AU

[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."

Comments

[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."

[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."

[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."

[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.

[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?"

[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."

[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.

[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."

[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.

[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."

[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?"

[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."

[i_favour_you]

"I can see the appeal," he admits. "I simply prefer my own challenges."

Even this was too much. No, no. If he's honest, he loves the challenge, loves the running, loves breaking the law with Watson. But he also hates what it does to her. She is far more important than his challenge.

[formersurgeon]

She nods, slow, so she doesn't tremble.

"It's not just the puzzle," she says. Her voice is a bit more faint now, almost as if it's slowly becoming transparent. "It's the people."

She doesn't explain, her thought process starting to crumble. She knows he understands, though.

[i_favour_you]

"Of course," he says. "You save them, make a difference."

He ties off another stitch. He pauses before beginning the next.

"Are you sure you won't have that alcohol, Watson?"

[formersurgeon]

She shakes her head, again slowly.

"I'm fine. Finish it."

Things are fading, the lines going soft, and she knows it's her body blurring the edges of her senses to soften the pain. She can make it, she tells herself, insists sternly to her body. She can stay awake and upright until he's finished and the pain lessens.

[i_favour_you]

She's going into shock. He needs to be more quick about it, to stop the bleeding and get her juice and protein. He focuses, moving quickly and silently at first before he speaks again.

"If he'd killed you, I'd---"

He'd have never forgiven himself. More than that, he wouldn't have had to. His life would have become finding the man and everyone involved with them, give them more retribution than he'd already planned.

[formersurgeon]

She moves her hand to his leg again.

"I know," she says softly. "But he didn't."

[i_favour_you]

"This time," he says. He knots another stitch. "We shouldn't risk this again, we should get you somewhere safe."

[formersurgeon]

"Sherlock..."

She takes a breath, summons the last of her strength, closes her eyes.

"I won't be safe. And I'm not leaving you. You need me. Now, finish stitching so I can pass out."

[i_favour_you]

"Only a few more," he promises. He knots another stitch and moves to the last one. He feels as though his stitches are sloppy, that he's not fixing her correctly. He doesn't fix her, she fixes him. She must know this.

Last stitch knotted, he wipes the blood off of her arm and moves to put a square of gauze over the wound.

[formersurgeon]

She waits until the gauze is secure, then carefully lowers herself to the bed, lying on her good shoulder, without bothering to move her legs up from off the side of the bed. She's shivering slightly, but doesn't notice as her senses grey out.

[i_favour_you]

He reaches out to help guide her down to the bed, and then reaches over to lift up her legs. She shivers, and he pulls the blanket over her. She will be fine, he tries to tell himself. She will be fine.

He goes to the door, reaching for some of the cash as he does so. Juice. Water. Something from the vending machine.

[formersurgeon]

She's vaguely aware of him leaving, and there's a glimmer of concern. Not for herself, because she'll be fine. Not because she thinks he'll leave her, because she knows he won't. She's worried for him going out alone.

But she has to trust he'll be okay. She can't do anything else.

[i_favour_you]

He doesn't even think about leaving. He has his destination, and he goes to it. The only stray thought is that of finding a street corner, of finding someone who might give him some much-needed diversion. Something to take the guilt away.

The feeling is far from fleeting, but he rejects it, shoveling bills into the machine and getting out juice, water, and crisps. He returns to the room with the snacks and unscrews the bottle of orange juice.

"Watson," he says, kneeling next to the bed. "Drink this."