Fic: Playing God [BBC Sherlock]
Title: Playing God
Fandom: BBC Sherlock
Rating: PG
Characters: John Watson
Length: 221b
Alternate Link: AO3
Author's Notes: Written for the watsons_woes JWP 2015 Prompt #9: Healer's Choice. Unbeta'd.
Summary: No one questioned my decision in the moment, or at any time afterwards.
Doctors have a reputation for arrogance; surgeons most of all.
It's necessary when one is called on to make life-or-death decisions. To complete one surgery and choose the next in the time it takes to change your surgical gloves. Will it be the private who lost half his leg to an IED, the lieutenant choking on his own blood, or the Afghani child with the closed head injury? There are systems to prioritize those in greatest need, but when resources are limited, someone has to decide. I was trained to make those decisions and to live with them.
That's no excuse, of course.
Sherlock had sent me to the Albert Bridge to intercept Barrons, whilst stationing himself on the Battersea Bridge. I saw the two of them fighting on the edge of the bridge, saw the gun go off, watched them fall into the Thames. And then I ran.
By the time I arrived, Lestrade's men had pulled the two of them out. Sherlock's coat was off. He was bleeding, gasping, disoriented. I saw, with perfect clarity, that his condition was serious, especially considering the infection-risk of the Thames, but not critical. Barrons was pale, still. Not breathing.
"Let me through," I called to the men surrounding Sherlock. By the time the paramedics arrived, it was too late to resuscitate Barrons.
Fandom: BBC Sherlock
Rating: PG
Characters: John Watson
Length: 221b
Alternate Link: AO3
Author's Notes: Written for the watsons_woes JWP 2015 Prompt #9: Healer's Choice. Unbeta'd.
Summary: No one questioned my decision in the moment, or at any time afterwards.
Doctors have a reputation for arrogance; surgeons most of all.
It's necessary when one is called on to make life-or-death decisions. To complete one surgery and choose the next in the time it takes to change your surgical gloves. Will it be the private who lost half his leg to an IED, the lieutenant choking on his own blood, or the Afghani child with the closed head injury? There are systems to prioritize those in greatest need, but when resources are limited, someone has to decide. I was trained to make those decisions and to live with them.
That's no excuse, of course.
Sherlock had sent me to the Albert Bridge to intercept Barrons, whilst stationing himself on the Battersea Bridge. I saw the two of them fighting on the edge of the bridge, saw the gun go off, watched them fall into the Thames. And then I ran.
By the time I arrived, Lestrade's men had pulled the two of them out. Sherlock's coat was off. He was bleeding, gasping, disoriented. I saw, with perfect clarity, that his condition was serious, especially considering the infection-risk of the Thames, but not critical. Barrons was pale, still. Not breathing.
"Let me through," I called to the men surrounding Sherlock. By the time the paramedics arrived, it was too late to resuscitate Barrons.