Feb. 11th, 2013

impulsereader: (Book Art 1)
“You are absolutely not allowed to die on me, Sherlock. I refuse to play Benedick opposite anyone else.”

“Christ, John, I can hardly die with my doctor right beside me; unless you’re changing your own verdict and admitting to incompetence in that area?”

It was a decent attempt at condescending if not witty, but John could hear the pain in his partner’s voice and his worry ratcheted up a notch. A doctor he may have been, but they were stranded God knows where in the middle of the Scottish Highlands, they were on foot, it was swiftly getting dark, the temperature was already turning chill, and Sherlock was bleeding like a stuck pig. There wasn’t much even a very good doctor experienced in dealing with battlefield conditions could do in their present circumstances. He wasn’t even happy allowing Sherlock to move, but leaving him lying on the ground applying pressure to his wound as he slowly bled to death didn’t seem a truly viable fucking alternative.
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