A fishhook. Of all bloody things. A fishhook. Adding insult to injury was one thing, but this. It went beyond the levels.

Sherlock Holmes was not one to be caught easily. It was a great feat to do so. Apparently, Moriarty was able to do so. But he had left his opponent like this. Crushed under bricks with a giant, rusted, metal fishhook lodged in his shoulder.

His professional, doctor side was thinking of all the effects of such a wound, and what would happen if it got infected. Which it most likely had already done. Judging by the amount of dust, and how his friend was buried in it completely, with an open wound, his mind was sure it was infected with some disease and he would not be able to properly tend to it for a while.

On the other hand, his loyal, unwavering friend side was ready to go up to Moriarty and sack him in the face as hard as possible for all the pain Holmes had gone through, and was going through.

Watson had heard the screams. The bloodcurdling screams he had never sought to hear. The screams of a tortured man that was going through far more than any human should handle. The abhorrent screams that had Watson immediately on his feet, ready to do anything he could to save his friend.

Collapsing a brick building on him was not the best idea.

But here they were, covered in dust and debris with a huge chunk of metal lodged unceremoniously in one's shoulder, piercing the muscles.

They stared deep into each other's eyes for a moment, brown locking onto blue, just taking in the sights of each other.

Watson's arm robotically moved up to Holmes' shoulder, eyes never leaving, and yanked the hook out, throwing it somewhere in the debris. He saw the wince of his partner, though Watson had tried to be as careful as possible.

As they were watching each other, in that short amount of time, Watson was thinking how terribly unfair this was. Of all people, Holmes didn't deserve this unorthodox torture. All he had done was help people, and he got re-payed by being hung from the ceiling by a hook lodged in his shoulder.

After staring for a moment longer, Holmes spoke up, saying, "I'm glad to see you Watson."

Watson took that as an escape from his trance, helping the other out of the rubble and being Holmes' crutch.

He promised to himself then and there to stay by the other's side forever.


Dear god, I am way too obsessed with making Watson angst. This is my third story in three days about him doing just that as Holmes is hurt. And I may even have one more up my sleeve before I go back to my other stories. It will most likely be different than Watson angsting and stuff, as a lot of you are probably sick of it. If I do have time to write it. I have an idea, but don't know how to write it down. Ah well. I'll try.

Review if you feel like it.

By the way, fail title is fail. I've been getting worse and worse at them lately. You can only use so many words from a thesaurus.