Neither John or Lestrade knew what they were doing that night to begin with, they were mostly chasing after Sherlock, who was chasing after some unknown person who may or may not have existed, but there they were nonetheless.

Everything was wet and slippery, and it just made going downhill, while sprinting, that much worse. Lestrade was just going to suggest that perhaps it wasn't the best idea, when John's legs vanished from beneath him and he slid down the hill, rolling once before finally slowing, and stopping next to a tree, rather than crashing into one.

Never the less, they both sprinted over to him.

"John?" Sherlock called.

John was conscious, and struggling to sit up, gasping as he looked at his leg. His trousers were covered in mud, but Lestrade thought it didn't look quite right.

"Yeah, it's broken," John gasped before they could even ask.

"Mobiles?" Sherlock asked, spinning around to face Lestrade.

He shook his head. "Must have fallen out. Yours?"

"Wet," he growled. "John?" he asked more gently.

John shifted to get his phone out of his pocket, grimacing as his leg shifted.

He stared at it in disbelief for a moment, the screen shattered and broken.

"I don't think so," he muttered.

"Great," Sherlock flung off. "Wilderness, broken leg, no mobiles."

Lestrade rubbed his face. "Are you alright John?"

"It hurts, if that's what you're asking. I don't think anything else is broken though."

"So we've got nothing except a broken leg to deal with," Lestrade said.

"Yes," Sherlock snapped.

"I supposed the only thing we can do is go back. Or one of us goes back, and the other stays here with John."

"No," Sherlock said at the same time as John.

They looked at each other.

"No," Sherlock said.

"I agree," John added.

Lestrade shrugged. "Suit yourself. Should we splint your leg?"

"No," John said quickly. "Not at this point. I think splinting it out here would only do more damage than good."

Lestrade shrugged. "Fair enough. You're the doctor. Can you hop, or should we carry you?"

"I think I'll try walking hopping. Lift me up," he ordered Sherlock. He balanced on one foot and held onto the nearby tree trunk for support. "And I'll need a shoulder to lean on."

Sherlock moved to John's side.

John frowned at him. "Not you, I can't reach your shoulders. Greg?"

Lestrade moved to John's side and allowed him to put his arm over his shoulders, and clutched John around the waist.

"Which way Sherlock?" Lestrade asked.

Sherlock pointed. "We ran for approximately ten minutes, and at the rate John is able to move, it will take us near an hour to get back. Provided nothing eats us first." He scowled.

"That's not funny Sherlock," John informed him.

"I wasn't trying to be," he replied.

They set off slowly, Lestrade being mindful of John's limited mobility, steering him towards the smoother paths, and Sherlock following anxiously behind.