Of Company Comes Wounds

by: WhiteGloves

There are some things you can't share without liking each other, and solving mysteries and cases are one of them~ Happy Reading!

I stood as silent as I could in the darkness that stole the use of my eyesight. On the opposite side of me I could not see my friend but I am sure that Sherlock Holmes was standing there like what was on our plan. We were in the middle of pursuing a criminal responsible for the death of a young heiress on Cambridge. It took us nearly a week to track him down and it was because of Holmes gifted ability that lead us to this old house in the skirts of town.

We have been waiting for what felt like three hours, waiting in the darkness for any slight movement of the murderer lurking inside the door we were guarding in the middle of the night. One wrong movement from us means not only the escape of the criminal but also the risks of our own lives. Holmes made sure I know of that. I gripped my revolver near my heart and waited. Any moment now the person inside would stir and when he did come out we would tackle him. It is a must that we wait outside if we want to catch him off guard. We had to be patient.

At midnight, I felt Holmes stir a little, the exact moment the murderer inside started to move too. A light had been ignited inside. I could not see the expression of my friend but I knew he was ready. Any seconds from now the murderer would open the door with his lamp at hand… any moment now… the doorknob started to turn.

The door opened and light spread out in the darkness and once it hit me and Holmes we immediately went for him- Holmes for the neck and I on the hand with a gun. The surprised man cried in anger, dropped the lamp on the floor and raised his weapon-

There was a sounding shot of a gun followed by a searing pain on my right shoulder. I felt being tugged backwards by such a force that made me almost lost consciousness. I saw Holmes bring himself upon our target and knocked him unconscious on the ground. Instant later I felt him around me and engaging himself on my wound.

"You are shot, Watson! By Jove- no, you're losing blood-! Wait a moment- where is Lestrade? Watson! Watson!"

He blew on his whistle and immediately turned to me.

I could hardly speak of the pain the gutless murderer gave me but as I looked up I saw my friend's pale face. His eyes were fixed on my wound with its indifferent look gone. Fear crossed his eyes as he saw the blood on my coat. His hands were shaking and he hissed as he finally saw the depth of the shot.

It was one of those moments that my friend would spare me some of his humane expression, and most of the time it was those with things that concerns my life. I mustered my strength and assured him I was fine. His agitation was not lessen however as he ripped my own sleeve and tied my wounded arm with it.

"Rascal," he cried angrily as he gave our unconscious target on the floor a disgusted look, "Here, take my shoulder, Watson. I beg you don't die, Watson, it would be most troublesome…"

"Troublesome indeed," I whispered as he helped me out of the room. Lestrade and his people met us on the door and marched toward the murderer. Holmes kept me balance as we walked down the steps into the cab that Lestrade provided.

"Pray don't move," he whispered as he shut us both in the cab which started to move.

"What of the case-?" I murmured checking on the wound with a frown. As a medical man I knew if it was fatal or not. It wasn't, but the lost of blood could finish the deed.

"It will be dealt with, how is your wound?"

"Nothing serious."

"And yet you are pale and almost in between of passing out. Hurry dear fellow!" he shouted at the driver.

"This wound would not be the death of me," I told him as I looked at him with half closed eyes.

"Consider yourself lucky." He answered but the worry was still weighing on his eyebrows. I could see his features more clearly in the light. He looked really troubled and I felt sympathetic toward him. Until now I never realized how worrisome he becomes when things like this pass through between us but I do wish that these kinds of events won't stop him from bringing me along his adventures.

Hours later found him and myself in Baker Street with I supporting a wounded shoulder with a bandage around my neck to my arm.

Holmes had now regained his composure again and was found smoking his pipe in front of the fireside with his back on me. I watched him as I lay on the long sofa and wondered what happened to the case for after assuring that I would live, Holmes immediately flew over to Scotland Yard to clear matters with the constables.

I allow my friend on his thoughts as I always do. Hours passed and I was sure I had been asleep from sometime. When I opened my eyes I saw the thin line of Sherlock Holmes standing beside the sofa with the very man watching me quietly.

"How do you feel?" he asked firstly as he sat on the chair opposite the sofa.

"Infinitely alive." I answered as I looked at him.

"That's good to hear. Do you care for a drink?"

"Of course."

I sat up slowly and then took the glass he offered me. It was sometime before a conversation actually broke out from the two of us.

"Do you know, this kinds of events always remind me how fragile we humans are."

I raised my eyes at him but did not speak.

"Most of the time I often think of myself as... well, admittedly, a non-human for both my intellect and strength. But there comes a time that I would realized that you are not like me. You are a human."

I looked at my friend sharply as if daring him to speak what was on my mind.

He drank on his glass and then looked at me again.

"Would it anger you if I never ask you to join me again?"

"Only if you ask."

Holmes looked at me thoughtfully for awhile.

"Personally speaking, my dear Watson, your presence among my cases had been all very effective and of significance. I hate to see you gone beside me if ever you see the danger in this game."

I chuckled at the man and then drank the last of my wine. Holmes had that thoughtful expression on his eyes.

"It would be a great lost if you cease to come to Baker Street, my dear Watson." he finished finally.

"Who told you I was deserting you, Holmes?" I asked with a sigh.

I saw Sherlock Holmes grin. I grinned back.

"The mere idea of this incident does," he answered with a look at me, "But I suppose, seeing as you don't appear to have lost the heart... then pray I'd be delighted to have you with me!"

"Of course." I nodded, "That is the simplest deduction, I'd say you're losing your touch if you have ever doubted that."

Something very warm seemed to enclosed us that time and as we drank for our companionship I thought the very idea of us parting ways was not even possible and very improbable.

"I have deprive you too much for a rest, my friend!" Holmes exclaimed all of a sudden, "Got to sleep! You need the rest with that wound you bear. Pray, go."

With that I left him to ponder on his thoughts as I headed for the vacant room I usually occupies.

It was something to feel the greatest man in the whole world sharing his adventures with me, but the very idea that I am honorably his humble friend made an impression to me. I felt dearly attached and there was no question about how my dear friend also feel about me.

True friendship is a very valuable feeling. Especially if its with my dear friend Sherlock Holmes.