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Everything felt wrong. His hair was going the wrong way. His arms were bent in ways he wouldn’t choose to bend them. His neck hurt and he couldn’t really feel his toes. Something was dripping on his face – and rolling up.
No, this definitely wasn’t right.
“Sherlock? Sherlock!” a frantic and pained voice whispered next to his ear. Sherlock groaned and turned his head, hissing as the muscles at the juncture of his neck and shoulder flared with pain.
“All right, it’s all right, it’s fine.” Sherlock couldn’t finish turning his head for fear of the muscle seizing completely, but the rest of his senses were kicking back in. Metallic creaks and groans, cracking glass, the distinct smell of petrol and burnt rubber.
A car crash. He had been in a car crash.
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