Sutures and Revolvers: A Sherlock Holmes Story
Title: Sutures and Revolvers
Author: azuhra
Fandom: ACD-Bookverse Sherlock Holmes
Word Count: 442
Rating: PG13
Characters: Watson, Holmes
Pairing(s): None.
Warnings: : Blood and mild description of a wound
Disclaimer: I don't own the boys. I just take them out to play.
Prompt: JWP Amnesty Prompt #2 (Use 5 out of the 100 words from WW prompt table #1) at watsons_woes
Summary:
Holmes and Watson prepare for a final showdown.
Chapter Sixteen of my JWP story: The Case of the Antique Massacre
Chapter One: Rain for the Cab Man
Chapter Two: Less Than Benign
Chapter Three: Word Games
Chapter Four: Relief and a Quote
Chapter Five: The Horror Unfolds
Chapter Six: Undercover Detective
Chapter Seven: Plan of Attack
Chapter Eight: Mud, Oil, and Cowards
Chapter Nine: Falling for You
Chapter Ten: The Bloodshed Begins
Chapter Eleven: Turn-Coat
Chapter Twelve: It Burns Like Summer
Chapter Thirteen: Meeting in the Fire
Chapter Fourteen: Leaping and Sprinting
Chapter Fifteen: Take What You Will
A/N: So, to make sure I had as random of words as I could get for this, I used a virtual 100 sided die and had the thing roll five numbers. Really. You can find the site for it here. Words: Trust, Cold, Embrace, Effort, Die.
---
Adrenaline wearing thin, exhaustion born of blood loss had me leaning heavily on both the wall and Holmes as he aided me up the stairs and into our sitting room. “We want the cabbie running to Scotland Yard then,” I repeated, for I was feeling quite slow in grasping the point of this exercise.
Holmes stripped me of my wet coat and jacket, pushing me down to the settee in a still thoroughly wet waistcoat and shirt. He continued with far more patience than was his wont and I wondered if our evening escapades had scared him more than he should ever admit. “We do. It is our fastest method of getting a message out to them, and even our slow witted Yarder's must see this as interesting enough to come running.”
Though the room was not cold, being wet and injured as I was sent chills through me. Holmes must have noted this as he draped an afghan over my shoulders and passed me a sharp knife. I set the blade to the fabric of my trousers and slit the bandaging off and the gap wider so that I could access the wound with out embarrassing myself.
“And we want one of our Inspectors and a few bobbies here should our thieves come flying in like buzzards.”
---
“A very likely scenario,” Holmes agreed, “In fact one I quite embrace the prospect of.”
My friend had fetched my medical bag in the mean time, setting it on the coffee table before the settee. Having full view of my wound, I very nearly grimaced. The skin was not neatly cut, as whatever was thrown into me by the blast had left a jagged edge in its path. Parts were cut deeper than others. It was not life threatening, though it reached both high enough and low enough on my leg as to cause considerable discomfort. “And we shall sit here and wait for them, these men who wish only for you to die.”
“Not quite, my dear fellow. You shall suture that nasty cut, a task I trust you can continue on your own for a few minutes. I shall run downstairs and warn our dear landlady to stay in her rooms no matter the sounds she hears in the coming hour.”
“I can tend to this, yes. Before you go, pass me my revolver from my jacket pocket, would you? I'd rather not be left unarmed.”
Holmes did just that. “I won't be long, Watson. With a small effort on our part, by the end of the night everything should be neatly buttonholed.”
Author: azuhra
Fandom: ACD-Bookverse Sherlock Holmes
Word Count: 442
Rating: PG13
Characters: Watson, Holmes
Pairing(s): None.
Warnings: : Blood and mild description of a wound
Disclaimer: I don't own the boys. I just take them out to play.
Prompt: JWP Amnesty Prompt #2 (Use 5 out of the 100 words from WW prompt table #1) at watsons_woes
Summary:
Holmes and Watson prepare for a final showdown.
Chapter Sixteen of my JWP story: The Case of the Antique Massacre
Chapter One: Rain for the Cab Man
Chapter Two: Less Than Benign
Chapter Three: Word Games
Chapter Four: Relief and a Quote
Chapter Five: The Horror Unfolds
Chapter Six: Undercover Detective
Chapter Seven: Plan of Attack
Chapter Eight: Mud, Oil, and Cowards
Chapter Nine: Falling for You
Chapter Ten: The Bloodshed Begins
Chapter Eleven: Turn-Coat
Chapter Twelve: It Burns Like Summer
Chapter Thirteen: Meeting in the Fire
Chapter Fourteen: Leaping and Sprinting
Chapter Fifteen: Take What You Will
A/N: So, to make sure I had as random of words as I could get for this, I used a virtual 100 sided die and had the thing roll five numbers. Really. You can find the site for it here. Words: Trust, Cold, Embrace, Effort, Die.
---
Adrenaline wearing thin, exhaustion born of blood loss had me leaning heavily on both the wall and Holmes as he aided me up the stairs and into our sitting room. “We want the cabbie running to Scotland Yard then,” I repeated, for I was feeling quite slow in grasping the point of this exercise.
Holmes stripped me of my wet coat and jacket, pushing me down to the settee in a still thoroughly wet waistcoat and shirt. He continued with far more patience than was his wont and I wondered if our evening escapades had scared him more than he should ever admit. “We do. It is our fastest method of getting a message out to them, and even our slow witted Yarder's must see this as interesting enough to come running.”
Though the room was not cold, being wet and injured as I was sent chills through me. Holmes must have noted this as he draped an afghan over my shoulders and passed me a sharp knife. I set the blade to the fabric of my trousers and slit the bandaging off and the gap wider so that I could access the wound with out embarrassing myself.
“And we want one of our Inspectors and a few bobbies here should our thieves come flying in like buzzards.”
---
“A very likely scenario,” Holmes agreed, “In fact one I quite embrace the prospect of.”
My friend had fetched my medical bag in the mean time, setting it on the coffee table before the settee. Having full view of my wound, I very nearly grimaced. The skin was not neatly cut, as whatever was thrown into me by the blast had left a jagged edge in its path. Parts were cut deeper than others. It was not life threatening, though it reached both high enough and low enough on my leg as to cause considerable discomfort. “And we shall sit here and wait for them, these men who wish only for you to die.”
“Not quite, my dear fellow. You shall suture that nasty cut, a task I trust you can continue on your own for a few minutes. I shall run downstairs and warn our dear landlady to stay in her rooms no matter the sounds she hears in the coming hour.”
“I can tend to this, yes. Before you go, pass me my revolver from my jacket pocket, would you? I'd rather not be left unarmed.”
Holmes did just that. “I won't be long, Watson. With a small effort on our part, by the end of the night everything should be neatly buttonholed.”