Fic: Haunted
Title: Haunted
Author:
gloria_scott
Characters: Mycroft Holmes, John Watson
Genre: Gen
Rating: PG-13
Word Count: 200
Warnings: Violence
Spoilers: Sherlock S1
Summary: The first time John Watson killed a man.
Notes: Originally written for the sherlock_ldws challenge #1; prompt = " First Time"
Disclaimer: I don’t own them, and there’s no money to be made here.
The first time John Watson killed a man, his right hand shook for hours.
I know you’re a southpaw, Johnny Boy, but best fire that bullpup right-handed or you’ll get a face-full of hot metal.
The memory of his sergeant’s voice was strangely clear amidst the noise and chaos, until rough hands pulled him down and back into the moment. He jammed the butt of his SA80 against his cheek and before the third round left its deafening echo in his ear the target - a man, a man for God’s sake - crumpled lifeless to the ground.
He wouldn’t have said it was easier the next time, though the trembling subsided with the ebb of adrenaline, and he’d slept soundly that night.
Back in London, the tremors are a near constancy; the cold weight of the Sig is the only thing that quiets them. That is, until Sherlock happens.
…with Sherlock Holmes, you see the battlefield.
He follows the arrogant young man with a penchant for danger, more out of instinct than rational thought.
…you missed it.
And when the target is framed in the center window pane, he raises the Sig and fires a single round - sharp-eyed, steady-handed.
Welcome back.
Author:
gloria_scott
Characters: Mycroft Holmes, John Watson
Genre: Gen
Rating: PG-13
Word Count: 200
Warnings: Violence
Spoilers: Sherlock S1
Summary: The first time John Watson killed a man.
Notes: Originally written for the sherlock_ldws challenge #1; prompt = " First Time"
Disclaimer: I don’t own them, and there’s no money to be made here.
The first time John Watson killed a man, his right hand shook for hours.
I know you’re a southpaw, Johnny Boy, but best fire that bullpup right-handed or you’ll get a face-full of hot metal.
The memory of his sergeant’s voice was strangely clear amidst the noise and chaos, until rough hands pulled him down and back into the moment. He jammed the butt of his SA80 against his cheek and before the third round left its deafening echo in his ear the target - a man, a man for God’s sake - crumpled lifeless to the ground.
He wouldn’t have said it was easier the next time, though the trembling subsided with the ebb of adrenaline, and he’d slept soundly that night.
Back in London, the tremors are a near constancy; the cold weight of the Sig is the only thing that quiets them. That is, until Sherlock happens.
…with Sherlock Holmes, you see the battlefield.
He follows the arrogant young man with a penchant for danger, more out of instinct than rational thought.
…you missed it.
And when the target is framed in the center window pane, he raises the Sig and fires a single round - sharp-eyed, steady-handed.
Welcome back.