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Bloody fucking bollocks John cursed silently to himself this whole God damn case is more SNAFU than the whole of my bloody time in fucking Helmand! he resisted the impulse to knock his head back against the rubble, Don't need to add to the concussion soldier.
"OK Watson, focus here." he muttered, needing something to break the oppressive musty silence "Sit Rep."
A somewhat unsteady look round and a few curse filled minuets of testing the range of his mobility and he had a fairly complete picture of his situation.
"Positives, solved the case," he grinned ruefully "never gonna live it down and probable never going to hear the end of the bloody Hobbit jokes but still solved it. Still functional, sort of. Still, thank all the deities, armed."
He contemplated trying to move again and gave it up as a bad idea "Negatives, sort of still functional not mobile."
A creaking in the upper floor of the house silenced him for a moment as he waited to see if he was about to regret the not mobile bit of that last thought. Once it was clear no one was about to come in all guns blazing he resumed "Enforced radio silence so no backup." a glare at the small pile of brokenness that used to be his phone "No ETA or report in scheduled God knows how long it'll be before I'm missed. Minimal supplies any more than 4 hours without evac and I'm going to be in trouble."
And then, oh yes there was That! A glare of the kind that had reduced combat hardened veterans to quivering silence was directed at the now battered and dusty sign. Bloody universal warning signs, about as much damn good a as fucking heater in the midday desert. He couldn't quiet suppress the giggle though which was Not Good, concussion showing there John must stay awake some how.
An indeterminate length of time later which he occupied by humming some libellous songs he remembered from is army days and periodic self diagnosis to make sure nothing had worsened to much and there was a clatter of people entering the house. A swift prayer that they weren't on the wrong side of this and a quick check on the ammo situation just in case and he waited for them the notice the obvious.
"Hey! Where'd the 'Wet Floor' sign..." A disgruntled male voice called out only to cut off mid query, presumably John thought on noticing the large hole in the previously washed floor.
A cluster of other voices exclaimed over the appearance on a six foot wide hole in what had previously been assumed to be a solid marble floor. None of them edging very close to the hole John noticed, so probably the innocentish cleaning crew. John shrugged he needed help and even if some of the crew where in on this they'd be unable to act with witnesses.
"Hey! Help me!" He put all the parade ground volume and command he could muster into the shout.
There was some more vocal fluttering above his head before a face appeared over the edge of the hole. John grinned at his soon the be rescuer and waived with his gun free hand to indicate his apparent vunerability.
"What, how... why?" the young man asked trying to get a sentence out.
John gave a mental sigh and fell back into Captain mode, not time for being gentle now.
"Police consultant, I was checking out the building when the floor gave way. You have a working phone?"
The man nodded and waived it over the edge as proof.
"Good lower it down in a bucket or something I need to make a few phone calls." John commanded already working out how to phrase the call to Lestrade so as not to give away to much in case anyone of interest upstairs did a runner.
oOo
"Only you John" Was Lestrade's greeting as his feet touched the rubble pile less than half an hour later "Only you could fall through a floor, survive and solve the case and still bitch out your flat mate when he questions your judgement."
John grinned at him and then focused on the paramedic team who where unclipping themselves from the abseiling gear behind the DI.
"Concussion, unknown period of unconsciousness immediately after impact but none since. Broken left Tibia and probably Fibula. Left ankle badly sprained. Foreign body in right ankle and sever lacerations on right leg. Bruised possibly broken ribs four, five and six and my left shoulder's not entirely in it's socket."
He could see Greg wincing at the list and the medics giving him sidelong glances as the dug away the rubble to free him. There was a clatter as the sign skidded across the floor to fetch up at Greg's feet.
"They should add text to that." John commented as a neck brace was fasten around him, "something to mention the possibility that the floor isn't actually wet but might give way under you. It'd have been useful information to have."
Greg glanced down at it and couldn't quite suppress a snigger at the new interpretation of the picture, only John or Sherlock could manage to turn a walk across a wet floor into a full scale caving rescue.