Firstly, I'm feeling down, so I decided to be evil and get one of my fav characters hurt again. I really have to take it out on someone and Watson's best friend is a better target than mine.

Secondly, I'm re-reading all of Conan Doyle's stories and I've just re-watched the movies – twice, and I find Watson and Sherlock absolutely awesome, so I thought I'd have a go at something about their friendship.

I hope you enjoy it! Do leave a comment, I'm always looking for ways to improve as well as encouragement!

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Sherlock Holmes, the man famed for his ability to spot the tiniest details, to predict the moves of his opponents, the man whose attention allows nothing to escape. The man who failed to notice as the thug he though was dead, raised his hand in a desperate attempt to avenge his own suffering, a hand that was clutching a gun, with his finger shaking on the trigger. What he did notice though was an explosion on one end of the room, the yell of his companion – doctor Watson and he definitely noticed the agonizing pain in his gut as the metal of the bullet met the flesh. He was suddenly woken from his internal monologue and the sounds and images became more vivid. Another gunshot followed, this time fired by Watson. Holmes realized that the only exit from the warehouse was buried by the collapsed part of the building. But something was wrong…he realized what it was as soon as his knees buckled under his weight and he slid down a nearby wall, onto a dust-covered floor. How blind did he have to be for this to happen? He accepted no excuses, although he had a few: exhaustion, a concussion and a dozen bruises.

He rolled onto his back, pressing a hand against the wound, even though he knew his pathetic attempts to help himself would be useless. He needed a proper medic. Where the hell was Watson? Blood loss: too big. Internal damage: most likely extensive. Likelihood of being found in time: none. Chance of survival: estimated 18-22%. Conclusions: this is not amusing.

Holmes must have dozed off, since the gentle nudge on his shoulder came as a surprise.

'Holmes? Holmes, can you hear me?' That had to be Watson. His voice was filled with concern. One look at his friend was enough to tell him that he had a difficult night ahead of him. The fact that they were stuck in a collapsed building was of little help. The man didn't reply. Watson shook him delicately, but all he got in reply was a muted moan, coming through Sherlock's gritted teeth. His eyes remained closed. Watson pressed two finger against his friend's neck, thank God he was breathing. The doctor took a swing and landed a hard blow on Holmes's cheek .How professional… His eyes immediately snapped open. However, Watson wasn't sure whether this was something he wanted to see. They have been in trouble many times, but never had he seen his friend in so much pain, let alone never had he seen him so scared.

'Watson? ' the doctor gripped Sherlock's shoulder reassuringly.

'I'm right here. You're going to be ok, do you understand?' Watson realized his own voice was shaking. Probably because he did not believe his own words. He might have been a good friend, but he was also a good doctor. Now was not the time for sentiments. He was not too fond of what was before his eyes. Sherlock's shirt turned from being white into looking crimson red and soaking wet.
He took off his beloved scarf, folded it and pressed it hard against the wound. His attempt to stop the bleeding resulted in Sherlock's cry of pain. He closed his eyes again, gritting his teeth even more and moved his hand down, to push away that of Watson. He was supposed to help him as a friend, not torture him even more. His breathing became hard and labored. He was wondering whether the building collapsed on top of his lungs, because inhaling air was becoming more difficult and painful every second.

'Holmes! Open your eyes. Focus on me!' Watson tried to boss Holmes around just to keep focused himself, but his attempts failed. Holmes was keeping his eyes shut. 'Sherlock…please open your eyes. I know you can hear me. Come on, chap.' The doctor was surprised to find that his friend listened. Maybe the doctor was just starting to imagine things, but a glimpse of a smile seemed to have crossed Holmes' face.

'Focus on me, ok. Tell me something. How about…that book you were reading on a train!' Holmes knew that the doc was trying to keep him awake, but he couldn't talk. Breathing itself was enough of a struggle. He just shook his head.

'Wa…Watson…it hurts.' He didn't even know why he said it. He was a professional, not a kid. 'It… hurts so…bad.' Watson was terrified to see, that the words escaping Holmes's mouth were no more than quiet whimpers filled with tremendous pain, that evidently required a huge amount of effort. Now Sherlock's entire body was shaking. 'Watson…please.' He stretched out his hand toward Watson's which was still pressing the scarf against his stomach and was now covered in blood as well. 'P-please…' The doctor was terrified. He had not even known that Holmes knew the meaning of this word. He didn't even know what the other man wanted him to do. Holmes tried to push his hand away again, but he was so weak he could barely keep awake, let alone struggle with a healthy man. 'Pointless…Leave it…just…please…' His hand was still hanging in mid-air. Watson wanted to help, but there was little he could do at the moment. A building just collapsed on the outskirts of London, someone should notice, shouldn't they?

'You uncomfortable, chap?' Holmes replied with a hardly-noticeable nod. 'Careful, this is going to hurt.' Watson propped himself against the wall and shifted Holmes's limp body onto his laps, resting his head again his shoulder, keeping the other hand pressed against the bleeding wound. At first, Sherlock's face turned into an agonized grimace accompanied by a silent cry, but seconds after they settled he murmured 'thank you'.

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I am evil, aren't I? Tell me what you think and another chapter should be coming soon!

PLEASE, REVIEW AND GIVE ME MOTIVATION TO WRITE ;)