High heroics (part 2)

John pulled his car into the a parking space, all were empty. Driving in London on Christmas Day was like nothing else, barely any traffic to slow you down and every parking space available even if it was a staff one. Yet still, the journey from the other side of London had put him on edge about the current state of his friends health, he knew the time he had lost traveling may have meant the worse for his friend.

The doctor was in two minds about alerting the emergency service to Sherlocks call for help, on one hand he knew his friends reluctance to allow others to aid him and on the other the worry about how injured or ill Sherlock may be played on his mind. As a compromise he had called Mycroft on his hands free phone in the car to inform him of the current happenings and promised to update him later, although the bureaucrat was currently out the country on business he still could coordinate things in the country at alarming speed.

John pulled his coat closer into his neck against the blowing north wind and grabbed his medical bag from the boot, slinging it over his shoulders. He looked up at the structure before him and shook his head.

"How the hell have you managed to get up the top of the bloody O2 arena!?" He cursed, locking the car, checking for his gun and setting off at a run towards the steps and ticket centre of the official O2 climb.

The blogger made quick work of the locked centres door, Sherlocks skills did come in handy from time to time, he smirked to himself. Wasting no time at all John located the climbing gear and quickly familiarised himself with a climbing harness again. Although he didn't remember using them in Afghanistan, the army had taught him how to use them safely and he quickly kitted himself out, collecting a second for his friend and extra safety ropes and equipment, he had no idea what he was about to walk into - or in this case up to.

He jogged to the stairway and made light work of the locks here too but as he took one step upwards a voice shouted towards him.

"What are you doing, you have no authority to be here sir."

John turned to see an overweight and slightly red faced security officer standing mere feet from him. He sighed. "My name is Doctor John Watson..."

"I don't care what your name is, get down from the steps before I call the police."

"Call them!" John shouted as he turned and sprinted two steps at a time. "Tell them Sherlock Holmes is injured and at the top of the O2 and in need of assistance."

"Mr Watson!" The security guard shouted but did not pursue, perhaps he knew he would never catch him, or maybe he didn't like heights.

"That's Doctor to you." John replied but didn't stop climbing, two steps at a time, reaching the top. He had no intention of slowing down or chatting anytime soon. Any other words the guard spoke were lost to the wind, and suddenly John realised just how windy it really was up this high. He was never a massive fan of heights, although not phobic he just simply didn't enjoy them, and the strong winter blustering sleet did not help.

He took a deep breath, readjusting the bag on his shoulders and climbing gear before clipping himself to the safety bar and starting his ascent.

At normal walking pace it takes around 15 to 20 minutes to walk to the top but John was planning on doing it much much less time, he had wasted enough as it was. He cursed inwardly. He sped, as fast as he could upwards, not stopping for anything.

Minutes passed and he continued on, his Christmas dinner jolting in his worried stomach.

"Sherl..." the doctors breathless voice was barely audible as he stumbled up the last rise of the O2 and to the top the of the 52 meter high dome, his lungs were heaving and legs burning from the exertion but this is what he lived for, the adrenalin. As he reached the top he unhooked his harness and rushed across the platform. The form of his friend was just visible in the bitter winds, propped up precariously, back against the metal railings, head lolled down and onto his chest.

The detective was deathly pale and after a very long couple of seconds John let out a short exhale of relief to find his friend breathing lightly. His legs were stretched out before him and he made no signs of being awake.

"Sherlock." The doctor called him, checking his pulse in his neck before calling more forcefully, "Sherlock, you with me?"

The younger man let out a groan, his eyes fluttering under his closed lids, but he did not open them.

"Open your eyes for me?" John gently pushed back his friends head and his locks and his hand came away sticky with blood. There was fresh crimson under his hairline, soaking his dark curls, a bruise under the skin looked like it was spreading down his forehead. "Sherlock, open your eyes come on." He gently tapped his cheek.

A soft moan replied along with an violent shiver.

The doctor held his friends head gently, peeling an eye lid back to inspect his pupils and looking closer at the head wound with a grimace. Blunt force trauma, probably from a hard object.

"Jeez, mate, someone had it in for you didn't they?"

Sherlock didn't answer, instead his body gave another violent shudder.

John frowned, he quickly opened the medical bag and pulled out a foil blanket draping it around his friends shoulders followed by a fleece blanket to hold it in place against the winds. He gently slid a thermometer into the corner of the man's mouth with no resistance. He bit his own lip in concern at the lack of complaint.

Beginning to look over his friends body, very quickly noting the way his arm was pulled tightly into himself.

"Injured your arm?" John asked. He felt surprisingly calm, considering their predicament but he was slowly beginning to let the worry set in, and he was beginning to regret how much he had eaten since waking up this morning. Why do people eat so much at Christmas anyway?

The thermometer beeped and John pulled it from his friends mouth.

"Fuck it." 31 degrees was not the numbers the doctor wanted to be reading. "Sherlock can you stand, we need to get you out of here and in the warm."

The detective gave no reaction.

"Sherlock?" John grasped his friends upper arm and the man jolted awake, his eyes wide and a deep moan escaped his throat.

"It's ok."

Sherlock bent sideways trying to heave unsuccessfully, his body shook from the effort and the cold.

"Right." John pulled his phone from his coat and dialled the services. "I need paramedics to the O2 arena in Greenwich I have a 41 year old male with stage 2-3 hypothermia and head trauma, possible other injuries."

A pause.

"We're on top of the arena... yes the top, hoping to have the casualty at least partially down by the time you arrive." John eyed his friends barely conscious form, questioning his statement. "Yes I'm a Doctor." He ended the call quickly and abruptly.

"Right Sherlock we're getting the hell out of here." He laid the climbing gear out to establish its orientation and began to loosen it. "You're going to have to help me out a bit though."

John wasn't sure if he was deluding himself here but he needed to try, a moment longer in these weather conditions was only worsening his friends condition. If there was any chance of them getting out of here he needed to try it, and now.

"Come on mate, lay down for me for a moment, I need to assess you properly." The doctor again found little resistance to his request and he worryingly easily cradled his friends head and gently pushed him down onto his back.

"Christ." He peeled his friends eye lid back again to check his pupils and then his pulse. Sherlocks eyes slide slightly open into slits but he did little else before closing again. Pulse steady, he counted it, a little slow, pupils equal and reactive, Glasgow coma scale 9, a bit not good.

The doctor quickly pulled a lancet from the bag and went to clip it on one of his friends thumb, he stopped, finding the appendage swollen and displaced.

He cursed inwardly - dislocated.

He gently used a different finger staying well clear of the source of discomfort. The needle pinged against his friends fingertip but Sherlock made no response and John collected them tiny bleb of blood into a little test strip nearly losing it in the strong breeze, he clicked it into the machine and let the glucose meter run the sample.

The machine beeped, 2.3mmol. Low.

That would make some sense to his friends state, a low glucose could easily explain his near unconsciousness. John pulled out a tube of glucose solution and parting his friends lips smeared a large amount inside the detective's cheek and on his gums.

"Now..." John didn't wait, he quickly moved on, "this arm fine" he felt down the younger friends long bones of his arm. "But one dislocated thumb." He noted the remaining restraints of a zip lock tie on the opposite wrist and moved to the top of the bad arm, gently touching the top near the shoulder. Sherlock jolted again, his whole body spasming in pain.

"Take it easy."

Sherlock groaned out and as John laid a gentle hand down to his lower arm his eyes shot open and he let out a higher pitched wail.

"Alright." John led his hands out in defeat. "Fractured" he mumbled. "I need to get it immobilised but I also need this gear on you."

The doctor then gently felt down his friends legs but found no outward signs of breaks or severe injury. He wished he had time to do a full assessment like they did in hospital but now was really not the time or the place. He looped the detectives bare feet through the bottom part of the harness, pulling it up and onto his hips, doing his best to secure it tightly.

"Your going to have to sit up for me." John said sternly, and suddenly felt ashamed of his treatment of his friend. In any other sense he would have been more gentle and slow about his patient handling. But right now with a temperature of 31, a low glucose, a concussion and a severely broken arm time was not on their side. A helicopter would not be retrieving them in this kind of weather anytime soon and even if medics arrived in their average time of 8 minutes they still needed to gear up and reach them, then potentially call in reinforcements to get the patient down the climb path. They didn't have time for that. If there was a chance he could get his friend on his feet even for a short period he would be able to get him down he was sure of it. He gulped back the doubt. He had to remain positive.

The doctor pulled his patient into a sitting position and held him firmly there as he partly swayed. "I know your feeling retched mate but you gotta stay still and bare with me, we need to get out of here. I'm sorry." He cried.

"John." Sherlocks eyes cracked open slightly.

"I'm here."

"What you doin er?" The detectives voice was shaky and weak but more comprehensive now.

"Here to save you, why else would I be here?" John pulled one loop of the the upper harness around his friends good arm.

"Chris...mas. Dinner?" Sherlock swayed a little more, having to be steadied.

John let out a small fake laugh. "Perhaps we can have dinner up here when your feeling a bit more up to it." He smiled, "I'm sure it can arranged. Seems like the perfect spot for meeting fugitives though, is this what you were doing? Came up here to meet someone?"

"Don't... member." Sherlock took a sharp intake of breath as John slid the harness strap over his shoulder.

"Sorry but you really need this, I can't lose you over the edge on the way back down. Rosie for one will not forgive me, I told her you'd be seeing her soon."

The edge of Sherlocks mouth rose a tiny fraction before he let out a cry of pain and John looked sheepish, pulling the harness under his protected limb to his body and beginning to secure it in place in the loop.

"Last thing is to get that arm immobilised." The doctor said sadly.

"No,"

"Not an option." Captain Watson spoke. "That thing looks like more than a simple break in one place, I suspect it's defence wounds so likely comminuted fractures in several places from multiple blows. If those bone fragments get jolted out of place and damage an artery then you'll bleed to death before we even make it to the bottom. So you are having it immobilised. It's not up for discussion."

If Sherlock could have rolled his eyes he would have done so, but instead his eyes slipped closed again.

"Stay awake would you." John retrieved the sling bandage material from the bag, zipping it quickly.

"Not... demanding... at... all." The detective breathed out heavily, clearly trying to maintain some control over his agony.

"I'm sorry. I don't have any pain relief in my medic bag. If we were back at 221 or I was out on a case with you it would have been a different story."

"Fine..."

Sherlock did his best to stave off the oncoming barrage of involuntary cries of pain as John carefully and as gently as possible wrapped his broken arm and secured the limb to his chest.

"Sorry." The blogger said sheepishly, squeezing his friends heaving and shaking good arm. A single drip of saltwater landed on his hand as he adjusted the harness. "I'm really sorry." He added. "Once we meet the medics I promise I'll get them to give you a shot of morphine."

"No morphine John." The detective ground between his clenched teeth.

"Don't be a cock." The doctor replied. He zipped the bag fully closed and returned it to his back and then tucked the blankets corners into Sherlocks harness in an attempt to hold it in place.

"Ah. One last thing."

John pulled his own shoes off quickly and then removed his socks, applying them to his friends feet. "Sorry, not super hygienic but might just stop your toes getting frostbitten."

"Terrific." Sherlocks voice wavered and slurred.

"Let's go." The blogger tied his shoes quickly and got to his feet, "we gotta go."

The detective didn't move.

"Can you get up?"

Sherlock looked up weakly, his eyes glassy and unfocused, his body was overcome with another violent shiver, he whimpered, the sound lost to the wind. John's stomach did a small flip in anxiety, this man did not let his guard down, to see him so helpless made the doctor want to vomit.

"Right." John took a deep breath and braced himself, grasping his friends harness he forced the detective upwards and onto his wobbly feet with a grunt. "Steady. The railing is a couple of steps behind you if you need it."

If it were even possible Sherlock paled several shades to near translucent, his body heaved slightly with the ongoing nausea.

"Easy." John held him still, bracing himself against the winds and his friend.

"We'll take this nice and steady alright."

The doctor hooked his arm around his friends good one, holding him firm and guided him forwards slightly.

Sherlock wobbled and groaned, struggling with his feet but successfully took a couple.

This was gong to be painfully slow. John looked out to the view across the capital and for just a split moment admired it. The blizzard like sleet was creating quite a white spectacle. It near never snowed in London properly, let alone on Christmas Day. In any other situation he would be admiring the weather, but here he was again, by his fallen friends side.

Sherlocks feet dragged as he took his steps, and John gently guided him forward until after what seemed like ages they reached the slope downward on the edge of the platform.

"It's all downhill from here." The doctor clipped his friends harness onto the safety bar, feeling a little better. If his friend were to go down he knew the harness would hold him in place and not allow the unthinkable.

"We're going to take this nice and slow okay." John clipped his own gear onto the bar just before his friends, being in front made more sense as the path got steeper later, he could be there to catch the detective should he need to.

"Come on Sherlock." John tugged gently at his friends harness, like he would a dog to remind it to move along. The taller man obliged wobbling forwards and onto the pathway feet slipping slightly on the incline.

"Steady." John braced him, "nice and steady okay."

The detective took a couple of hitching breaths before walking with more determination, even if very unsteady.

They continued, all be it at snails pace but John was glad for them to be actually getting somewhere. Each step of the detective made not only Sherlock grimace but also the doctor. He wished there were an easier way to do this but it would take an age to get medics and fire brigade up here for assistance. Sherlock was doing fine, they could do this.

He slipped.

Or not.

John grasped his friends harness fast, stopping him from swinging out on the end of the safety line and going over.

"Easy." He said. "I've got you, can you stand anymore?"

Sherlocks feet were in an awkward position and most of his weight was put either on the doctor or through his climbing gear.

"Sherlock?" John said firmly, "talk to me?"

The detective only tilted further forwards, this time allowing his safety line to run taught. John tried desperately to push him upwards.

"Wake up, you can't lose it now mate, come on." Regretfully he gently placed a hand on his friends fractured arm and the taller man groaned out, staggering to his feet but he still did not hold his own weight fully.

"Right." Was all John could say as he stood there in limbo, half holding his friend half balanced himself.

This was a bit not good, the doctor sighed to himself. But what happened next was worse.

All of a sudden a blur of hand reached John's vision but not with enough time for him to react. Although weakened, the force of Sherlocks fist reaching the doctors chin took him by surprise and John staggered slightly tasting copper in this mouth.

"Shit."

He grabbed the rail to steady himself.

"Sherlock?"

The detective mumbled incoherently before trying to shout but his voice was nothing more than a hoarse moan. "Get away from me."

"It's John, Sherlock, look at me?"

The detectives eyes rolled and struggled to focus on anything.

"I don't need your help John..." he spat before swaying violently. A new fresh trickle of watery blood then appeared from his nose.

"Christ." John grabbed his friends harness. He pulled himself up straight and soldier like, avoiding another poorly aimed swing from his friend. "We are getting the hell out of here right now."

The doctor knew that out of character agitation, or aggression could be a sign of a brain injury, they were running out of time.

He cringed at his bedside manner, but this was now no time for niceties. He pushed forwards dragging a agitated and painful detective behind him. They needed out of here now. Where the hell were the emergency services?

The O2 arena was once called the millennium dome and was a structure built for the celebration of the turning of the millennia. It is built in London on the Greenwich peninsula, and you can spot it on aerial maps as the big round white thing. It's design was to represent time, having 12 support towers for the 12 months of the year, is 365 meters in circumference for the days of the year and 52 meters high for the weeks of the year. The dome is used these days as a concert location and has many restaurants and activity centres inside. You can also climb over the top of it, quite a fun experience I did a few years ago. And I can tell you it is quite breezy up there even on a clear day. You have to gear up with climbing harnesses but it was great fun. If your visiting London anytime and you want to do something different I would recommend it.