Sherlock Fanfic: Victim Statement (JWP 2015 #18)
Title: Victim Statement
Fandom: Sherlock (BBC)
Alternate Postings: AO3
Rating/Content: PG13, blood, John whump, open-ended, present tense, POV John.
Warnings: Blood.
Word Count: 280
Disclaimer: Not my world.
Notes: Created for watsons_woes July Writing Prompt #18: The Games We Play. Another addition to Entered Into Evidence, but probably not a reassuring one.
Summary: Doctor Watson has suffered grievous bodily harm at the hands of the criminals.
Victim Statement
Blood loss, grade three by now. 'Gross blood loss, requires immediate transfusion. Hypovolemic shock to set in soon'.
John's head throbs, but not solely from the bash on the head. He seems to be flying, hanging upside down by his feet. He can't feel where the blood is coming from. His legs feel entirely absent except for the red hot band of pain at his ankles. His arms are numb and cold, hanging below his head, wrists tied. The faintest tickle crosses his fingers before the steady splat, splat, splat against concrete.
Fast. Not from the head wound. Deep cut, major vein. Not an artery, not spraying. Pattering. Like rain.
He remembers Afghani children playing Aaqab in the street of the village nearest Kandahar stopping their game to run and dance in a rare soft rain. The Eagle-boy jumping from his rock to splash in the slightest of puddles with his Pigeon-friends, thick wet drops sending up puffs of dust between racing feet, laughter, spinning, dizzy-
Moaning through the vile gag, John comes back to himself. His heart-rate is speeding up but weakening, he's panting, air-hungry. Dizzy. Thirsty. Ears ringing. Numbers and volumes swim in his head, but he can't make them work. He knows he doesn't have long. Sherlock would know how long. Rate of flow, volume. Sherlock.
A faint noise comes from somewhere in the building, filtering past the dim roaring in his ears. John tries to shout out, but can't get anything past the gag but a faint groan. A darkness deeper than black rings his vision.
He falls into darkness then, the sound of his blood splashing against concrete following him down.
-.-.-
(that's it for this part. John's still going to be alright, really.)
Notes: My only knowledge of the game Aaqab comes solely from eHow.
Fandom: Sherlock (BBC)
Alternate Postings: AO3
Rating/Content: PG13, blood, John whump, open-ended, present tense, POV John.
Warnings: Blood.
Word Count: 280
Disclaimer: Not my world.
Notes: Created for watsons_woes July Writing Prompt #18: The Games We Play. Another addition to Entered Into Evidence, but probably not a reassuring one.
Summary: Doctor Watson has suffered grievous bodily harm at the hands of the criminals.
Victim Statement
Blood loss, grade three by now. 'Gross blood loss, requires immediate transfusion. Hypovolemic shock to set in soon'.
John's head throbs, but not solely from the bash on the head. He seems to be flying, hanging upside down by his feet. He can't feel where the blood is coming from. His legs feel entirely absent except for the red hot band of pain at his ankles. His arms are numb and cold, hanging below his head, wrists tied. The faintest tickle crosses his fingers before the steady splat, splat, splat against concrete.
Fast. Not from the head wound. Deep cut, major vein. Not an artery, not spraying. Pattering. Like rain.
He remembers Afghani children playing Aaqab in the street of the village nearest Kandahar stopping their game to run and dance in a rare soft rain. The Eagle-boy jumping from his rock to splash in the slightest of puddles with his Pigeon-friends, thick wet drops sending up puffs of dust between racing feet, laughter, spinning, dizzy-
Moaning through the vile gag, John comes back to himself. His heart-rate is speeding up but weakening, he's panting, air-hungry. Dizzy. Thirsty. Ears ringing. Numbers and volumes swim in his head, but he can't make them work. He knows he doesn't have long. Sherlock would know how long. Rate of flow, volume. Sherlock.
A faint noise comes from somewhere in the building, filtering past the dim roaring in his ears. John tries to shout out, but can't get anything past the gag but a faint groan. A darkness deeper than black rings his vision.
He falls into darkness then, the sound of his blood splashing against concrete following him down.
-.-.-
(that's it for this part. John's still going to be alright, really.)
Notes: My only knowledge of the game Aaqab comes solely from eHow.