To Clean, Perchance to Heal: A Sherlock Holmes Story
Title: To Clean, Perchance to Heal
Author: azuhra
Fandom: ACD-Bookverse Sherlock Holmes
Word Count: 661
Rating: PG13
Characters: Watson, Holmes, Inspector Gregson, Mrs Hudson
Pairing(s): None.
Warnings: : Mild Violence, description of wound
Disclaimer: I don't own the boys.
Prompt: JWP Amnesty Prompt #6 (Gratuitous and shameless H/C/Schmoop.) at watsons_woes
Summary:
An injured doctor takes on an aggravating patient.
Chapter Nineteen 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
Chapter Sixteen: Sutures and Revolvers
Chapter Seventeen: Expecting Rescue
Chapter Eighteen: Bang!
A/N: Schmoop? How does one Schmoop? With these guys? They will do hurt/care with me, but they don't play nice and emotional about it for me. Er, well, mostly.
---
I set my revolver to the floor just as soon as Inspector Gregson had turned and slapped his darbies on a shocked Jacob Hunt. I turned my attention toward my friend, aware that he had been shot and keen to see the extent of the damage. “Holmes, remove your jacket and allow me to..”
My friend did not so much as give me warning, simply over-riding me by bellowing toward the stairs, “Mrs. Hudson! You may come up now and I prefer you do!”
Gregson, Hunt, and myself all cringed at the volume, being the only other gentlemen in the room awake. I glared at the man even as he returned the look without hesitation. It took but moments for the poor woman to dash up the stairs and set upon the scene with worried eyes.
“What can I do for you, Mr. Holmes?”
“Its more what you can do for Inspector Gregson. The idiot didn't have the forethought to bring extra man power or carriages. If you would be so kind as to send word to Scotland Yard requesting such?”
Gregson gave my friend a truly malicious look before setting about removing the weapons from all of the downed criminals. I sought to look after a sulking friend who made me out to be a bully.
---
Help arrived with due speed to rid us of the six criminals and one irritated Inspector. Holmes was sure to point out that these men had committed the atrocity that the yard surely all ready knew about at Webern Mansion. Inspector Gregson reluctantly informed Holmes that Lestrade was currently on that case and would be pleased to have his murderers.
Though very little would please me more than to see those criminals hung, I was stilled all to happy to usher Gregson from our home. I could still see a young girl's last blood mixed with rain water staining the knees of my trousers, I think even now I might be forgiven the evil thoughts I had toward those antique thieves and out would-be client.
Hobbled though I was, I walked with caution to ease any tension on fresh stitches, but my primary concern was for Holmes. Before the inspector had left, we had between us coaxed Holmes on to the settee. The Inspector commenting that perhaps I had best sit down for a while as well. I neatly ignored him and began to strip outer clothing from my friends torso with or without his consent.
“I am fine!” He snapped.
I tugged the waist-coat from his petulant fingers, arguing, “I will see that for myself after tonight's brutality!”
---
While Holmes did not fight to keep me from unbuttoning and stripping him of his shirt, neither did he help. “You have been injured tonight as well, Doctor. Perhaps you should be looking after yourself.”
Holmes, I knew, was a terrible patient. He apparently had not realized how very near I was to the end of my own rope that night. “I am no longer bleeding, Detective. Unlike some in the room. Now I you would cooperate I could do this so much faster!”
“Its just a flesh wound,” he announced. Stripped naked from the waist up, it rather looked like he was doing his very best to sink into the furniture beneath him.
“Odd how even flesh wounds can bleed. Let me see it, man!”
With a sulk any boy of twelve would have been proud of, Holmes allowed me access. He had been correct. The bullet had cut through skin just above his left hip, barely slicing muscle. All the same, the wounded needed cleaning and stitching lest we about infection. As I worked, Holmes spoke up softly, as though unsure.
“Watson, I am... pleased that you were not killed tonight.”
“I feel the same toward you.”
And if my smile for Holmes was overly warm, I think I can hardly be blamed.
Author: azuhra
Fandom: ACD-Bookverse Sherlock Holmes
Word Count: 661
Rating: PG13
Characters: Watson, Holmes, Inspector Gregson, Mrs Hudson
Pairing(s): None.
Warnings: : Mild Violence, description of wound
Disclaimer: I don't own the boys.
Prompt: JWP Amnesty Prompt #6 (Gratuitous and shameless H/C/Schmoop.) at watsons_woes
Summary:
An injured doctor takes on an aggravating patient.
Chapter Nineteen 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
Chapter Sixteen: Sutures and Revolvers
Chapter Seventeen: Expecting Rescue
Chapter Eighteen: Bang!
A/N: Schmoop? How does one Schmoop? With these guys? They will do hurt/care with me, but they don't play nice and emotional about it for me. Er, well, mostly.
---
I set my revolver to the floor just as soon as Inspector Gregson had turned and slapped his darbies on a shocked Jacob Hunt. I turned my attention toward my friend, aware that he had been shot and keen to see the extent of the damage. “Holmes, remove your jacket and allow me to..”
My friend did not so much as give me warning, simply over-riding me by bellowing toward the stairs, “Mrs. Hudson! You may come up now and I prefer you do!”
Gregson, Hunt, and myself all cringed at the volume, being the only other gentlemen in the room awake. I glared at the man even as he returned the look without hesitation. It took but moments for the poor woman to dash up the stairs and set upon the scene with worried eyes.
“What can I do for you, Mr. Holmes?”
“Its more what you can do for Inspector Gregson. The idiot didn't have the forethought to bring extra man power or carriages. If you would be so kind as to send word to Scotland Yard requesting such?”
Gregson gave my friend a truly malicious look before setting about removing the weapons from all of the downed criminals. I sought to look after a sulking friend who made me out to be a bully.
---
Help arrived with due speed to rid us of the six criminals and one irritated Inspector. Holmes was sure to point out that these men had committed the atrocity that the yard surely all ready knew about at Webern Mansion. Inspector Gregson reluctantly informed Holmes that Lestrade was currently on that case and would be pleased to have his murderers.
Though very little would please me more than to see those criminals hung, I was stilled all to happy to usher Gregson from our home. I could still see a young girl's last blood mixed with rain water staining the knees of my trousers, I think even now I might be forgiven the evil thoughts I had toward those antique thieves and out would-be client.
Hobbled though I was, I walked with caution to ease any tension on fresh stitches, but my primary concern was for Holmes. Before the inspector had left, we had between us coaxed Holmes on to the settee. The Inspector commenting that perhaps I had best sit down for a while as well. I neatly ignored him and began to strip outer clothing from my friends torso with or without his consent.
“I am fine!” He snapped.
I tugged the waist-coat from his petulant fingers, arguing, “I will see that for myself after tonight's brutality!”
---
While Holmes did not fight to keep me from unbuttoning and stripping him of his shirt, neither did he help. “You have been injured tonight as well, Doctor. Perhaps you should be looking after yourself.”
Holmes, I knew, was a terrible patient. He apparently had not realized how very near I was to the end of my own rope that night. “I am no longer bleeding, Detective. Unlike some in the room. Now I you would cooperate I could do this so much faster!”
“Its just a flesh wound,” he announced. Stripped naked from the waist up, it rather looked like he was doing his very best to sink into the furniture beneath him.
“Odd how even flesh wounds can bleed. Let me see it, man!”
With a sulk any boy of twelve would have been proud of, Holmes allowed me access. He had been correct. The bullet had cut through skin just above his left hip, barely slicing muscle. All the same, the wounded needed cleaning and stitching lest we about infection. As I worked, Holmes spoke up softly, as though unsure.
“Watson, I am... pleased that you were not killed tonight.”
“I feel the same toward you.”
And if my smile for Holmes was overly warm, I think I can hardly be blamed.