"No, no, no…"
He ran down the stairs to where Watson lay, face down. He fumbled for her pulse as he gathered her in his arms.
"Watson! Can you hear me, Watson? God." He dialled 911, giving his address.
"My…my companion, Watson. Come immediately, she's been attacked. She's breathing but unresponsive." He called Gregson and threw his phone down. Her ankle lay at an awful angle, there were chunky black shoe prints on her white top. He held her in his lap, fingertips smoothing her bruised cheeks, yelling her name.
He brushed her hair back, cleaning the blood from her face with his sleeve, her delicate features puffy. He ran a thumb over her freckles, swallowing against a lump in his throat, eyes wide with shock. It was happening again. "I will be undone." He whispered an inch from her face. He was shaking.
The moment eclipsed the sound of the city at night and it felt as if he were underwater, the ground beneath him tilted. In the stillness he saw only this: Joan making tea, Joan rolling her eyes at him, Joan's feline brown eyes unblinking as they held his, Joan in the morning as he crept into her room and shoved breakfast at her in bed because he had to wake her, because he was… bored? Was that true? Was her absence the reason he turned Beethoven up so loud or texted her constantly? What could a man deduce from this?
His breaths were short, his mouth a perfect O. On impulse, he lowered his lips to hers (so soft) and held his forehead to the bridge of her nose. "Joanie, open your eyes now."
He heard the ambulance siren as it approached a few blocks away. He nuzzled her nose.
"Joan Watson!"
She gasped, coughing. Fresh blood was on her lips. Sherlock held her tight.
"Bugger. Bollocks. Joan. Joanie. You're alright. I'm here."
He looked into her eyes.
"I'm here."
His hand gripped hers and she wheezed, her eyes wild.
"Sherlock. Two men. Sorry …"
He shook his head and shushed her, stroking her cheek, his green eyes wide and glassy. She looked at him, dazed. His hand felt a feeble squeeze.
"Stay with me."
He gently kissed her lips, feeling the weakness of her breath on his cold face. He closed his eyes when she passed out, stroking her hair. He didn't notice that the ambulance had arrived until the EMTs dashed up the path to take her away. They took her from his arms like a little broken bird and packed her into the ambulance. It sped away as Gregson arrived. Her other boot had fallen off her foot and sat, lonely beside the gate. Sherlock stared at it, numb.
Gregson hurried to Sherlock's side, placing a hand on his shoulder. Sherlock looked up at him, attempting to clear the lump in his throat.
"Th-thank you for coming so quickly."
Gregson nodded. Sherlock was ashen, his lips smeared with Joan's blood, tear streaks down his face. His voice was barely audible.
"As you might have seen, the ambulance just took J- Watson to the hospital. I was going to gather some of her things for when she wakes."
He inhaled a ragged breath.
"Assuming she wakes. Head trauma, laboured breathing, coughing up blood- her ribs were kicked"
He studied the ground.
"I should've accompanied her when she went to fetch dinner."
Gregson sighed. "Sherlock, she'll pull through. She's tough enough to live with you. Your Joan is going to be okay."
Sherlock's face snapped up to meet Gregson's gaze before he gave up and looked down. Gregson squeezed his shoulder.
"C'mon, let's grab those things and get going. Wanna be there when she wakes, don't you?"
Sherlock's mouth twitched in response as Gregson passed him to climb the steps towards the house.
Sherlock got up, stopping to retrieve her scarf from the ground. It reminded him of her. It was jade green, woven of lightweight wool and pink, fragile flowers trailed its length. It would keep its wearer warm while seeming delicate- it was beautiful. He pressed it to his nose, inhaling her perfume. Sometimes, in his darker moments, he'd catch pockets of her smell trailing through the house- cherry blossoms and sandalwood in the rain- the scent was sunshine, reminding him that she was asleep upstairs or just on an errand. His guardian angel, if you believed in such things. His legs carried him up the house steps without him realising it. He wrapped the scarf around his neck.
Next: Sherlock copes as Watson heals. With her family away and no friends close to hand, who will take care of Watson? Any thoughts so far / suggestions welcome (eagerly). New territory for me, i'd love if you guys could be my compass :) x