A.N. Today's prompt comes from Alosha135 (I'm a magnet for those): an experiment goes wrong and Watson is injured. I'm not entirely satisfied with it, but I know when a cause is lost.

It was nothing more than bad luck, really. We were on a case, and Holmes was keeping busy by analysing some samples taken from the crime scene while he waited for one of the people he had tailed by the Irregulars to make a mistake that would give us an opening. In his impatience for news, he hurried to open the door the moment he recognized Wiggins' thread on the stairs, coming for his report, so leaving the process unattended. At the same time, I moved to go to my room to fetch the revolver in case we needed it. It was the only reason that, when a still exploded, I took the brunt of it. Thankfully there were no acids in it, but I could have done without the shards of glass.

Holmes had his back to what happened, and I saw him stiffen with panic at the sudden explosion. Wiggins' "Ouch, Doc!" but otherwise calm demeanour had a great part in assuring him that nothing serious had happened, I'm sure, but there was a deep concern in his eyes when he turned to assess the situation.

"It shouldn't have done that," my friend said, but his voice held none of the usual "It's the world that's wrong," tone which this sentence always carried.

"That I can believe," I assured. Holmes wouldn't leave a dangerous reaction unattended, not for all the reports in the world. And honestly the look of pure guilt that flashed over him didn't suit him at all, and I wanted it gone.

"Let's see to you, old chap," he stated. I was grateful for the offer, since I instinctively protected myself and most of the shards embedded themselves in my hands, making it hard to treat myself. Meanwhile, Wiggins had gone quiet and given us a wide berth. Evidently the reports weren't desperately urgent, and he had no interest in the proceedings.

Holmes was as gentle as he could be, and I heard him murmur under his breath insults at himself in a constant stream for his idiotic carelessness as he worked. It was nothing serious, but it was the principle of me getting hurt because of his oversight that bothered him. Especially when he had to treat a shard that had stubbornly found its way to my face. It was no worse that I did to myself by shaving sometimes, but I saw his eyes flicker to mine and calculate how easy it would have been for that stray shard to find its way there. I wanted to pull him out of his guilt trip, but doing so without drawing attention to it and hence exacerbating it was difficult. I did the only thing I could do.

"Report, Wiggins," I called the moment my friend was done. That would distract him.

P.S. To those who hoped for worse: sorry but I couldn't hurt seriously Watson this close to Christmas. Holmes beats himself enough over it as it is.