1- injured; hxc holmes&watson :what would have happened if holmes went back to watson, successfully.your_boswellMay 17 2012, 09:22:43 UTC
there was a ringing in his ears, then came the enslaught headache, a headache that made you want to cringe away in despair. The doctor hadn't even been concious of his shoulder blade being injured until someone moved him and that only brought a cry out in pain. in unbearable pain that was the result of the warf blowing up on him. John leans on a faulty- yet, strong shoulder as they make their way to safety. away from the scotland yard officials, most likely. which, their destination seems to be the spare room holmes had procurred from the amateur fights, though amateur? no. never when it's sherlock holmes. Watson lets out another cry of pain because it's just too unbearable that in a few moments, if the other doesn't hastily give him something, then there is a good chance that the dear doctor will pass out from the pain.
Watson -- [his voice is barely there, every breath like his throat is torn into strips he has to swallow within.] There is -- morphine, I trust? In one of the cases. [he is trying hard, on all accounts to act and speak normal. Not cause him distress or add to the panic.]
"holmes, please, it hurts so much." john manages to choke out. With a shakey hand, the doctor very cautiously tries to put his less injured hand upon his infinitely more injured shoulder but only manages to get there half-way because his muscles begin to tense and overexert as well as...he doesn't trust his own doctors hands to keep steady thus ending up in accidentally bumping his hand onto the wound that feels like one were spraying salt upon it. No, he couldn't afford that. Trauma, that's what this was- he'd get over it soon enough? Something like this wouldn't permanentally scar him? Oh how much of a lie that was, so much that he chuckled bitterly at his own self musings. Right now, he wanted nothing more than to pass out and never wake up to the pain, again. But if that meant that his nick-of-time warning of their exploding danger somehow gave holmes that small window of self preparance..then it was worth the wounds. His dear friends safety and longevity was worth many wounds.
Yes, yes, I know - [he blusters, sharp and impatient once more. He moves Watson's hand off, to grasp it. Turn the man's waning focus onto himself.] Come, come! You will focus and I shall get you out of this -- or I fear Ms. Morsten's wrath upon us.
[it was testament to how much worry he felt that he would willingly mention her between them - but Watson clearly thought the world of the woman. Yes, and loved her. Sherlock was no fool to not use her name as motivation - a diversion from the panic caused by multiple injury and pain.
He could see he needed setting. Stiches.
His failt, all his - he would welcome any wrath, even Lestrade's bolstering right now!]
...John. [he is sharp in the use of his given name, dark eyes locking with his. Yes, look to him.. focus.] John, my friend.
It took all his concentration to pay attention to the other- the seering pain wouldn't subside any time soon and he was pretty sure he shed a few tears in the process.
No, it wasn't just the mention of his wife that ground him, infact it was sherlock's caring and firm grasp of his hand that convinced him and wholeheartedly made the doctor believe every single word his friend was saying to him. It was akin to a caress to his cheek, the sentiment was.
"sherlock." he managed to gulp out, trying to steady his gaze as he slowly began to feel himself slip away from reality. From the comfort of his dear man.
No - [a firm slap to his cheek as he gripped it.] No, Watson - awake. You must stay awake for me. [his weight almost completely upon him, he grunted, steadying them both. He could hear the sirens.
Dammit all, Lestrade - it's no wonder the crime is festering in the city with such shoddy police work. What time of response did the pompous man call this?]
Watson found himself jolt just a trifle, leaning heavily into that hand as he granted his friend a forced eyecontact but then the next second he said through his drowsiness, "yes..." even heavily injured, watson still forever chose to oppose the other. The doctors breathing became shallow and his body deadiningly slack against the others own less battered one. The only thing keeping him was his friends voice- perhaps if he'd keep talking... But no, the world was slipping away from him, holmes was looking even more blurry than before in his line of vision.
[he drug him up a little as his head bowed, firm shake that pained him to see rack through his whole body. Watson had essentially become a ragdoll - it was a frightening feeling.] You will be alright -- say it. Tell me.
For a near moment, he saw a light. Had nearly inclined to welcome it, walk closer much closer to it, wanting nothing more than his long suffering to dissapate. But in reality, the doctor became blank in his eyes almost as if he was no longer a part of the living, but the shake pulled him back to life, with the help of the drugs, but it took awhile before john was in realization of his surroundings and had almost missed what holmes said before he came to again with much difficulty because he needed a stronger dose. "i don't.. I.." his eyes threatened to roll at the back of his head, now. Just let me sleep...
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[it was testament to how much worry he felt that he would willingly mention her between them - but Watson clearly thought the world of the woman. Yes, and loved her. Sherlock was no fool to not use her name as motivation - a diversion from the panic caused by multiple injury and pain.
He could see he needed setting. Stiches.
His failt, all his - he would welcome any wrath, even Lestrade's bolstering right now!]
...John. [he is sharp in the use of his given name, dark eyes locking with his. Yes, look to him.. focus.] John, my friend.
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No, it wasn't just the mention of his wife that ground him, infact it was sherlock's caring and firm grasp of his hand that convinced him and wholeheartedly made the doctor believe every single word his friend was saying to him. It was akin to a caress to his cheek, the sentiment was.
"sherlock." he managed to gulp out, trying to steady his gaze as he slowly began to feel himself slip away from reality. From the comfort of his dear man.
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Dammit all, Lestrade - it's no wonder the crime is festering in the city with such shoddy police work. What time of response did the pompous man call this?]
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