look, I can't help it, I'm a sucker for angst, I'M SORRY

Blade

His back and head slammed hard into the building and spots flashed across Watson's vision. Dazedly, he began to slide down the brick wall. Or at least he would have done had the brute not seized his lapels and pushed him upright. The sneering face with its crooked teeth spat an oath. The close, rancid breath turned Watson's stomach.

The doctor's mind was slow to recover; distantly, he saw a fist drawing back to strike and he could do naught but squeeze tight his eyes and prepare for the jarring blow.

It did not fall; there was a snarling grunt, a confused gasp – and quite suddenly, Watson was falling again. Sitting where he'd collapsed, he opened his eyes to see a livid Holmes throwing the mugger against the opposite wall of the alley. The detective's lips were unconsciously drawn into a contemptuous sneer and his eyes were dark and intent on the startled attacker.

Holmes stalked forward, shoulders set furiously; in an instant, the mugger had grasped for the inside of his boot and swung something in a wide arc. Holmes flinched backwards and grabbed the man's arm with his right, bringing it downwards with a terrible pop that was instantaneously echoed by a shriek. Watson watched the knife fall – and his heart stuttered to see dark blood covering the blade.