Sherlock hadn't expected to be captured by Moriarty. He had been on his way to a case. The detective hadn't had a good case for weeks, so he had been impatient to start the case that Lestrade had given him the other day. Moriarty capturing him was an inconvience.
He wasn't even afriad , he never one to show fear even when he was afraid, which wasn't often. He knew Moriarty didn't want him dead. Well he was sure at least not yet. "Let me go Moriarty!!" He snapped.
He didn't like been outsmarted by Moriarty.

Moriarty smirked "No can do Sherlock, " He laughed darkly. He pulled at Sherlocks scarf . Sherlock glared at Moriarty. He was trying to think of a plan to escape. He knew Moriarty was nearly as smart as him. Sherlock refused to believe anybody could be of eqaul IQ to him. He felr bruised from Moriarty beating him up a bit. He already had a black eye. Though Sherlock refused to give up. He knew that John wasn't coming for him as John was away. He doubted John would know he was in this sitution. He couldn't call the police as Moriarty had broken his phone and tied him up tightly.
"I'll find my own way out." Sherlock said angrilly.

Though Sherlock wasn't sure how he was going to find a way out yet. Though he would if he had to. He didn't want to be seen as useless and unable to deal with a sitiuation himself. He had found his way out of worse situationes before.
He groaned as Moriarty kicked him. Though he just glared back. "Thats nothing." He gasped. He was determined to not give up. He wanted to make sure that Moriarty was locked up for all of this.

"I'm going to see to it that you are locked up," Sherlock growled. He noticed Moriarty was not listening and was on the phone. The detective sighed and glared. He didn't like it when he was ingored when he was stating something improtant.
He closed his eyes and tried to think of a solution. He struggled a bit wondering if he could loosen the ropes around him. Mmm they are tight, He thought when he wasn't able to slip free of the ropes.
He knew he was going to need to try something else.

The victim was your average businnes-man in his late 50's, no wife, noe children. At least there was something remotely good about this. Greg blinked at the thought, a little shocked at himself for thinking like that. It seemed he'd done this job for too long already. Not that he'd ever think about quitting, he was just too good at it for that, even though some people, or rather one particular man, didn't think him so. Sherlock. He looked around, then went over to the windows and gazed down onto the streets, searching for the familiar, tall figure. He was nowhere in sight.

Gregory Lestrade had called him almost over an hour ago. Sure, sometimes Sherlock tended to make some kind of mysterious detours, but he should really already have arrived by now. So the detective had mailed him, but not gotten any kind of answer. Nothing unusual there, he tended to get ignored a lot by the other man if he bothered him in some way. Greg sighed and pulled out his phone, catching the look Donovan gave him. He raised an inquisitive eyeborw at her, but she just turned around, not commenting on how he was acting. He knew himself it was strange to be worrying for Sherlock, but right now, he had a really bad feeling about it all. Sherlock not answering any of his mails or calls? Nothing unusual. But Sherlock not turning up at a crime scene?! That was unheard of. He would at least send John to get a look around for him.

So he opened his contacts and called Sherlock. Nothing. Now that was really worrying. As far as he knew, Sherlock would never turn off his phone. He might actually miss a good murder. Greg glanced outside again, then sighed in resignation and turned heading for the stairs. "Sir? Where are you going?" Donovan called after him, having followed him to the top of the stairs. He turned around to look at her and waved it off. "I'll be right back. You take charge of the crime scene and make sure they get all the evidence." he ordered her, but she didn't seem satisfied. "Are you going to look for that freak? We don't need his help! I don't understand why you always..." her voice drifted off as he headed out onto the street and for his car.

It wasn't a long distance to 221b Baker Street, but the traffic lengthened the ride, making Greg uncomfortable as that bad feeling in his gut grew. He parked right in front of the house and hurried for the door, ringing the bell several times. There was some clattering inside and then the door opened by a huffing and red-faced Mrs Hudson looking at him disapprovingly. "One ring would have been more than enough, sir. I am not deaf, I am just a little slow. My hip, you see." she scolded him and then, before he could even ask, she already answered his question. "Sherlock is not in. He left a while ago, didn't tell me anything. And dear John is at his sister's for the next few days." Thanking her, he turned around heading for his car and getting back inside. He didn't start it though. Where could Sherlock have gone?

Sherlock was getting fustrated. He hated being tied up. He wondered if anybody would even know that he was here. He tried to struggle. I need something to loosen the ropes he thought But what. The dark haired man was scanning around , he knew it had to be something he could reach, well if he got a htand free. But Moriarty hadn't left anything close by.
Oh this was going to be annoying . He really didn't want to admit that he needed help.
The detective yelled in fustration. He hoped at least maybe somebody would hear his screams. But he wasn't sure if Moriarty would keep it so people didn't know he was here. THough if Moriarty did want people to know it would be for a reason.

I have Sherlock he sent that to Lestrade on an different number than his own. Moriarty smirked wondering if Lestrade would figure that out. He knew that Lestrade wasnt as smart as Sherlock. He goes over and punched the detective in the stomach. Sherlock mainly just gasped and coughed a bit. He tried to recover a bit and then glared looking up. He wouldn't let Moriarty win.
He was stronger than that, Moriarty couldn't break him down so easily.

"I"m not breaking," SHerlock growled, He refused to. He glared long and hard as if to say he wasn't backing down. The longer Sherlock was here. The more annoyed he was getting. The detective was waiting for somebody to know he was here.
He was bruised and injured and was starting to doubt he could find a way out, when the ropes were so tight he couldn't move. Moriarty had made sure Sherlock couldn't escape, knowing the man was smart.

I have Sherlock the text read and Greg stared at the three words. Who..? he thought, but considering that Sherlock was Sherlock there were a lot of possible suspects. Though the fact that they would have to be smart enough to actually capture Sherlock left very little possibilities. Really, only two people could actually 'capture' Sherlock. And his brother MYcroft was out of the question right now. Lestrade went through his contacts, calling Donovan to make sure this was not just some kind of stupid prank. But she was sure Sherlock was nowhere in sight. Then, Lestrade proceeded to try and call Sherlock again. Still nothing. He went back to the mail and, after hesitating for another second, he answered. Who are you? Moriarty? Where is Sherlock?? Greg hesitated before pressing the send button. He could not sure he would be right with this. Who knew what Sherlock had gotten himself into again? But he just had that feeling. That something was terribly wrong. And that just fit too well with what he knew of Moriarty.
He opened his contacts again, this time scrolling down to 'M' but his figner kept hovering over the button. If he called Mycroft now, Sherlock was sure to never forigve him for that. The way the two brothers relationship seemed to be, this kind of thing would make things so much worse. With a sigh, he put his phone away, staring out onto the street. Had he really gotten so dependant on SHerlock leading his way that he could not do this on his own. He cursed himself silently. Then something small and black caught his eye, lying on the sidewalk some metres from him. He got out, heading down the sidewalk and reached for the familiar-looking wallet lying on the ground. He opened it on a hunch and grimaced at seeing his own face looking back at him from the small picture of his police ID. He gritted his teeth. He had thought he'd lost this a month ago. Though he had gotten suspicious of how often he seemed to be losing his wallet. Everytime, actually, he was working with Sherlock. Sherlock. Greg looked up, eyes searching his surroundings for any further hints where he might have been taken.

(not entirely happy with this, but I can't seem to come up with anything better -.-)

Sherlock sighed. He really didn't wish to be in this situation. If anybody saved him, he was sure to tell them to not tell anybody else. Sherlock didn't want people knowing that he needed help. He was Sherlock Holmes he never needed help.
He was sure the simple act of helping him would ruin his reputation. He didn't want people thinking he had lost it.
The detective was quite sure that he would never need help again.
All Moriarty did was send a photo. He wasn't going to make it that simple. He wanted to make this a game. He did often make a game out of things, There was no way that he was making this too easy, That wasn't fun for him.
"Who did you message?" Sherlock looked at him. He knew Moriarty wanted to make a game out of this.
So the detective was going to be sure that Moriarty didn't win.
Letting the madman win was dangerous. He knew Moriarty probably had some big plan and alot more crimes to commit. He was getting bored of being tied up. Sherlock wanted to just get back to what ever case there was planned for him. He wondered if Moriarty was behind any of it.

(its fine)

Lestrade had been on his way back to his car, when his phone had rang again. He froze for a second, then hurried to get it out of his pocket and take a look. No message this time, just a photo. Of Sherlock. Bound to a chair, obviously well roughed up, one eye black and swollen. Greg swallowed down the lump in his throat. Sherlock looking angry and defiant and ready to fight had it not been for the ropes binding him to the chair, but still, and Greg was absolutely certain of that, far from broken. A man like Sherlock did not give up on anything easily. Certainly not himself.
But Lestrade still didn't know who had him. There had been no answer to any of the questions he had send and though the photo gave a bit of a hint as to where he was held, all one could actully make out was the cement floor and the subtle darkness. So some kind of basement, or maybe a factory or a storage room or.... Okay, Greg thought to himself, this wouldn't be getting him anywhere. He sighed and took another closer look around. No cameras anywhere in sight, it seemed. Unfortunate, that. It didn't mean though that Mycroft Holmes didn't have any cameras around though. But Lestrade was not quite ready to go there yet.
He got in his car, thinking. The culprit, whoever that was, had either to have known Sherlock would leave his apartment at the exact time he did, or had waited for him to get out. But Sherlock wasn't the kind not to notice when he was spied on, especially not if it was happening over a longer period of time. Far as he knew, the other manregularly glanced out onto the street when he got bored or was waiting for Lestrade to come and ask him for help. Which left the possibility that the culprit would've known that Sherlock would be leaving the house. So, maybe, just maybe, had the culrit known of the murder. Probably even had a part in it? What better way to get to Sherlock than luring him out of his home for a crime scene?
Greg took another look at the photo he had been send. He had nothing to support his theory. He couldn't even know whether he was just making things up just to have the feeling he was doing something. But this was all he had to go on for now. At that exact moment, his phone started ringing. "Lestrade." he answered, sounding a little angry, he realized. "What is it Donovan?" he added, trying not to but still sounding plenty annoyed. "We've run a background check on our victim, based on the ID we found with him and it seems he had some financial issues. Or at least, he still had them some months ago. There have been huge sums paid bank account in the last two or three months. We are trying to trace those payments right now." Lestrade nodded to himself, not realizing he was even doing the motion because there was noone to see or direct it towards anyway. Then, scambling for any kind of lead, really he asked: "Our victim, did he have any properties besides his apartment? Anything? A storage room, some kind of old or new apartment?" He heard paper rustling at the other end of the phone, Greg had to hold himself not to tell the woman to hurry it up.

(Erm, do you have any idea on where Sherlock is held?)

(An old wharehouse type building XD)

The detective was far from broken, Just more annoyed with every passing moment. He wanted to kill Moriarty the longer the man refused to let him go. But he knew he couldn't. His eyes were wide.
Sherlock looked quite beaten.
He wished he had a phone and was able to reach it. He wanted to call Lestrade or somebody. If he couldn't losen the damn ropes, he was as good as stuck. He didn't care if he was hungry. He was just bored and wanted to get to a case.
"What are you thinking you'll achieve by locking me up.!!" Sherlock yelled. He knew his brother would come if he knew. Sherlock grimaced at that thought. Not wanting his brother to know. There was no way he was going to admit he needed help to his brother.
But if anybody was planning to help him they were rather slow about it. "Don't you dare tell my brother about this."
Moriarty was looking at Sherlock with a smirk. "I wanted you out of the way from stopping me and I want to see if anybody really cares about your safety enough." He laughed. He was very amused by this all. "And this is amusing."
The man laughed "I will break you Holmes." He stabbed Sherlock in the arm.
Sherlock refused to show any signs of pain.

The detective was getting bored of even listening to Moriarty. Sherlock was closing his eyes and trying to ingore the pain. He hoped Lestrade wouldn't keep him off work upon seeing him injured. Though it was always hard to keep Sherlock off work as he was so stuborn and refused to rest and take a break off a case. When he had last had a flu. Lestrade had all but had to drag him home, He refused to give up as long as he was alive.

you have 30 mins -JM the madman had text Lestrade again. He was planning to put a time limit. He knew that he might not nessicarly kill Sherlock in that time but it was fun making Lestrade panic.

(sorry for taking so long, I usually post a lot more and a lot more frequently ;) )

JM. So the question about whom was behind all this was cleared. Definetly Moriarty. And definetely having some fun playing one of his sick little games. The sear for any property of their victim had come out negative. Nothing. Greg sighed, scrubbing a hand over his face and suinting into nowhere as he tried to think properly. If Sherlock had been taken here, almost right in front of his home, it had to have been minutes after Lestraed had called to inform him of the crime. And Lestrade had waited about 35 minutes before calling. It had connected back then, so he had already likely been captured then. Shortly afterwards he had got into the car and come here. So, Mariarty didn't have more than half an hour to grab Sherlock, get to the place they were right now and inflct all those bruises and everything. Half an hour, yes.
Lestrade picked up his phone again, taking a closer look at the picture, zooming in along the edges and taking a closer look. He had barely 25 minutes left, he only had this one shot. Who knows what might happen to Sherlock. He could think about lots of things that Moriarty was capable of. Way too many. He called the tech guys back at Scotland Yard, giving short and definite orders. "Get me any unused warehouse or factory building I can get to in about thirty minutes from Baker Street." He did not have the time to be nice. But there was no need to gt rough with the guys at the other side of the line. It barely took a moment for them to assemble the list of ten possible places. Lestrade clicked his tongue in annoyance. That were too many. He would barely have to time to check two of them, if he didn't pull any of his people into it. "Any kind of connection to our recent victim? The one I got assigned to this morning?" They searched but couldn't found anything in particular. "Call Donovan and check with what she found out. Which ones are the closest?" He was given three addresses, noted them down and stared at them for a moment. The last, an old warehouse, seemed in some way familiar to him. Or maybe it was just a hunch. And it wasn't like he could just sit there and do nothing while his time ran out. So he started his car, made a u-turn in the middle of the street and sped off, hoping he was right.
Somewhere along the way, Greg had gotten seriously annoyed with the traffic and had put on the siren-lights, but turned them back off when he got closer. Wouldn't want to alarm a madman kidnapper, especially not Moriarty. And once he got the first glance of the building he remembered why the address had seemed somewhat familiar. Some time ago, he could not say exactly when, unfortunately, he had been called here. A dead body had been dicovered. Of a salary-man in his late 50's. With suddenly vanished debts. He cursed and stopped to park his car a good distance away from the place on a side-street. His phone vibrated, but he ignored it. He had a gut feeling he was already at the right place. A look at his watch told him he had not a minute to spare though. With his hand on the gun, in its holster at his hip, he slowly closed in on the warehouse, eyes scanning the surroundings. Maybe, he thought for a second, coming alone had been really stupid.

Sherlock was getting more and more fustrated. He was trying to figure out what Moriarty was going to do to him. He closed his eyes. He glared at Moriarty long and hard. he really didn't want to let the man have him held captive any longer.
"MORIARTY Let me go!!" He yelled. The detective had no idea that Lestrade was here yet. He just refused to be tied up any longer. If Moriarty was going to beat him more than so be. Sherlock didnt quite care,
His eyes were focused on the crazy man infront of him.

"No can do SHerlock," Moriarty smirked evilly. He was looking at him. He grabbed him by the scarf around his next. Sherlock coughed as it was being pulled quite tightly. He then pulled out a gun and fired it randomly hoping to make Lestrade panic. He guessed he would be here all ready.
The detective knew Moriarty liked being in control.

"Enough," Sherlock growled. He was bleeding and sore, He wasn't giving up. But he was tired of all this. He wanted to be able to fight back and not be stuck like this. He hated it.

Moriarty punched Sherlock and then knocked him unconnious. Sherlock groaned and passed out.

As Lestrade crept closer to the building, he had to force himself to stay calm. It would be no use to neither of them if he started to panic now. Which, as reasonable as it was, was probably one of the hardest things he had ever needed to do. And then he heard a yelling voice and though he could not be sure, because it was echoing in the big empty building and Greg was still outside, just barely having reached the wall, but he had a feeling it had been Sherlocks voice. He gritted his teeth and hurried on, his hand still hovering over his gun, but not drawing it yet.
That changed the second he heard a gunshot from inside. Then another. Now, Greg could no longer hold back the panic making his heart thump wildly as if trying to beat ut of his chest and forcing him to take deep breaths and make an effort to concentrate properly and hear anything beyond the rush of blood in his ears and feel something else that the hard beat of his heart. He reached a door and carefully tried for the handle. It was open. He stopped, undoing the safety of his gun before slowly opening the door and peering inside. It was mostly dark and he couldn't see much, but there seemed to be noone close by, so he slipped inside, hurrying to close the door behind himself to avoid raising attention he could not use.
His gun held up, ready to shoot at anyone that proved to be a danger, he crept along the wall, keeping in the shadows as his eyes adjusted to the lack of light in the old building. He glanced around. He had gotten in at an end of the warehouse, where there were still tal shelfs filled with boxes and casks, hopefully hiding him from view until he could get an impression of his surroundings. He looked around when, rather close-by, he heard a pained groan. Greg froze for a second, stealthily creeping along the shelfs to where he had thought the sound to have come from and stopped at the edge.
From there, he could see the rest of the building was mostly empty. And not too far from himself, he could make out two people. One standing in front of the other one, who was sitting. The latter was defiently Sherlock. And passed out if the way his body had slumped over was any indication. So that left the man standing to be MOriarty. Greg stopped and watched. He wasn't sure what to do. He could barely, if at all, handle Sherlock. How was he to handle someone just as smart but decidedly insane. A whiff of something metallic hit him, raising the panic he had just-so barely managed to fight down after hearing the gunshots. Was he too late? Had Moriarty already..?
Greg swallowed hard, raised his gun and stepped into the open space, his weapon and eyes fixed solily on the madman. "I am here. Now let him go." he said, proud to hear that his voice sounded steady and strong.

Sherlock was looking at Moriarty as he woke up. His head was pounding. He felt dizzy and wanted to lay down. He was feeling sick slightly from when he had been beaten up. The genius was very tired.
He knew that he needed to lay down and recover a bit.
The detective knew he was not in good shape.

"Ohh let him go?" Moriarty laughed. "Why should I?"

It seemed that Moriarty was enjoying this whole thing. He knew that Sherlock was beaten and exhausted. He had never seen Sherlock so weak and exhausted, He knew that wouldn't slow Sherlock down for long. The madman smirked darkly.
"Tired Sherlock?" he laughed.
Sherlock was breathing deeply, his eyes widdened and he looked around . He seemed to have just noticed Lestrade. He was shocked that Moriarty had come to free him. He didn't seem to expect that.

"Lestrade?" Sherlock questioned.

The Detective wondered if he was just dreaming. He knew his head was fuzzy from being knocked out. He had never even thought Lestrade cared enough or would risk his own safety.

Greg watched as Sherlock came to again and looked around has Moriarty talked to Lestrade. His movements seemed painfully slow and when Greg managed to catch a glimpse of his face, because he was really trying not to take his eyes off the madman, he was shocked to see him so tired and beaten. And he was surprised that his presence seemed to be so astonishing to the other man. Greg could see very well that the man might not stay conscious for much longer and wondered how many bruises were hidden by his clothes when he was the blodd-dripping gash on his arm. He gritted his teeth and turned back to Moriarty.

"Can you hold on for a little longer, Sherlock?" Greg asked, while his eyes were fixed on every movement of the madman as he slowly crept forward a little. He wished he could get closer to Sherlock, but that would mean getting closer to Moriarty as well and he didn't trust the damn bastard, who was, judging by his expression, having way too much fun with all of this. A game, Lestrade was reminded by that grin, all of this was just a came to keep him from being bored.

"Reinforcements are on their way. If you run now, you might still make it before thise warehouse is crawling with the likes of me." he bluffed with his face its usual annoyed mask, but feeling really, really supid, because he was so sure both of the other man would see right through it. He couldn't think of anything else to say though. Had he expected to just come and free Sherlock? Moriarty had said he had to be here in thirty minutes or Sherlock would die, what happened once he was there had never even been hinted at.

"I suppose... but I'm dying of boredom." Sherlock complained. He was still managing to be himself. He was sore and weak though. He was trying to fight to stay awake. He knew that he was badly injured.
"No hospital." He whispered. He didn't like hospitals.
Going to hospital was something he wanted to avoid, even with his bad injures.

He twicthed hearing reiforcements were coming. He didn't want people knowing he couldn't save himself. He hoped that nobody would make fun of him. He felt rather achy from been beaten up like he had been.
Moriarty laughed "Ohhh I don't fear you and your men " He though was long gone before anybody got there. He seemed to just want to avoid been captired even if he wasnt scared.

Sherlock was shivering. He was struggling to keep himself awake. "Lestrade," His eyes closed and he looked rather tired. He had not even slept last night. The detective had been busy as normal.
His wounds were bleeding. Even with John away , he was still determined to stay away from the hospital.
It was very likely he wasn't going to stay awake.
"WHere am I?" he wasn't quite sure. He hadn't really seen where he was taken.

Greg didn't comment on the 'no hospitals' thing. Even the few injuries he could make out himself where nothing he could treat himself. If John were present he might have been able to do something, but he wasn't, so there was no way around the hospital. Though Lestrade he might be able to make it so that he could take Sherlock home right afterwards. He heard Moriartys voice but kept his glance on Sherlock for a little longer, before turning to look at the madman and blink. Because Moriarty was gone. How the hell could the man be so steahtly? Or had Greg just been too distracted?
He heard his name being said and ran the last few meters left to Sherlocks side, putting his gun away and kneeling down in front of the other man. His hands hovered over the injuries he could see for a moment, then he pulled out his phone. "We are in an old warehouse, not half an hour away from Baker Street" he told him, then reached out and placed a hand on Sherlocks shoulder, to get his attention. THe man looked positively wiped out and was shivering with fatigue, it seemed. Knowing him, he might not have gotten much sleep the past few days and then this... he ought to get some rest. "Sherlock I am calling an ambulance." he informed him, not asking for his opinion on this. "I have no idea how to treat any wounds and I am just not risking it." He dialled the number on his phone and quickly explained their whereabouts and everything, before hanging up and looking around, seeing a knife on a table where Moriarty had been and, without allowing himself to think of what the knife had been meant for, proceeded to cut the ties binding Sherlock to the chair.
He didn't move him though, just did his best to keep him remotely upright. "I promise I will get you out of the hospital as soon as they've treated you, alright?" he offered, though he already knew he wouldn't be able to fulfill that promise, should SHerlock have any too heavy injuries that would not just heal by themselves with enough rest. Which reminded him that John wasn't home to keep Sherlock from doing stupid things, so he guessed, since noone was supposed to know of this, he would have to stay and look over the detective for a while.

Sherlock really wasn't keen on hospitals. He was sure Lestrade was going to even if he didn't want to. He narrowed his eyes in annoyance hearing that the ambulance had been called. He really didn't want people knowing he was weak either.
He was glad he didn't have to listen to Moriarty's voice. But he was angry the man escaped. Sherlock wanted him dealt with after what he had done, even if he had to do that himself. The detective closed his eyes.

"I;m not that badly hurt, I will be fine." Sherlock as infact quite badly hurt and needed medical treatment. Even if he was ok to go home, He still wouldn't be able to just go home without his injures been seen too.
He yawned more and hoped that all of this was over rather fast. He was asleep long before the ambulance arrived, His body was unable to stay awake. He really had been pushing himself hard lately.
The detective awoke when he was in the hospital been checked over. He had been so deeply asleep when they came. That he didn't even wake when he was taken into the amublance.

"Lestrade?" Sherlock was looking around. He felt confused and tired. He wanted to go back home and be in his own bed. He really didn't like hospitals. He was almost tempted to text John and force him to come home early just so he could not have to worry about hospitals as much.
He dounbted Lestrade would let him bother John.

Greg would have none of the excuses. He was just about to tell him that he would not let him go home just like that, or more like take him home, since he wasn't in any kind of state to move around on his own, when the weight he held up with his arms grew heavier and Sherlock slumped over. Lestrade backed off a bit, taking a closer look. The detective was breathing deeply and regularly. So he had fallen asleep. ALso not something you saw from Sherlock everyday. Maybe all the yawning and the lack of words had been an indicator, but Greg, although he had noticed, had not thought that much of it. His thoughts had been rather hung up on the hospital thing. Which was one less problem to deal with now, it seemed. He just hoped Sherlock would stay asleep until he had no way to talk him into getting him home after all.
The ambulance arrived not too long afterwards, though it felt like much longer, because his amrs were getting heavy with trying to keep Sherlock upright and not make any of his injuries probably worse. Amazingly enough, the man slept through the whole ride and apparently even the examination. The man had to have been horribly wiped out.
Greg wasn't sure how long he waited in the area he had been shown to once they had arrived at the hospital, but he had made several calls to Donovan and worked, as far as he could since he wasn't leaving there, on the case. Once awake, he would make sure to occupy Sherlock buy telling him everything they had foudn out yet. That might actually be the only way to keep him from getting up and roaming about right away.
Finally, after an hour or two, he was shown to a room, the nurse staying outside as he stepped in. He had been informed that besides the rather deep gash in his arm and a few cracked ribs, Sherlock had no too bad injuries. So he would be taking him home to Baker Street as soon as he was up and ready to go. But then he was still sleeping, so Lestrade sat down on the uncomfortable chair in the corner of the room and waited, writing in his notepad and texting with the people working on the case. He didn't take one call and put his phone on silent mode, Sherlock seemed to be needing this sleep badly.
Then he heard his name said and looked up. Greg smiled as he saw Sherlock looking around and got up walking over to the bed. "Slept well?" he asked teasingly, loking Sherlock over. To think all of this had turned out the way it had because of that one stupid bluff he had made. "You're fine, I was told. You have to be careful not to open that gash on your arm and a few of your ribs are a little cracked, so no fast movements or heavy carrying." he informed him. "If you're up to it, I can get you home now, as promised." he added, thinking he had seen something in the other mans eyes that made him offer it.

Sherlock was looking at Lestrade. He didn't understand why the man was helping, not after the way he normally treated him. He always treated Lestrade like he was an idoit. "Why are you helping me?"
He was very confused. He held his head. It had been a rather long day for him. He knew that his head hurt from it all. He wanted to just be back in his bed. He felt more relaxed there. Even if he hated staying in his bed.

"I would like to go home, I don't care if I am up for it or not." Sherlock stated. He was looking at him. He listened to what Lestrade said about his injures. Not really liking what he heard. He knew that was going to have to take it easy for awhile.
"So in other words ... take it easy. You know I cant ever do that, You should know from when you dragged me home when I had the flu." He knew he had drove Lestrade and everybody crazy then.

He was wanting to get out of the hospital soon as possible. He was still quite tired as well. Sherlock didn't want to admit he was still tired though. He didn't want to admit he needed to go to bed.

Greg wasn't sure what to answer to Sherlocks first question. He didn't know himself, to tell the truth, why he was helping him lke this. He hadn't thought about ti for a second, for him it felt like the thing to do. Especially without John around to keep an eye on the detective. And with his injuries someone had to make sure and help him with whatever he was stubbornly doing, so that they wouldn't get worse. He didn't say any of that though, instead, he just shrugged his shoulders. "Why should I not?" he instead asked in return.
He watched, a little worried as Sherlock held his head. He wasn't sure whether the doctors were still watching over him for any signs of a concussion. But once awake, there was nothing he could do about Sherlock leaving the hospital, one way or another. And he would like that to be with his help rather than without.
He laughed when Sherlock mentioned that time, when he'd had the flu. He could laugh about it now, at least. Back then he had just been so annoyed, he'd almost been furious with the other man. He really didn't know how John ever put up with that attitude of his. "I remember." he answered him, shaking his head to himself. He really hoped this would be different. "You will have to though. Or your injuries will take longer to heal and you won't be able to do you work properly until then." he hoped, that this thread was enough to let Sherlock see reason.
"Okay, so let's get you out of here." Greg said and wandered outside, snatching he first wheelchair he could find and bringing it back into Sherlocks room. Before the other man could protest, he said sternly: "That's the only way out and you are very well aware of it."

Sherlock was looking at him "Because of the way I treat you." He replied. He knew sometimes people were nice regaurdless of how others treated them. He knew that Lestrade could only just be helping him because John was away. He was shaking as he always found hospitals too cold.
"Ugh its too cold," Sherlock growled. Another reason that he really hated hospitals. He was glad to be going home. He was looking at Lestrade when he got the wheelchair.
"Don't tell anybody." He didn't want anybody knowing that he needed to be in a wheelchair. He was sure that people would gossip and spread the news that Sherlock was in a wheel chair. He lets Lestrade help him into the wheel chair.

He looked rather tired. He couldn't wait to just get out of the hospital. He knew that it would be hard to not work like he normally did. He refused to miss out on cases. He was looking to Lestrade. He had been grateful when Lestrade had looked after him and got him home when he was sick. Even if he never admited that and had been very diffcult during that time.
Sherlock did wonder why stuff had to happen to him when John was away.

Greg helped him into the wheelchair and put on his jacket and they set off. "Noone knows anything about all of this, by the way. I didn't tell anyone where I was going." he admitted, though he had actually thought Sherlock must have realized that the thread about reinforcements had been a total bluff. Or maybe the roughed up, bleeding and tired Sherlock had not picked up on that bit. Because Greg really never had thought himself to be that good a liar.
Surprising was though, that Sherlock had admitted to being aware of how he was treating people and that he knew how people reacted to it. Except for being horribly annoyed most of the time, Lestrade had never actually minded it that much. For him, that was just how Sherlock was. And as far as he knew, Sherlock seldomly treated anyone the way he did because he wanted to hurt them, with a few exceptions of course, of whom at least two where on Gregs team.
They headed out of the hospital, not being questioned by anyone, which was probably a little worrying in concern of the security of the hospital. But even if anyone had tried to stop them, you could get away with almost anything if you had a police badge. They left the wheelchair by the entrance and he helped Sherlock up, carefully putting the uninjured arm around his neck and holding on to his waist. "Tell me if the position hurts. I parked right over there." he said, nodding toward his car a few meters away.
The drive to Baker Street passed mostly in silence. Greg couldn't come up with any goof topic, especially since he had noticed back in the hospital already, that Sherlock was actually still very tired.