Pulse 1/2
Title:Pulse 1/2
Author: riais
Rating: PG-13
Characters: Homes/Watson
Summary: For this prompt : Holmes has a nightmare and thinks Watson is dead, and wakes up and... yeah.
Disclaimer: Do not own
Um...because I wanted to, I suppose. For this prompt : Holmes has a nightmare and thinks Watson is dead, and wakes up and... yeah.
My first attempt at a SH fic. Please let me know what you think.
---
The blood is dripping from his face and seeping through his clothes. He can see it in Watson's eyes: that look of the dying man. The doctor knows; his shallow breaths are few and far in between.
It can't really be the end, of course. How could it just end when only seconds ago he was sure it would last forever? How can you not question the fact that there can be life one moment and none the next? It just can't be a possibility, especially when this matter of life and death concerns Watson.
"Watson!" He rushes to catch him as the doctor falls on week knees. The movement is slow and he feels like he's running through knee-deep sand, but finally he reaches him and sets him gently down.
"Ah...Holmes," the good doctor says between coughs, his voice weak and his eyelids drooping. There are so many little things about his vitals that clues the detective into the fact that his good friend is dying. The man is dying and he's noticing things like blood pressure, heartbeat, and the intensifying weakness of the voice and muscles.
Damn it all, but he can't help it. He prides himself on his abilities of minuet observations, but now its a curse he can't shake because he's more focused on the dying man's time left on earth than on the fact that his friend has only moments left to live. By his calculations, the man won't last another minute; by his calculations, there's nothing left within his range of capabilities that he can do.
That fact hits him harder than anything else: there is nothing he can do for the dying man, his friend. There is nothing he can do but sit here and watch it happen.
The doctor is slipping away from him.
"No..."he moans, "no..." cradling his head in his arms. What else is there to say? Words at this point are of little importance, and anyways, he cannot think of anything profound or important to say.
Death mimics sleep and the drowsiness sets in. There is so much blood, also, too much for one dying man.
The end is coming. 10, 9...
"Holmes..." the voice is weak and distant. This is to be expected.
8,7...
Heartbeat slows; eyelids flutter. Respiration is weak.
6, 5...
"Holmes?" The voice seems closer, stronger. Something isn't right.
4,3...
His voice doesn't match his vitals. There are hands on his shoulders; the grip is strong.
2,1...
"Holmes." Loud now, the voice is now in his ear.
0
"Holmes!"
The detective's eyelids snap open to see that familiar face staring down at him; minute wrinkles form an expression that he knows so well.
But it can't be, "You were dying," he breathes, his voice laced with confusion.
--
tbc...
Author: riais
Rating: PG-13
Characters: Homes/Watson
Summary: For this prompt : Holmes has a nightmare and thinks Watson is dead, and wakes up and... yeah.
Disclaimer: Do not own
Um...because I wanted to, I suppose. For this prompt : Holmes has a nightmare and thinks Watson is dead, and wakes up and... yeah.
My first attempt at a SH fic. Please let me know what you think.
---
The blood is dripping from his face and seeping through his clothes. He can see it in Watson's eyes: that look of the dying man. The doctor knows; his shallow breaths are few and far in between.
It can't really be the end, of course. How could it just end when only seconds ago he was sure it would last forever? How can you not question the fact that there can be life one moment and none the next? It just can't be a possibility, especially when this matter of life and death concerns Watson.
"Watson!" He rushes to catch him as the doctor falls on week knees. The movement is slow and he feels like he's running through knee-deep sand, but finally he reaches him and sets him gently down.
"Ah...Holmes," the good doctor says between coughs, his voice weak and his eyelids drooping. There are so many little things about his vitals that clues the detective into the fact that his good friend is dying. The man is dying and he's noticing things like blood pressure, heartbeat, and the intensifying weakness of the voice and muscles.
Damn it all, but he can't help it. He prides himself on his abilities of minuet observations, but now its a curse he can't shake because he's more focused on the dying man's time left on earth than on the fact that his friend has only moments left to live. By his calculations, the man won't last another minute; by his calculations, there's nothing left within his range of capabilities that he can do.
That fact hits him harder than anything else: there is nothing he can do for the dying man, his friend. There is nothing he can do but sit here and watch it happen.
The doctor is slipping away from him.
"No..."he moans, "no..." cradling his head in his arms. What else is there to say? Words at this point are of little importance, and anyways, he cannot think of anything profound or important to say.
Death mimics sleep and the drowsiness sets in. There is so much blood, also, too much for one dying man.
The end is coming. 10, 9...
"Holmes..." the voice is weak and distant. This is to be expected.
8,7...
Heartbeat slows; eyelids flutter. Respiration is weak.
6, 5...
"Holmes?" The voice seems closer, stronger. Something isn't right.
4,3...
His voice doesn't match his vitals. There are hands on his shoulders; the grip is strong.
2,1...
"Holmes." Loud now, the voice is now in his ear.
0
"Holmes!"
The detective's eyelids snap open to see that familiar face staring down at him; minute wrinkles form an expression that he knows so well.
But it can't be, "You were dying," he breathes, his voice laced with confusion.
--
tbc...