Sherlock had been hurt before. Shot, stabbed, broken. He was used to it.

Although, oddly enough, it only seemed to be after he met John, a doctor, that he was hurt frequently. Strange how that worked.

But John wasn't here this time. He was... Sherlock knew that he had told him where he went, but couldn't remember at this moment. Understandable really. He was pretty sure he had a concussion. And perhaps two broken ribs. Various cuts and bruises, but nothing life threatening.

He was pretty sure anyway.

But the fall (it was a fall wasn't it? The details were hazy) had disoriented him. He wasn't sure what he was doing here. Likely a case. But he couldn't remember specifics. If only he could think...

No. Out of the question. Thinking was much too painful at this point in time. Perhaps a nap...

He vaguely recalled John telling him when he'd had concussions previously that falling asleep could be dangerous. Especially alone. But John wasn't here, and Sherlock would do whatever he liked. Yes. That would serve John right for not coming.

"Freak- " The annoyingly familiar voice disturbed Sherlock's attempts to slumber, but was cut short at the sight of him. This pleased Sherlock somewhat, knowing he was able to unnerve Anderson, even while nearly unconscious.

Anderson shone a flashlight in Sherlock's face, making him squeeze his eyes tightly closed against the pain of the rays. Sherlock knew he had a number of clever retorts prepared for situations like these, but none would come to mind. And words... forming words seemed to be beyond him at this time.

He did manage to wave a hand at Anderson, shooing him off.

"Oh yeah, right," he muttered. "Like that's gonna work." He knelt down beside Sherlock despite his best efforts to push him away.

"Oh stop it. I don't like this either. But you're messed up so just- hold still!", he protested as Sherlock resisted his efforts to check his pulse and look at his pupils.

"No," he grunted. "John."

Anderson sighed loudly, exasperated. "John is not here. Just me..." He sounded displeased with this. "Lestrade went after the suspect and Sally..." he looked around, "I think she went with him. I'll call them, but it could take a while." He pulled his phone out of his pocket and began dialling. "I suppose I should call an ambulance too, but it's not like you'll go to the hospital."

Sherlock made a noncommittal noise. Normally, he avoided hospitals like the plague, but John was... absent, and anything was better than Anderson.

Anderson eyed him suspiciously. "Alright then. I'll call an ambulance. Just..." he sighed loudly again, "don't completely piss them off and refuse to go with them, okay?"

Sherlock narrowed his eyebrows in a look that said obviously, and just because I'm concussed does not mean I'm the less clever one here.

So Anderson phoned an ambulance, only stumbling over a few of the operator's questions, inciting multiple eye rolls from Sherlock. When the call was over, and Anderson had muttered out an arrival time of "10 minutes or so," Sherlock nodded and closed his eyes.

Anderson obviously had other plans because as soon as Sherlock's eyes closed he poked and prodded him until they opened again. Sherlock shot him a death glare.

"Go away," he managed, over the pain in his skull, seemingly growing with every second spend in Anderson's presence.

"Right. I'll just leave you here alone to fall into a coma. Oh yeah, that would be great." Sherlock suspected he was at least somewhat serious about this. Anderson continued, "Except John would kill me. Don't think he wouldn't. He nearly bit my head off the last case..." Sherlock could hear him scowling, but smirked at the memory.

Sherlock opened his eyes again and managed a look that said so what are you going to do?

"Don't... be... boring," Sherlock whispered.

Anderson seemed annoyed at this, but appeared to have understood.

So he began talking, about anything, everything, that he though might keep Sherlock's interest, keep him awake and focused, until the ambulance arrived.

And to Sherlock's credit, although it was rather boring, he managed to stay conscious, even if it was just to mentally mock some of what Anderson said.

And he didn't even delete it all, so when, a few days later, he was back at the flat with John (who had been in Dublin, again, for some reason Sherlock could still not remember) he shared some of the more interesting bits. After all, he did enjoy making John laugh.