Beta'ed by the best beta ever – sarajm. Thanks also to Donna for some tweaking.

A/N: One warning – a hurt John is a sweary John! Also, I am not a doctor (nor do I play one on TV), so while all the medical information was gleaned from the websites of the NHS, the Mayo Clinic and Health Canada I offer no guarantee as to accuracy. This is fanfiction, so let's just pretend it can all happen as written!

Chapter 1

There was an ominous creaking sound and John looked up towards the top of the building. He just caught a glimpse of the tail of Sherlock's coat before taller man hopped off the fire escape and ran after the suspect they'd been chasing for the last ten minutes.

The building was an old, abandoned warehouse located on the bank of the Thames and the ladder that ran up the side of the building looked to be a relic from the 50s. It was rusty and filthy, and apparently John's attempt to clamber up was turning out to be too much for the old thing to handle. To his horror, John suddenly noticed that several of the bolts attaching the ladder to the building were long gone, and the groaning of metal meant that several more were giving way.

John looked up towards the roof. Could he make it? No, impossible. His only option was to get down to the ground as quickly as possible. John carefully eased his way down the ladder with all the speed he could muster. The groaning and creaking noises were becoming louder with each move he made. He risked a glance down and saw that he was still about 3 metres above the ground.

With the unwelcome sound of tortured metal having reached its breaking point, the former soldier suddenly felt himself falling, but it was almost as if everything was happening in slow motion. He could see the ground rising up to meet him; he watched as the rusty ladder pulled away from the building and began its slow descent to the ground. He even had time to say aloud, "This is not good," just before everything returned to normal speed.

He hit the ground awkwardly, trying to twist out of the way of the heavy metal heading towards him while at the same time trying to avoid smashing his head on the cracked and broken asphalt.

He was semi-successful. While the doctor did manage to avoid landing directly on his head, it still hit the ground with quite a bit of force. He wasn't able to get completely out of the way of the falling ladder either, and he soon found himself pinned underneath a hundredweight of metal with the world spinning around him.

John lay there, trapped and groaning in pain, when he heard the sound of shoes pounding on the ground.

"John! Oh, my God!" Lestrade had turned the corner of the building just in time to see John hit the ground and the ladder pin him. He screamed into his walkie talkie, "An ambulance. NOW! Watson's down," as he put on speed and raced to John's side.

"Please be alive, please be alive," he chanted as he threw himself to his knees by John's head, only to hear the ex-Army doctor swearing a blue streak.

"Shit, fuck, buggering bloody fucking hell! Goddamn it, harum zadeh, kos naneh, shit".

"Well, at least I know you're still alive," said Greg as he slipped off his jacket and slid it under John's head.

A pair of pain-filled blue eyes stared up at him. "Greg. Thank God. I'm okay; well, sort of okay."

Lestrade choked out a laugh and said, "Only you, John, would call this 'okay'! An ambulance is on its way. What do you need me to do? And where's Sherlock?"

"What I really need is the mother-fucking ladder off me!" John choked out and then leaned his head back to draw in ragged breaths. He squinted up at Greg, trying to focus so there was only a single Lestrade, but he soon gave up and squeezed his eyes shut. "I'm pretty sure I've broken my left arm, my right leg is absolutely killing me and breathing is incredibly painful at the moment," he whispered.

The air was then split by a cry of "John" coming from the rooftop. Sherlock had caught the suspect by tackling him from behind and the unconscious man was now lying on the roof, his hands and feet tightly secured with zip ties. When the consulting detective realized that his partner was nowhere to be found, he made his way across the rooftop back to the ladder. "He can't have gotten lost," the curly-haired man muttered. "He was right behind me."

Looking over the side of the building, all Sherlock could see was a pile of crumpled metal with Lestrade kneeling beside it. Oh, no, thought Sherlock. John … John … where's John? "John!"

On hearing the anguished cry, Lestrade looked up. "He's here, Sherlock. Get down here. I need your help."

"Two minutes. I'll be two minutes!" called the detective as he ran back across the roof and, ignoring the unconscious man lying on the ground, pulled open the roof access door and sprinted down the six flights of stairs to the ground floor. Fortunately, not only was the warehouse abandoned, it was also empty, so finding the exit door was no trouble at all. It let the now-frantic man out the back of the building and he took off at a run around the corner towards his injured friend.

By the time Sherlock made it to where Lestrade was still kneeling beside John, talking to the man, the rest of the NSY team had arrived. Sherlock skidded to a halt and threw himself down on the ground beside his friend. "John," he whispered.

"I'm fine Sherlock. But you're going to have to give Greg a hand to get this off me." John was panting with the exertion of talking and his face was screwed up in pain.

"Shouldn't we wait until …" began Sherlock.

"I'm a doctor; I know what I'm doing," cut in John. He drew in some quick, shallow breaths and begged, "Please just get this off me."

There was a flurry of movement as both Greg and Sherlock stood and grasped the metal. Seeing it was too heavy for them to lift, PC Whitehorse and PC Simons stepped forward to help. Donovan sat down by John's head, placed one hand on his shoulder and with the other took his right hand in hers. "Squeeze if you need to John, because this is definitely going to hurt."

"Thanks Sally," said John with an attempt at a smile. Over the noise of the four men discussing how to best move the ladder without causing further harm to the small man trapped beneath, the sound of the approaching ambulance could be heard.

"All right, on the count of three," said Lestrade as each of the four men grasped a portion of the railing. "One…two…three," and with groans of exertion, they slowly raised the heavy metal off of the doctor lying on the ground with his eyes closed tight against the pain and tossed it to the side.

Sherlock quickly knelt down beside John and elbowed Donovan out of the way. "The culprit's up on the roof. You'd better go get him," snapped Sherlock before he turned his attention back to his friend. A quick nod from Lestrade caused Donovan to send PC Simons to lead the paramedics to their location and she headed up to the roof with Whitehorse.

"John," said Sherlock, ignoring all that was going on around him, "are you all right? What happened?"

"I guess three up the ladder was one too many," said John in a quiet voice. He grimaced as he tried to take in a deep breath and then moaned "Oh, Lord, this hurts." His voice was getting softer and his breathing was becoming shallower. "Must have cracked a couple of ribs."

Sherlock stared up at Lestrade who was looking down on the two friends in sorrow. "Don't worry, John. The ambulance is almost here. You're going to be fine."

John smiled shakily up at his friends and said, "Don't panic … but I'm going to pass out now." His eyes closed and his limbs went loose as he lost consciousness.

A flurry of movement heralded the arrival of the paramedics, who quickly stepped in and took charge. In a short time John was transferred to a back board and then lifted onto the stretcher. The blond was still unconscious but he did moan quietly when he was lifted off the ground and placed on the bed.

"Careful," snarled the worried Consulting Detective.

"Let them do their job, Sherlock," said Lestrade as he stood at the other man's side and watched as the paramedics prepared John for transfer to the ambulance. They inserted an IV, placed a collar placed around his neck and stabilized his left arm. A few quick questions about blood type and allergies that Sherlock was able to answer and then ex-Army doctor was placed in the ambulance.

"Which hospital?" called Lestrade to the man who hopped in the back with John.

"University College," came the reply just as the double doors to the ambulance were shut, blocking the view of John lying still on the stretcher.

"We'll meet you there," said Lestrade to the other paramedic who nodded, jumped behind the wheel and took off with sirens blaring and lights flashing. "C'mon Sherlock. I'll drive you. Just give me two seconds to make sure everything's in hand and we'll be on our way."

Sherlock just nodded at the D.I. and started walking away towards the front of the warehouse and the street where the police cars had been abandoned. Greg quickly contacted Donovan, who confirmed that the suspect was in hand, and told her the situation. He then ran after Sherlock and by the time he'd made it to his car, Sherlock was standing impatiently at the passenger door.

A snick and the car locks opened; the two men slid in and Greg sped off towards the hospital, lights flashing. Speeding along the road in the wake of the ambulance, Greg kept shooting looks at the man sitting beside him. Sherlock hadn't said a word since John had been placed in the ambulance.

"You know he's going to be fine, right?" said Greg in a worried tone.

"I know," snapped Sherlock as he continued to stare blankly out the window.

"And you know his accident wasn't your fault?"

"I know Gavin. Please … stop talking and drive!"

Pulling up to the hospital's A&E, Sherlock was out of the car before Greg had even stopped. The policeman watched his friend fly through the doors of the building, and knowing how Sherlock acted on a good day realized he'd better park the car and get in the damned building as soon as possible or he'd either have to arrest Sherlock or have him sedated.

Greg pulled his car into a "no parking" spot right near the door, left his police lights sitting on the dashboard and got out thinking, "At least there are some advantages to being a cop."

Hurrying in the doors, Greg could see Sherlock standing at the reception desk speaking with a young nurse. "Oh, Lord," said Greg, terrified that Sherlock was haranguing her. But, as he quickly made his way towards to the two, he was surprised to find that the woman was speaking calmly to Sherlock and the curly-haired detective was actually listening.

"So?" he asked as he stopped beside Sherlock. "What's the situation?"

The nurse looked at the detective and then back at Sherlock. "It's fine. He's with Scotland Yard and he's a friend."

"Oh, well then, Doctor Watson is being examined at the moment. I was just telling Mr. Holmes that the Doctor was conscious when he arrived, though in a great deal of pain. As soon as I hear anything I will come and find you. In the meantime, there is small family room where you can wait for news. There's no one else in there, so you'll have some quiet. Follow me, please."

The nurse led the two men down the hallway and stopped in front of a glass door. "You can wait here and I promise I'll bring you news as soon as I hear anything. There's a coffee machine in the corner and a kettle in there as well."

Greg pulled the door open and ushered Sherlock into the room. It was a small room with six seats and one large, and very dusty, plastic ficus in one corner. Greg made his way to the coffee machine while Sherlock sat down.

"So, Sherlock," said the detective as he took a seat across from the other man, "mind telling me what was going on out there?"

Sherlock gave Lestrade a blank stare. "What are you talking about?"

"Well, you were calm and polite. I was afraid you'd be eviscerating everyone you came across, desperate to get news on John."

"Well, if you must know," said Sherlock as he leaned back and rested his head against the wall, "I'm John's emergency contact, so I am entitled to any and all information on his condition."

"Oh," said Greg. "Well … um … that's good, I guess. When did this happen?'

"Remember when John was admitted with pneumonia about a year ago? His sister was still listed as his emergency contact, but we all know what their relationship is like. John quickly saw reason and changed his NHS information."

"Hmmm," said Greg with a smile, "quickly saw reason, or took pity on any and all persons who'd have to deal with you and changed his contact accordingly?"

The only answer he got was a blistering glare.

The two men sat in the small room for several hours, waiting to find out when they could see John. The nurse who had escorted them to the waiting room was as good as her word and kept them informed as to the situation. Finally, she came back and said, "Doctor Watson has been placed in a private room. We'll be keeping him overnight for observation, but he is allowed visitors. In fact, he's been asking after you."

Greg and Sherlock followed the young woman out the room and down a hallway. Stopping in front of the lifts she said, "He's in room 412."

"Thank you," said Greg as a ping announced the arrival of the car. Sherlock simply ignored what was going on around him and as soon as the doors of the lift opened, he stepped in and furiously punched the 4. "Get in Lestrade, or I'll leave you behind."

"All right, all right. I was just trying to be polite."

The doors opened on the 4th floor and without looking at any of the signs, Sherlock seemed to know exactly where to find John. Down the hall, a turn to the left and at the fifth door, they halted. The door was ajar and they could hear John's voice; it was quiet and a little weak, but it was definitely John's voice, and something that had been clenched tight inside Sherlock loosened and he seemed finally able to breathe.

"John," said Sherlock as he stepped into the room, closely followed by Lestrade. While Lestrade made his way to John's bedside, Sherlock picked up the chart hanging off the end of the bed and began reading.

"Mate, you've looked better, I've got to say," said Lestrade as he gently clasped the injured man's right shoulder.

"Thanks, Greg," said John sarcastically. "Doctor Samja, this is Detective Inspector Greg Lestrade and that tall drink of water hovering at the end of the bed is my best friend Sherlock Holmes."

"A pleasure," said Doctor Samja as he shook Lestrade's hand. Sherlock, for his part, ignored the doctor and kept reading John's medical chart. John's quiet "Sherlock" caught his attention and he looked up.

"Yes, pleasure. So, how long does John have to remain here?" asked Sherlock.

Doctor Samja turned to his patient and said with a laugh, "I see you weren't exaggerating. Doctor Watson … John … you should try to relax and get some sleep. I'll explain your injuries to your friends."

John lay back against the pillows and listened as Doctor Samja explained to Lestrade and Sherlock the extent of his injuries. "As is obvious from the cast, John has broken his left arm and his left shoulder was dislocated. The scar tissue from his bullet wound made the re-alignment of his shoulder extremely difficult, not to mention painful, so John's shoulder will have to be immobilized until the swelling has gone down. He has also fractured his right ankle, wrenched his right knee and suffered some ligament damage there as well. He has two cracked ribs, a minor concussion and is basically one large, human-shaped bruise."

"Other than the cast, we have stabilized both his ankle and his knee, have wrapped his ribs and are keeping close watch on the concussion. Doctor Watson will be our guest overnight, and after tomorrow's evaluation I will decide whether we can release him or have him stay for another 24 hours."

Turning back to John, who by this point was almost asleep, Doctor Samja said, "Try not to be a hero, John, and use the PCA pump. I'll see you in the morning. Have a good afternoon, gentlemen," he said as he left the room and closed the door behind him.

"So, John, that's quite a bit of damage," said Lestrade as he pulled up a chair and sat down in John's line of sight so the other man wouldn't have to move too much to see him.

"Don't be tedious," said Sherlock as he hovered at the end of the bed.

Looking up at his friend, John smiled, patted the mattress and said, "Sherlock, sit down. You're making me nervous."

Sherlock huffed, but perched himself on the edge of the bed, and studied his friend while John and Lestrade chatted for a few moments. While they were talking, John was finding it harder and harder to keep his eyes open until finally Greg said, "All right, John. I'm off; I'll see you tomorrow, yeah?"

"All right Greg. And thank you for everything."

"You're very welcome John. Try to get some rest if you can. Sherlock, you coming?"

Sherlock raised an eyebrow at John, who smiled back and said gently, "Go, get some rest. I'll see you in the morning. Oh, would you bring me some clothes when you come – they had to cut off my clothing so unless I want to go home in this backless gown …"

Sherlock grinned at his friend and said, "While I'm sure the nurses would appreciate the sight, Doctor Watson, I'll be sure to bring along your pyjamas when I return. I'll let Mrs. Hudson know what's happened, and as a gift to you, I'll make sure she stays home tomorrow."

Sherlock got up from his seat on the bed, straightened his coat and walked towards the door. Looking back at his friend, who looked so small and broken lying there in the hospital bed, he quietly said, "Good night, John," and stepped into the hallway.

Greg was standing about ten feet away, checking his phone when Sherlock was suddenly at his side. "A drive home would be greatly appreciated, Lestrade," he said as he continued on towards the lifts.

It was a quiet drive to 221B. Coming to a stop in front of the building, Greg turned to Sherlock and said, "Are you all right?"

"Why wouldn't I be?" asked Sherlock. "I wasn't the one who fell off a building and ended up buried under a fire escape."

"I know," responded Lestrade, "It's just that … you know what? Never mind. I guess I'll see you tomorrow; I still need to get your statement to wrap up the case."

"After I visit John," said Sherlock as he opened the car door and slid out to stand on the pavement. Just as he was about the close the car door, Sherlock leaned in and said, "Thank you, Greg."

Before Greg could respond, Sherlock had closed the car door and was already disappearing through the entryway to 221B.

"Any time, Sherlock. Any time."