9.
Number 4 on the list shouldn't have counted anymore than number one, not because it belonged to an animal but because John wasn't even there when it happened. He didn't stand over the body, trying to staunch the bleeding or keep the lungs working, he didn't cling to every bit of training he had received in his short ascension towards becoming a doctor.
There had only been one death that he had witnessed so far that he had been supposed to try and prevent. Everyone had been slightly surprised at how well he had taken his first mortality. They praised him to his face and whispered behind his back, but he didn't bother to explain about the dog or his mum.
Then he got a call from Harry and discovered that he was suddenly an orphan.
It wasn't like his mum at all; there was no seeing it coming while praying for the path to be averted. He had talked to his dad only a few days ago, his father alive and vibrant and strong. It didn't feel like he could be dead.
He didn't tell anyone and went on with his day as though everything was normal. One of the nurses asked him if he was alright, and he said he was, but no one else seemed to know anything was wrong until an old man was brought into the clinic and suddenly flat lined. John spent nearly twenty minutes trying to revive him, shouting 'He isn't dead, he isn't dead," until the same nurse pulled him away, saying, "John, he's dead, it's over, John, you've done enough, it's over." He was strangely pliant after his display of almost manic strength, allowing her to lead him to sit down and drape a blanket over him. They think I'm in shock, a distant part of his brain supplied, but mostly he allowed warm arms to surround him and a familiar, kind voice to tell him he'd done enough. It was enough.
Harry picked him up. It was almost strange to see her sober, considering the circumstances.
"Thank you, Nurse Paterson," John managed while she looked on with large, sympathetic eyes. By then she knew what had happened.
"Please," she answered, "Call me Clara."
John left with Harry. They rode in silence in the back of the taxi. Of course she couldn't have come in their dad's car.
"It was quick," she said suddenly, "He didn't feel anything." John remained silent, though his fist clinched.
Later, after the funeral, when the house felt empty and crowded somehow, as though the ghosts had expanded throughout the rooms and left no room for the living, John and Harry sat together and considered what they could do.
"I've looked at it twice, and the money just isn't there," Harry said at last, "I don't know how dad managed before." John was silent.
"We'll sell the house," he said at last, "I'm almost a doctor, we just need more time."
"We can't sell the house!" Harry exclaimed, aghast, before bursting into tears. John didn't reach over to comfort her. He could almost feel the sensation of a gun beneath his hands, paint splattering his clothes with splashes of red. His fists clinched harder. Harry slowly quieted on her own.
"I need a drink," she said at last, "You want something?" John didn't answer and she went to serve herself.
"Don't sell the house," he said suddenly, "I'm going to enlist." She dropped her glass.
"What? No, no, John, don't be ridiculous, there are other jobs you can get…" she tried to say. John stared hard at the table.
"No," he said, "It's what I've wanted. What dad would have wanted." Harry slammed her fist on the table, making him jump.
"You're going to leave me too?" she demanded, her voice high pitched and filled with tears, you're all going to leave me alone? I don't want to be alone!" And this time when she burst into sobs, shaking the entire table, he walked around to her, his shoes crunching on glass. He held her until she stopped shaking like she was going to fly apart. In the end she lay in a daze, perhaps asleep, and he kissed the top of her head.
"Don't sell the house," he whispered.
Dr. Watson became a soldier within a year. Seeing bodies explode was not the same as seeing paint splatter across clothes. Deep in his heart, something primal and savage thought it better. Like a wailing child, upon discovering that the world was not fair, it wanted to break and tear and remold the world until it could be something righteous and good. So he watched the world burn, and fixed what he could.
He felt alive.