I just realized I forgot a disclaimer. Here it is: do I look like a man from the nineteenth century? …. I didn't think so.
I felt the presence of the wounded man before I saw him. Whether it was a part of my physic abilities or due to my being a doctor, I do not know, but do not doubt that I sensed his presence.
However, I did not sense the fact that I knew the injured man, yet know him I did. I skidded to a halt beside Inspector Hopkins, who was barely breathing.
Instantly my training began to take over. I gauged the severity of his wounds. He had a broken arm, two broken ribs, another cracked rib, and numerous gashes. I inspected him closer. Just as I had feared, and suspected, Inspector Hopkins was in shock. His skin was pale and clammy, and his breathing and pulse were very weak.
"He's in shock," I pronounced, setting the arm and splinting it. I then treated his other injuries. Hopkins whimpered slightly but did not wake up when I stitched his various cuts. I then placed him in the shock position, and continued my work.
I returned to Baker Street after treating the Inspector, and realized it was eleven at night. Yawning, I went to bed.
There was a sharp crack of gunfire, and suddenly I felt a searing pain in my shoulder. I must have been shot. Had I been in full possession of coherent thought, I would have realized that it should not have been possible for me to get hurt by a bullet. Bullets were supposed to fall under my jurisdiction; they were not supposed to hurt a person with the earth element power. But the bullet had entered by my left subclavian artery, and despite the rules of element powers, I realized I might die. I might die from a wound that I was not supposed to be able to sustain. I vaguely realized that Murray, my orderly with the lesser power of speed, was working over me with lightning speed. I trusted Murray, and let myself slip into unconsciousness.
(Holmes PoV)
I was distracted from my thoughts by a cry from upstairs. Watson- was he alright? Running up the stairs two at a time, I paused besides his door. Watson's deepest pride would never allow me to go in there. The devil with his blasted pride, I thought, and opened the door.
(Watson PoV)
"Holmes. Did I wake you?" I asked.
"No, I was already awake," he replied. "Did you… have a nightmare?" he asked carefully.
"Yes," I said simply. I could tell, however, that he wanted more detail, so I reluctantly told him about the memory that kept resurfacing in my dreams.
"That doesn't make sense, Watson," he said. "That bullet should not have hurt you."
I shrugged my right shoulder. "War doesn't make sense. Why should countries send young men to fight and die? Even if they return home, they remain scarred, mentally and physically. People don't make sense, Holmes," I replied grimly.
Holmes dipped his head and walked away.