28th Dec: From Winter Winks 221 - Faithful Toby
A/N: Some days you fire off drabbles and some days you plot a four part story around your research into Victorian dog shows... More to come soon!
Bits of him are peeling away and the sensation is something he should probably find disturbing. Words rattle in his head, medical terms he detachedly applies to himself.
Exposure... Cracked ribs... Concussion...
There is another word that clamours for his attention, urgent and insistent from a corner of himself he cannot quite reach. A name.
Holmes.
Through forcing them open, he discovers he has eyelids. He realises, retrospectively, that it was the sensation of something slimy lapping against his face which brought him to this semi-wakeful state. That and a faint, animal whining.
"Toby?" The harsh rasp of his own voice makes him wince, but at least the dog stops licking his face. "Good- good boy."
A damp snout nuzzles his palm, makes his fingers twitch instinctively against soft fur. A warm body buries itself into Watson's side and Toby barks, perhaps in some attempt to rouse him. Watson is slipping away again. He speaks as loudly and clearly as he can, but he worries that some of the sounds get lost on the way to his mouth.
"Find Holmes, Toby."
Another bark, but Watson is scattering to who knows where. He pats Toby clumsily.
"Good boy. Find Holmes. Good boy..."
Watson's hand falls limp beside him. The last he hears is the clatter of paws fading into the distance.
