Sherlock advent drabbles :D

Today's word is: Nubiferous

Sherlock is almost wreathed in the clouds of his breath as it shudders out, white, into the cold air. He's on his knees for a second, hand clutching at his stomach, before his balance gives out and he topples onto his side, brown leaves crunching beneath him.

John's there in an instant, hands steady with adrenaline and fear. "Sherlock? Sherlock! Can you hear me?"

Sherlock wheezes out a laugh, more clouds billowing upwards, and he fumbles a hand out from underneath him. In his palm, one corner glistening with a smear of red, is a mobile phone. "I wonder how long it'll take for him to notice this is missing?" His face screws up in an attempt to smile.

"Jesus," says John, fingers probing under Sherlock's coat and coming back warm and slick. "He had a knife. You knew he had a knife and you still tackled him." He presses Sherlock's hand over the wound. "Put pressure on it. Can you put pressure on it?"

Sherlock does as he's told, so John pulls out his own phone and calls for an ambulance, looking out at the trees around them and hoping to God that his directions are good enough.

"John," Sherlock's fingers convulse around the phone in his palm, "I need you to get this to Lestrade. If you go now, it..."

"You arse," says John. "You absolute, utter arse." He tugs the phone out of Sherlock's hand, shoves it in the pocket of his jacket, and clutches desperately at Sherlock's red fingers. "I'm not going anywhere."

Sherlock squeezes his eyes tight for a second, his breathing short and ragged. "Ok." And the grip on John's hand tightens.