4Rs – The 4Rs refer to the components of emergency management – risk reductions, readiness (to respond), response and recovery.

Chapter 2

John was amazed at the power of the water. It threatened to pull Sophie out of his grip. She was silent in her terror, arms tight enough to make his own breathing hard. He dipped again, pushing with legs hard to keep both above water. Very early on he realised that they were going to die if he didn't find something to help him float. Vague recollections swirled in his head of his army days and discussions on flash floods and what to do if you ever were unlucky enough to be in one.

He grunted as Sophie increased her grip. He swam sideways, following the current. Debris swept past him and he had no idea how but he managed to grab on. Realised it was a piece of trunk, broken off from a tree. The leaves were still green, the only piece of colour in the brown swirling mass of water that was offset with bubbling whitecaps. He used the branch, kicking with the current. Angling his way slightly at an angle to the embankment. By miracle he somehow avoided injury when they hit a submerged boulder, his legs taking the brunt of the bruising encounter. Sophie gave a breathless scream, her eyes shut tightly. He held on to her as the trunk ground its way past the boulder, abruptly changing direction so that his back was now to the embankment. He wasn't sure what to do while he tried to get his legs underneath him, using a scissor kick he somehow remembered in the half hour lifesaving course he did long ago. He had done it more for a laugh and because there had been a girl he had really liked.

Of course, she had moved on very quickly afterwards when he had signed on for basic training.

The branch struck another hidden boulder. Roots entangled somehow and this time it righted itself to the way he wanted to go. He kicked determinedly forward, not sure what difference it was making against the violence of the water. But against all odds, he seemed to be moving closer to the edge of the current.

He looked up. Noticed the river valley widening before narrowing, with cliffs souring both sides. Against the widened current, he abruptly was spat out into a deeper pool. He ignored the burning of his muscles and kicked harder. The branch abruptly hit gravel. He felt a shudder through his body and he was unprepared for the impact. The wind got knocked out of him and he nearly lost his grip on Sophie and their precarious hold on the wood. The trunk was stuck and the water here seemed almost tranquil compared to the mass of the centre current that was rushing down into the narrowing gap. He spluttered, bringing his legs in and felt with surprise when his feet found purchase against stone. He barely had energy as he pushed upwards to a wobbly stand, to realise that the water was barely knee height. Holding on to the stump, he managed to climb over, sitting down abruptly on it as his knees gave way. His legs felt like putty but he pushed off, Sophie still in his arms, her legs folded around his middle and her arms still around his neck. He managed a few more steps onto the soaked grass, pulling himself upwards until he felt safe enough to turn and sit down.

His socks and shoes were gone. Sophie was barefoot as well and her leggings were gone. She shivered in his arms and he was suddenly grateful that it was summer, even though they were in the highlands. He was careful as he peeled her arms away, sitting her carefully on his lap.

"Sophie?" He said after a while when he thought he had gotten his breath back. "Honey, are you hurt anywhere?"

"My head hurts." She said.

He frowned. Inspected her head. He finally found a sizable bump on the back of her head. The handprint stood out against the white of her skin, her lips had a tinge of blue and she gave another shiver. He inspected her arms and legs nonetheless. Except for scrapes and a few bruises, she was healthy. He took stock of his own injuries.

He noticed a cut on his arm that was sluggishly bleeding. He ripped a piece of his shirt, one handed tying it off until he felt satisfied that it wasn't going to slip off. When he pulled his trouser legs up, he found his shins bruised with twin hematomas from where he had hit the hidden boulder. It was going to be sore and uncomfortable. Not much more than getting hit by a hockey ball when he didn't wear shin pads when he played in his youth. His feet were fine and the same as was Sophie's, he seemed to have more cuts and bruises over the rest of his body but nothing that was in any way would be described as life threatening. He was worried about Sophie's contusion but her pupillary response was good and she seemed aware of her surroundings.

He looked out across the mass of swirling water.

There was no way he'd be able to spot Sherlock in that mess but still he tried. When it became clear that there would be nothing he'd be able to do even if he did spot his friend, he stood up warily. Sophie still clung to him and he gently hefted her around until she was on his back. His hands behind him, holding her up. He felt slightly uncomfortable when his hands met skin but there was nothing to be done about it now. The reality of it was that flood waters could disrobe anyone, the force of the waters enough to spit naked bodies out further downstream. She was seven. At this point, she wasn't going to care.

"Okay." He said into the silence. "Shall we go for a walk?"

"I'm tired." She said, laying her head against his shoulder.

"I know, honey." He gave another last yearning look at the swirling water. There was no dark-curly haired head bopping in the water. The focus was getting back to the road. Getting Sophie to safety and then go look for his friend.

He set off, ignoring the twinges of bare feet against the gorse and grass of the hill.

Pain.

He was almost numb from it. It was everywhere when he finally woke up. The river had spit him out and he was lying half in – half out of the water that tugged at his feet. He didn't move. Couldn't. It was too much.

Later, he realised that it had stopped raining. The storm over as sudden as it had started. He was aware dimly of data swirling around his head. Of the unpredictability of Scottish weather. It was incongruent, his thought processes and he tried to make sense of it all as he continued to stay where he was.

You're going to die if you stay here.

Somehow John's voice overrode his spiralling thoughts. He groaned. Managed to open his eyes. There wasn't much to see except rocks and his hand that was close to his face. He moved his fingers, watching them in fascination as they tightened into a fist. He had no energy for any more than that brief flurry of activity to prove that he could.

It hurts to breathe.

He closed his eyes. The blurriness of his vision is too much for his aching head.

Against John's internal advice, he lost consciousness again.

They finally made it to the top of the hill. The climb had been hard. At one point, he had managed to coax Sophie down and she had walked for a bit. She seemed to be getting her equilibrium back, skipping from stone to stone while he puffed next to her. But she tired soon after and he had knelt down so she could get on without complaint. Had doggedly trucked on, one foot in front of the other while she fell asleep against his back.

It was hard work as her arms slipped their hold around his neck as her breathing deepened. He carefully managed to bring her around, her head lolling on his shoulder as he held her to him while he walked on. Sherlock more than anything his motivation for keeping going long after he would've sat down and rested.

When he made the top, he sat down gratefully. Watched Sophie briefly, her face relaxed against his shoulder. Her innocence is somehow still there despite her horrid ordeal so far these past few days. He prayed that it would stay. That she'd forget about the depravity of humanity that would take a seven-year-old from her family for money. He sighed. Looked out over the vista that lay before him. The valley where the river was, still a swirling mess of water but less violent. The flash flood had settled, moved on down the valley into the gorge. Sticks, tree stumps and all kinds of debris line the shores of the river. He squinted, trying to see if he could spot Sherlock. A hint of blue and he finally spotted the van they had been travelling in. It was a crumbled mess against the opposite shore. If Sherlock was still in it, there would be very little chance he would still be alive.

His lips thinned as he compressed them.

He would take those odds. Wondered how far away the bridge was and how long it would take him to walk all the way back to the van. Sophie stirred in his arms and he looked down at her.

Sighed.

He stood. The road was a black ribbon to the east of him. He turned and finally blinked. A farmhouse, lights on at the dusk that was settling, beckoned. He heard a whistle and the returning bark of a dog as it was carried on the wind. Sheep was corralled in a small enclosure made out of stone.

Hope birthed in that moment and he blinked against the sudden moisture that gathered in his eyes. It didn't look that far. Down the hill and up and over two more and he should be there.

It took him two hours before he stumbled into the farmyard. He should've reminded himself that distances are often misjudged out in the open. His feet were bleeding and hurt but he ignored it. A dog was barking up a storm and the door opened. Sophie stirred in his arms that he barely felt, his grip almost deathlike.

"Blair, what's going on." The accent was so thick he barely could understand as a rugged man of about sixty noticed them. The dog still stood in the doorway, looking up at his master, tongue lolling out while a woman stepped into view behind her husband.

"Help." Was all he managed as his legs finally gave way. He slammed onto his knees and he thought for a moment that Sherlock would roll his eyes at the dramatics of it all when he finally hears about it. He didn't care. He was just so bloody tired and he still needed to go find his friend.

The woman hustled past the man, out the door before he said a word. "Oh, you poor dears." She murmured, grabbing Sophie. She didn't look her age as she easily stood with the little girl in her arms.

"Don't just stand there, you big lump of oaf." She admonished her husband. "Get him inside."

John allowed the man to help him up and into the house. He was seated onto the couch, Sophie half awake, grumbling. She was already bundled into a blanket, tucked firmly back into his arms where she settled.

"Name's Fiona." She said to him as she deftly put water onto a gas stove. Even though it was summer, the fire was going. "That's Blair." She indicated her husband, who was returning with what looked like a pretty comprehensive first aid kit, another blanket hanging over his shoulder. He placed the blanket over John, tucking him in like a small child. It spread out over both him and Sophie. Found that he lacked the energy to even come up with the words to indicate his gratefulness at their actions so far.

He nodded a thanks at the older man. Leaned his head back tiredly. Took a measuring breath and shifted, grimacing at the pain in his feet.

"My friend…" He managed to say as Blair knelt before him.

"Och…get a pan first. We need to warm up his feet."

Blair got up, placing the kit on the floor next to the couch. The kettle started whistling and she grabbed a cup and made tea. John watched numbly as she added three good measures of sugar to the cup and he thought to protest but it died on his lips.

"The poor lass. I think I have some juice for her. Leftovers from when our grandies came for a visit." She winked at John as she passed the cup to him. "Did you get caught out in the storm?" She queried as she opened a fridge that looked ancient. The big door squeaked and he thought he heard a generator start. Lights flickered briefly.

"Don't mind that." She said as she returned with a juice box. He carefully managed to put the tea down on a side table as he lightly shook Sophie. Blue eyes opened. Met his own and he could see a strop coming as clearly as he could with Sherlock.

"Honey. You want some juice." He asked her as he levered her a bit upwards. Her gaze swept over the room, met Fiona. She gave a shy smile and nodded, tucking almost under his arm. Fiona held the juice out and she took it slowly. She started sipping and he moved her gently so she sat next to him. He took another fortifying sip of the tea when Blair entered the common room again.

"My friend…" He took a deep breath. "If you don't mind…there was a flash flood. We got caught up in it. He's still out there." He said, indicating with his hand. "If you can give me some shoes…"

A look passed between the pair. Blair moved off and only then did John notice the short-wave radio.

"Don't you worry, laddie. We got it sorted."

Blair was quick as his word. Fiona filled the basin by his feet and added disinfectant. He wanted to go out there. Look for Sherlock. Blair returned shortly, a thick jacket on with hiking boots on his feet. John started to get up when Fiona pushed him back down gently.

"They know what they're doing. You'll be in the way, so stay here and look after your daughter. They'll find your friend. What's his name, laddie."

"Uh, Sherlock." He finally managed. "I'm John and this is Sophie." He smiled down at her. She was asleep again, leaning against his side. All snug and warm and safe. "She lost her leggings." He felt stupid saying it. He was a soldier, a doctor and Sherlock's best mate. Surely he can do better than that. But he was tired beyond measure, the tea a warm glow in his stomach.

"She looks about the age of my oldest granddaughter. I think I might have something for her. Don't you worry about it, John. Let her sleep for now, poor dear. That's what's more important, ay."

Blair had left with his dog, the door closing quietly behind him. He opened his eyes against the desperate need for sleep. The fire was warm, the water soothing against his feet. He willed his eyes to open and dragged the kit closer. Opened it and suddenly felt grateful for the preparedness of the couple.

It was a complete EMS kit. Enough that he would be able to treat most wounds except critical trauma with it.

"You a doctor?" She asked when she noticed his interest. She was busy again on the stove, a huge pot on it and she was adding vegetables to it. Whatever it was, it smelled heavenly.

"Yeah."

"Blair used to be in the army." She stated, deftly cutting a carrot before adding it to the pot. "A long time ago. He was a combat medical technician. Seeing his fair share, I gathered before retiring and returning to farming."

He nodded. Grateful to know that it wouldn't be just on him to look after Sherlock when he was found.

"Soup should be done by the time they get back with your friend." Her confidence in her husband's ability seemed to unwind the knot in his stomach. "Rest now and I'll wake you when he's back."

He found that he trusted her. It was nice to be looked after for once. He leaned back. Closed his eyes for a minute.

Despite telling himself that it was just for a minute, he fell asleep.