i_favour_you

Follows this.

It wasn't until he found the beach that he realized they had made it to Cape May. Of all of New Jersey, this was possibly his least favorite place. It was so nice here. Cosy shops, happy people, and homes that cost far too much money.

Also, art supply stores. Sherlock purchases the needle, thread, alcohol, and some glue. Can't look too obvious, even with the blood under his fingernails and the tears in his tee-shirt. Not long after, he parks the stolen car in front of a chain hotel and goes in as calmly as possible to book them a room. His body is vibrating with panic. He can't remain this calm for much longer. Watson is bleeding. She's injured. He has to smile and wait in line and be bloody calm.

He pulls a coat out of the bag of clothes to put over Watson's shoulders once he gets back to the car.

"There's a vending machine and room service," he tells her. "We can get you orange juice and water for the blood loss."

Flat | Top-Level Comments Only

From:

formersurgeon

She's been able to slow the bleeding significantly, but the shirt she's been holding to the wound is pretty much soaked, and she's feeling light headed and chilly. Neither are good signs.

The leather coat is warm, black so the blood doesn't show, and big enough to hide the fact that she's only wearing a tank top.

"Orange juice and water will be good, thanks." She climbs out of the car, leans against him. "What's the room number?"

From:

i_favour_you

"42," he says. "Ground level, easier if we need to run."

He pulls the remaining bags out of the back seat of the car. They'd lost their leftovers from the diner, but retained the groceries, clothing, and cash. That had to count for something.

"I made certain that there's a minibar in the room," he adds. "I imagine you'll need something for the pain."

From:

formersurgeon

"Not unless the minibar has aspirin," she says as they head toward the room. "Because aside from that, I'm not touching it, and neither are you."

It might be overkill, but with everything falling down around their ears, Joan isn't going to let Sherlock's sobriety go with it, if she can help it. She can help so little at the moment.

From:

i_favour_you

"My sobriety is the least of your concerns," he says. "Particularly if I'm going to be acting surgeon of this hotel room."

He pulls out the key. It's a sign to him as to how old the hotel is, that they don't have a keycard system, but rather the old-fashioned lock-and-key methods.

From:

formersurgeon

"Right, when you put it that way, I'm totally okay with you getting drunk." She sees the key, and huffs. "I can't remember the last time I've seen a hotel that didn't use key cards."

From:

i_favour_you

"The minibar isn't for me," he says. "Believe me, I don't want it."

He nods. "It's this town. The classics stay, because the newer devices are too expensive and the rent is too high. Most of the houses we passed run for over two million."

From:

formersurgeon

"If we open the mini-bar, then anything I don't drink, we're pouring down the drain." She's being a hard-ass about this.

The room is obviously old, but it's clean. The one bed is covered in a bedspread in a palm frond pattern, and the beige carpet is faintly worn along the paths from the door to the bed and the bathroom. There's a very slight hint of mildew behind the smell of chlorine.

All Joan cares about right now is that bed.

From:

i_favour_you

"Watson, I do need you to stay awake," he says. "I need you to remain conscious."

He takes a breath. "Preferably forever, but in this case, until you're at least stitched up and have some fluids."

From:

formersurgeon

"I'll do what I can."

Lying down and passing out is out of the question, then. She makes her way to the bed and sits on the edge, then shrugs the coat carefully off her shoulders.

"I'm going to need some fluids first. I've lost a fair amount of blood, and I'm already pretty close to shock." She's downplaying it, and Sherlock can probably tell that she's shivering, just a little. "Getting stitched up without anesthetic is not going to help. So we should address that first."

From:

i_favour_you

He gets a cup of water from the sink and steps over to her. "Drink," he says.

He pulls out the key to the minibar and fumbles through the bottles until he finds one of vodka. He takes it into the bathroom along with the supplies from the art store.

"Keep talking, Watson. I'm going to need your expertise if I'm to do this correctly."

From:

formersurgeon

"That vodka better still be full and closed when you get back here," she says.

Her stomach protests, but she drinks the water, all of it, and puts the glass on the nightstand. "You need to clean the wound first. Take a couple wash cloths, soak them in alcohol. Saline would be ideal, but this will do."

From:

i_favour_you

"It's not for consuming," Sherlock says. He puts the vodka on the lid of the toilet and heads back to the sink to do as instructed. He washes his hands. He fumbles in a drawer until he produces matches as well. He dips the needle in the alcohol and lights it on fire, watching it burn blue and bright for a moment before it goes out. He washes his hands.

He returns with the wash cloths. "Let me see," he says.

From:

formersurgeon

He wants to see. He's seen worse before, had worse before. But never on her. She remembers how his hands were shaking when he was holding that taser. She wonders if he'll be able to keep his hands steady to sew her up.

She moves the shirt, baring the wound.

"It looks worse than it is."

From:

i_favour_you

He swallows, and his voice is as calm as the sea would be if it stopped. "Good."

His hands shake. He can't stop that, but he moves with one of the alcohol-soaked cloths to clean the wound. It may look worse than it is, but there is a lot of blood, and more oozes out of the wound as he cleans it.

"Long range sniper," he says. "Fired from a short distance. Explains the burning along the edge of the wound."

From:

formersurgeon

The alcohol burns, and she inhales, holds it, then exhales. She puts the shirt aside, and moves her hand to rest on his leg, hoping to comfort him. Maybe steady him.

"Probably the same gun that took out our tires."

From:

i_favour_you

He nods, setting his jaw. He wants to find the people who hurt her. He wants that right now. To stop them from ever hurting her again.

"Probably. I don't know how they managed to find us so quickly, but this is too organized to be the morons upset about your heritage."

From:

formersurgeon

"Maybe they've been following us the whole time. Maybe they saw us leave that trailer this morning."

She can't think of any other explanation that makes sense.

He puts a bit too much pressure on the wound, and she winces, her hand on his leg tightening.

From:

i_favour_you

He's hurting her. He thinks this even before her hand on his leg tightens. There's nothing Watson could've done to warrant this, and he's hurting her. He could have killed her if this bullet was only a few more inches to the left.

"I've sterilized the needle," he says. "Are you ready?"

From:

formersurgeon

She knows he blames himself, because he always blames himself. Never mind that the job is dangerous, that she chose it of her own free will, that the person who shot her is responsible, not him.

But this isn't the time for this argument.

She nods, and moves the hand from his leg so she can grip the mattress and not his thigh, so she's not giving him a tell as to how much it hurts.

Not that he won't be able to tell anyway.

"Go ahead."

From:

i_favour_you

He nods, and goes to pick up the needle he'd burned earlier He threads it carefully and heads back to Watson. She's so much stronger than most, but he can see that this has worn on her. It's certainly worn on him.

He grips her small arm with his left hand tightly to keep her from jerking or shifting, takes a breath, and begins to sew. Sewing skin is not the same as sewing cloth. It's tighter, it's more malleable. It hurts the person being sewn.

From:

formersurgeon

There's a scream in her, tight in her chest, but she refuses to give it voice. Refuses to make a sound, and aside from small flinches that she can't control, refuses to move.

"No," she says through clenched teeth, when he goes to push the needle through her skin for the second stitch. "You need..." She takes a breath, holds it, lets it out. "You need to tie off each stitch. Do them separately."

From:

i_favour_you

He nods, and releases her arm in order to lift the thread, tie it, and then snip it shorter.

"It won't heal correctly," he warns, gripping her arm again. "Are you certain----"

The hospital is a bad idea. He knows this. If it were him, he wouldn't even think about going, but she's the doctor. She knows how to stitch him up so that the scars are small and easily tattooed over.

From:

formersurgeon

"You can do this."

She meets his eyes, her own glassy with pain. He's doubting himself, and he can't. He's got to see that his self doubt isn't helping.

She drops her gaze back to the wound. Blood is still seeping from it, and the longer he takes, the more the blood will obscure.

"It will be fine."

From:

i_favour_you

He starts the next stitch. HIs heart is racing, and his hands are shaking, but he wills them both to be calm. For Watson's sake.

"How could you possibly have wanted to do this for a living?"

From:

formersurgeon

She watches, watches the needle go into her skin, out the other side. Watches the thread pull through.

And feels every bit of it, the pain singing along her nerves.

Slow breath in. Hold. Slow breath out. Distance. The pain is a thing, separate unto itself. Not her. Not her.

"It's a challenge. Fighting injury and death. Putting people back together."