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 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."

[formersurgeon]

It takes her a moment, but she opens her eyes, and slowly struggles to half sit against the headboard before reaching for the juice with her good hand.

[i_favour_you]

"Might want to take off your shirt as well," he says. After a beat, he adds. "To clean you up."

[formersurgeon]

She can't keep the corners of her mouth from twitching upward.

"Right. Just for that." She hands the juice back to him. "You're going to need to help me with the shirt."

[i_favour_you]

"You're injured and vulnerable," he says. "I wouldn't dream of taking advantage. Dream of it, maybe, but what occurs in my own head after sleeping is not something I can control."

He takes the juice, setting it aside before moving to her side. He picks up the scissors.

"Don't want you to pull a stitch."

[formersurgeon]

She gives a quiet laugh, leaning back wearily against the headboard.

"Too bad. Because that's really kinky."

[i_favour_you]

"Having you actually injure yourself is a hard limit of mine," he says with a small smile. He raises the scissors to her shirt and begins cutting up the sleeve, sliding the metal along her skin and shearing carefully.

"Besides, I usually prefer to be the one injured."

[formersurgeon]

"Well, next time you can be the one that gets shot."

She opens her eyes. Once the scissors move on from her good arm, she reaches out to touch his cheek.

"Thank you."

[i_favour_you]

He looks up from his work as her hand touches his face. Where the last time they touched intimately, he felt sexy and in control, right now he feels lost. He's putting her in danger, he can't lose her, he loves her, he can't---

He reaches up his other hand to touch her wrist, to keep her hand on his cheek.

"I'm sorry I can't fix you properly," he says, because he doesn't know what else to say.

[formersurgeon]

"You did fine."

He touches her wrist, keeps her hand at his face, and she smiles, faint and sad. Gently she smooths her thumb over his cheek.

"I know you think this is your fault. It's not."

[i_favour_you]

"They didn't shoot at me," he says. "Clear line of sight, and he shot you. I think that means the target wasn't me."

[formersurgeon]

She knows what that means, and as much as she would want to deny it, she can't. They're gunning for her. They're killing the people Sherlock cares about. That's apparent.

"They want to take me away from you. I'm not going to let them."

[i_favour_you]

"I'd rather you took yourself away," he says. "Another part of the world, but not gone, Watson. We can reunite in months if you're away. But if you're---"

Dead. He can't lose her. She's his support system, especially now that Alfredo is gone. Alfredo and Bell.

She's also the only person he's truly connected to. He's already lost Irene.

[formersurgeon]

"They want to take me away from you," she repeats. "If that's what they want, it's a mistake. And they're not going to stop gunning for me. Would you feel any less guilty if something happened while we were apart?"

If they hand you a box with my head in it? she thinks, but doesn't say.

[i_favour_you]

"The world is a very large place," he says. "We can make certain they'll never find you."

He'd never find her, either. That, he thinks, is the only way to make certain she's safe.

[formersurgeon]

"And for how long? Say you catch these people, then what? What happens the next time someone wants to hurt you, and decides that coming for me is the way to do it?"

She shakes her head.

"If I'm your partner, then I'm your partner. Not just when it's safe, or convenient."

[i_favour_you]

"We'll make certain they don't," he says. "This is different. Two of our friends, dead, Watson. And us out here, hiding. This will never happen again."

[formersurgeon]

"Yes, two of our friends are dead. And we're being hunted. And that revenge you're looking for? It's just as much mine as yours."

[i_favour_you]

"I'd give up the revenge if it would keep you alive," he says. If it kept him alive, it doesn't matter. Watson, though. He thinks what he'd said to her before. He can live with Bell and Alfredo's ghosts, but he can't live with hers.

He's shaking again, and he feels the need to pull away, to hide in his own internal aguish.

[formersurgeon]

"It won't."

He's shaking, and as he starts to pull away, she moves toward him. "No...Sherlock..." She moves her bad arm to take his wrist, her other hand still at his cheek. "Don't. Don't leave."

[i_favour_you]

She moves towards him and he doesn't hesitate to move back, to lean in to press his mouth to hers. There is nothing sexual in the kiss. It is painful, it is desperately seeking some sort of connection when he's losing his grounding.

He aches. He hasn't allowed himself to ache like this before.

[formersurgeon]

She kisses him back with what strength she has, closing her eyes. He's hurting, she can tell, and she wants to help him, to heal him, to comfort him. To seek her own help, healing, comfort from him as well. He needs her, and she needs him.

She lifts the hand on his wrist to his waist, inviting a flare of pain as the muscles pull up her arm to the stitched wound. She doesn't care, she wants to hold him, as well as she can.

[i_favour_you]

Too many people he cares about are dead. He can't lose her. He can't lose her.

His mind goes back to the street corner, to the release of a needle. He considers going out there once she sleeps, to allowing himself just one hit before---before---

Her hand goes down to his waist, and he thinks of how disappointed she would be. How much she's sacrificed, too. He moves his hand up to cup the side of her face.

[formersurgeon]

He touches her face and she makes a small sound. She leans into the kiss a little more, for a moment, then allows their lips to part, keeping her forehead against his.

"You need to understand," she whispers. "I don't want to lose you. I can't lose you. I can't live with your ghost, either. If I went away, and something happened to you..."

She shakes her head slightly, again smoothing her thumb over his cheek.

"You think you're the disposable part of this picture. You're not. I...I'm better with you, Sherlock."

[i_favour_you]

"Why?" he asks, his voice just above a whisper. "Why would you say that, Watson?"

He traces his forefinger along her jawbone.

"You're perfect, and that's not a word I use lightly."