping his arms around John. It was quite labor intensive, but Sherlock managed to pull John to the surface. Again, he gasped in a good amount of air once he had access to it again, and slid his friend up onto the undisturbed portion of the ice, crawling up after him.

"John!" he called, placing his frozen fingers on his friend's neck.

There was, to his relief, an active pulse, though it was quite slow and laboured.

Upon looking at John's chest, Sherlock noticed that he wasn't breathing.

He most certainly couldn't resuscitate John on the ice. That would be much too difficult, and he did not have time for difficulty.

Thankfully enough, Sherlock had picked a tree to hide out in earlier, meaning that the lake bank was nearby. He dragged John onto the snow, and, without much hesitation, began chest compressions on his friend.

Thirty compressions. Thirty compressions, he repeated to himself as he counted out loud.

John wasn't responding, much to Sherlock's dismay. The detective had hoped he wouldn't need to resort to mouth-to-mouth, as he felt that that would be a violation of John's personal space. But he figured that it would be silly of him to let John die due to his own discomfort.

So he proceeded to fixate his mouth over John's and breathed once into him.

Twice.

Sherlock barely had enough time to leap back and tilt John onto his side before the doctor began to choke up the water which he had earlier inhaled.

When John ceased his coughing, Sherlock rolled him back onto his back and took his pulse again.

Skin is cold, pulse is slow, trembling, breathing is shallow and rapid. Hypothermia. More complications. Damn.

"John?" he called, this time a bit more gently.

John lazily opened his eyes, blinking in an attempt to adjust his eyes to the late afternoon light.

"Christ Sherl'," he muttered.

"It's alright. It's okay now."

John shivered and his teeth chattered.

"Hippoter..." he frowned. "H-hyp-po-"

"Yes, John, hypothermia is setting in. Not to mention the fact that you have a concussion. And possibly a cracked rib or two. I had to resuscitate you."

"G-greg..."

"Who?"

John rolled his eyes.

"L-lestath..."

"'Lestrade'?"

"Mhm."

"My phone is drenched in lake water. I have no way to contact him."

"I d-did."

"What? When?"

"Earl-lier."

Sherlock raised an eyebrow.

"Why?"

"Kn-knew w-we'd be in t-trouble 'ventually."

"We know trouble far too well, don't we?"

John chuckled, sending him into a coughing fit.

It took a minute before John's fit subsided, and he took a shaky breath and shivered.

"I's cold."

Sherlock mentally kicked himself. He forgot John was currently lying in the snow.

He looked out towards the distant road. It wasn't exactly close, but it was probably better to lay John down on the asphalt, rather than in the snow.

How do I get him over there?

Sherlock looked down at his flatmate.

I'll carry him.

"John, can you walk?"

John let his head loll to the side and his eyes rolled back into his head.

Unconscious again. Damn.

After a bit of thinking, Sherlock finally decided he would carry John bridal-style. John was too heavy to heave on one shoulder, so Sherlock had to distribute the weight.

First, Sherlock removed John's jacket, earning a disapproving groan from the unconscious man.

"I know you love this jacket, John, but if I keep it on you any longer, you're condition will only further deteriorate."

Once the soaked garment was removed, Sherlock scooped his flatmate up into his arms, grunting as he did so.

It was hard to carry a full-grown man through powdery snow, and Sherlock almost fell quite a few times, forcing him to clutch John even more tightly to his chest. John's skin was incredibly cold, and Sherlock knew that if Lestrade didn't arrive soon, John would only continue to get worse.

"Hang in there, John," Sherlock said.

Finally, the detective finally managed to reach the road with his burden, falling to his knees and laying John on the hard ground.

It was still so bloody cold.

"Hang on, John. Hang on."

Sherlock moved John's upper body into his lap and cradled him to his chest, hoping that close contact with another human being would help warm him up.

Direct skin contact would be more effective.

Before Sherlock even had time to debate, he saw a flash of headlights in the distance.

Let it be Lestrade.

To his relief, Lestrade pulled over in his squad car, hopping out almost immediately.

"Jesus Christ! What the hell happened?!" the D.I. yelled, rushing over to the two freezing men.

"We fell in the lake. John is hypothermic, concussed, and just about drowned." Sherlock began to shiver. "And I'm not entirely sure, but I may be developing a minor case of hypothermia as well."

"How the hell did you fall in?!"

"We were on a tree branch and it snapped."

"What were you doing in a tree?"

"Staking out, of course."

Lestrade rolled his eyes.

"Christ. Okay. Let's get him in the backseat of the car."

Sherlock nodded and grabbed John beneath the arms while Lestrade grabbed hold of the ankles.

It took a bit of work, but the two men finally managed to get the unconscious doctor inside the car.

"Hold on," Lestrade said, once John and Sherlock were settled in.

He disappeared for a brief moment before returning with two orange blankets.

"You have those on hand?" Sherlock asked in disbelief.

"Well they certainly come in handy, now, don't they?"

Lestrade handed one to Sherlock and draped the other over John.

It wasn't long before he had settled into the driver's seat. Upon looking in the rearview mirror, the D.I. sighed.

"The other blanket was for you, Sherlock."

Sherlock had apparently draped the second blanket over John on top of the first one.

"He needs it more than me, Lestrade."

Lestrade resisted the urge to smirk at the supposed sociopath's ability to show some level of concern.

"Whatever suits you, Sherlock. I'll take you guys to the hospital."

"And hurry. John's pulse isn't getting any faster."

Lestrade took a moment to start the car and put the gear into drive.

He paused.

"Where are your coats?"

"I left both mine and John's behind. They were soaked."

"Sherlock, what if she notices them?!" Lestrade shouted in reference to the woman under police surveillance.

"We'll get them later, Lestrade. Right now, John needs medical attention. I would prefer it if he didn't die."

Lestrade nodded.

"Right. Okay then. I'll turn the sirens on."

And the car sped away.

They were on the road for a bit before John began to stir again.

"Sh'lock? Wha...?" he whimpered, trying to sit himself up.

"Do stop moving, John. It will only make things worse," Sherlock said, gently holding John's shoulders to keep him still.

John stopped squirming and looked around.

"Mm. Car."

"Yes. That was good thinking on your part; calling Lestrade in advance. Usually I'd object to that decision, but in this case it proved most useful, considering the fact that our phones were destroyed by the water," Sherlock said, patting John on the chest.

"Phone? Jacket?" John knit his brow. "Y'coat?"

"I left them behind. The phones were shot anyway, my coat was too heavy, and yours was soaked through."

John pouted.

"'Spensive."

"I know, I know. Lestrade will come back for the coats. And we'll work out the phone situation later."

"Case?"

"Don't worry about that now. Just focus on warming up."

There was a brief moment of silence before John spoke again.

"Stupid."

"What?"

"I s-said to b-be careful."

Sherlock hung his head.

"I know."

"S'why we're in th-this mess."

"I know. I'm... I'm sorry."

John smirked.

"F-forget it. It'll b-be okay."

"I know."

"'Course y'do."

John closed his eyes again and nuzzled into Sherlock's lap, Sherlock absent-mindedly combing his fingers through the doctor's hair.

And there the boys stayed until they reached the hospital.

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