Pain and Suffering: The Silver Lining

"Glad this case is finally over."

"What? Yes, sure, fine. Boring."

"You're already bored?" John asked, frowning. He leaned back in the seat, sighing heavily. The cab was travelling steadily back towards 221B. John couldn't be happier. He was exhausted, wanted a cuppa, and a shower, and a good, long kip.

"Mm. Yes. Of course." Sherlock was tapping away on his phone, apparently intrigued by whatever he was so absorbed in.

"I don't know where you get your energy," John muttered, sinking lower in the seat.

"Nicotine patch," Sherlock replied without looking up.

"Oh, right. Because that's so bloody physically stimulating..."

Sherlock didn't respond asides from a contemplative hum.

John had only glanced at Sherlock again because of that contemplative hum when he noticed the sleek black cab coming straight at them, straight at Sherlock's passenger side.

"Look out!"

In retrospect, it wasn't one of the best warnings.

In retrospect, he didn't know what a good warning would have been.

Their cab swerved abruptly- so his warning had been good for something, after all- a series of horns blaring and honking and tires screeching combining into one raucous cacophony.

There was the loud crash of metal-on-metal, something grating against his eardrums as the cab spun out of control. There was pain through the terror, although he couldn't distinguish from where because the cab was still spinning-

Until, suddenly, they weren't.

The cab to a sudden, screeching halt with more metal-on-metal grating, more tearing noises and more screeching.

There were people screaming. Horns honking. Some creaking. More voices.

John blinked hard, trying to distinguish real life past the ringing in his ears.

"Sherlock...?" he murmured, swallowing hard. He could taste blood. "Sherlock?" he tried again, raising his voice slightly.

Forcing his eyes to focus and his unreliable brain to work, John raised his gaze to look at his flatmate.

Sherlock was slumped against the door. The window was completely busted out, and there were glass shards in Sherlock's black curls. There was blood dripping down past Sherlock's hairline.

"Sherlock...?" John asked again, trying to provoke a response.

When only the screams and the honking and the ringing in his ears continued to pound at his throbbing head, John closed his eyes and gave into the darkness that was tempting him with silence.

Jooooohhnn! D:
(And Sherlock!)

I've seen a story like this already, and I imagine that there might be more, so I am in no way trying to copy the story or stories like this. I simply think the scenario is great, in the terrible sort of way that hurt!fics tend to be, and I wanted to work with the idea.

Any favourites or follows or reviews would be appreciated! Thank you!