(Note: My little rant about the women in "Sherlock" in chapter 11 did not include either Mrs. Hudson or Sarah. I quite love both these female characters, but I still think that they are placed in situations which either make them seem like a damsel in distress or make them look unnecessarily foolish, despite their BAMFness. I'd explain my rather feminist views in minute detail, but I think we all want to get back to the Johnlock XD)
JOHN WATSON
When in the military, they teach you about being wary of 'wildcards', unknown elements that could incapacitate yourself or the mission. In retrospect, I knew that there was a wildcard on this mission; when he had run between us to the house the child had a look of betrayal and hate on his face that should have ticked me off to the fact that he might do something reckless. As a direct result of my oversight, I am lying flat on my back on an otherwise pleasant Saturday afternoon with a bandage around my thigh and Sherlock's tongue down my throat in the middle of a throng of policemen and Scotland Yard's finest.
The wound itself was extremely painful; not permanently damaging but deep, and I imagine a fantastic bruise is beginning a marvelous journey to every corner of the rainbow right underneath my left eye. Sherlock did deserve a kiss; possibly a million kisses, for punching me in the side of the face and relieving me of my gun when the tiny hellion struck from outside my line of vision with a paring knife. The last thing I need on my conscious is automatically shooting a small child in misdirected self-defense. I suppose Sherlock punched me hard enough to render me unconscious, which would explain why I am flat at the back in the first place.
"Oi, Freak! He doesn't need CPR, and even if he did you're doing it wrong." On any other person, the look on Donovan's face would imply that the milk on their cereal this morning was several weeks out of date and they were just starting to feel its effect.
I harrumph a little and sit up, wincing at the still pain in my neck from the punch. Sherlock stops the kiss, rocking back on his heels and looking mildly disappointed in me. I note that our terrorist has disappeared; the boy is off to the side crying, and is being taken care of by a woman officer. I sigh in relief, good. From the perspective of the child, who didn't understand the concept of bombs and mass death, he had been incredibly brave in protecting his family. "Did they get the rest of them?"
He shakes his head. "Still working on it. Though they probably won't come back here with this much firepower milling about. Idiot police. Another ambulance is coming soon; they had to take him first as you didn't get a chance to stabilize him and he was bleeding out a bit. They bandaged you up though."
"Thanks for punching me out. That happened in Afghanistan too, a kid attacked our regiment after we took out his dad and he got killed. I was too far away." I wince at the memory. I can't remember much of the boy, but I do remember the way his killer fell to his knees as if he had been shot instead of the child. There are soldiers in the world whose nightmares are probably worse than mine.
Sherlock nods. "I assumed something of the sort when he stabbed you. It explained the look on your face when I told the child to get in the house. You appreciated my effort to get the child out of harms way, but you would have preferred him to stay where he was so you could watch him. Children are so small, one does not think them capable of violence. "
I nod, then chuckle, wincing at the pain. "What does it say about our lifestyle that the most romantic gesture I can think of is you punching me in the face after I get stabbed in the thigh?"
"You know romance is not my area." Our noses are almost touching again, and he's carefully crouched over my lap, carefully not sitting on me
My vision is a little fuzzy, though I'm no longer sure whether it's from my brief stint of unconsciousness or the man leaning over me who looks as though he'd quite like to devour me whole. I lean back, and am thankful that there's something there for me to lean on as Sherlock gracefully wraps his hand around the back of my head, gives my lips a lick with his tongue until they open, and kisses me.
"Ew! They're having gay sex on my leg!"
I look up in shock, somehow it hadn't occurred to me that I had been leaning against a leg. I am treated to the shrewish countenance of Anderson, who looks like he's about vomit. Since Anderson usually looks as though he has just swallowed vomit, it's actually a mild improvement to his features. Sherlock looks as though he'd rather like to strangle Anderson both for being in an inconvenient location and carting around a large amount of homophobia, but then I really don't know anyone who wouldn't want to strangle Anderson.
I give him my kindest smile, and remembering the aggressive sex from earlier say, "Anderson, there's no need to worry. If we actually were having gay sex on your leg you'd know it, because you'd probably have a broken femur by now."
Anderson sputters, already backing away, and Sergeant Donovan appears with a paramedic who thankfully lets me sling an arm over his shoulder instead of forcing me down on a stretcher.
"So what?" I hear her asking Sherlock as I orient myself, "You have a boyfriend now? Was that actual kissing? I would have thought you were above messy things like falling in love."
"Please, Sergeant Donovan. Dr. Watson is much too important to fall in love with."
The sneer in his voice is strenuously disputed when he offers me his arm to steady myself and carefully watches my path as I hobble to the ambulance. Of course Sherlock Holmes would be chivalrous when he wasn't throwing a tantrum or inappropriately trying to stick a tongue down my throat. "Text me when they say you can go; you probably just need a few stitches. I'm going to look at the house with Lestrade."
There's an awkward moment when I kiss him on the cheek goodbye and see Lestrade standing off the side in shock as he mulls over his memory of what is now probably becoming classified as an inappropriate strip tease in a too hot flat.