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Ficlet: One, Two, Three
Jul. 2nd, 2011 07:43 pmTitle: One, Two, Three
Author:![[livejournal.com profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/external/lj-userinfo.gif)
spacemutineer
Rating:PG-13
Character: John Watson, Mrs. Hudson, Sherlock Holmes
Summary: The doctor, at work.
Warnings: after-effects of violence
Word Count: 221
Author's Notes: written for![[livejournal.com profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/external/lj-community.gif)
watsons_woes July 1 prompt.
“More hot water, Mrs. Hudson, quick as you can, please,” Watson asked her again, with the pain from his bruised ribs crackling audibly through his voice. When he reached over for another clean towel, she observed how the red sheen of his barked and split knuckles (almost assuredly raked across some blackguard’s now-displaced teeth) contrasted so starkly against the pile of pristine white cloths next to him.
The doctor’s concentration remained fixed and unwavering on the pressing matter at hand: the slender carved ivory knife handle protruding at an awkward right angle from just below his patient’s left shoulder.
“Turn your head to the side and take a deep breath, Holmes. Good, now another, slower. Perfect, one more please, a nice slow deep breath and hold it. Ready? One, two, three.”
The knife made almost no sound at all when Watson pulled it out, which surprised Mrs. Hudson somehow. Perhaps she would have heard it had she been looking, but she was careful to be pouring a fresh dish of water at the time instead, focusing on the rising and twisting tendrils of steam. Only the doctor had been watching in that instant, and his eyes had never broken from his task, even if one of them was already then a good halfway through the process of swelling shut.
Author:
spacemutineerRating:PG-13
Character: John Watson, Mrs. Hudson, Sherlock Holmes
Summary: The doctor, at work.
Warnings: after-effects of violence
Word Count: 221
Author's Notes: written for
watsons_woes July 1 prompt.“More hot water, Mrs. Hudson, quick as you can, please,” Watson asked her again, with the pain from his bruised ribs crackling audibly through his voice. When he reached over for another clean towel, she observed how the red sheen of his barked and split knuckles (almost assuredly raked across some blackguard’s now-displaced teeth) contrasted so starkly against the pile of pristine white cloths next to him.
The doctor’s concentration remained fixed and unwavering on the pressing matter at hand: the slender carved ivory knife handle protruding at an awkward right angle from just below his patient’s left shoulder.
“Turn your head to the side and take a deep breath, Holmes. Good, now another, slower. Perfect, one more please, a nice slow deep breath and hold it. Ready? One, two, three.”
The knife made almost no sound at all when Watson pulled it out, which surprised Mrs. Hudson somehow. Perhaps she would have heard it had she been looking, but she was careful to be pouring a fresh dish of water at the time instead, focusing on the rising and twisting tendrils of steam. Only the doctor had been watching in that instant, and his eyes had never broken from his task, even if one of them was already then a good halfway through the process of swelling shut.
