My Virtual Reading Room

Author: med_cat 
Title: Sound Medical Advice
Rating: G
Summary: Holmes and Watson go for a walk...
Word count: 722
Warnings: none
Author's note: written for watsons_woes  500 members party, by request of alone_dreaming  in the fic/art meme, which request was seconded by kcscribbler . Hope this suits! This was the request:
What I would love is Watson (or John) and Holmes (or Sherlock) in a situation away from medical attention where John needs to walk Sherlock through treating an injury/sickness/whatever because he's incapable of doing it himself.
**
And yes, Holmes' aunt is a nod to charleygirl , jaelijn , and Westron Wynde.
EDIT: Thanks to capt_facepalm and goldvermilion87 for reviewing the story and providing suggestions :)
**

 

"Holmes...?"

"Yes, Watson?" I replied mechanically, while unsuccessfully trying to stem the flow of blood. Then I realised--he was conscious.

"...Holmes...you need to apply pressure distally, not proximally as you're doing..." his voice was weak but as collected as ever. We might have been in my sitting room instead of in the middle of the forest.

I obediently shifted the handkerchief nearer his wrist and pressed down; the bleeding slowed immediately. I sighed in relief and raised my eyes to Watson's.

"Venous bleed...told you," he murmured and promptly lost consciousness once more.

 

I bit my lip in consternation. We were several miles away from the main thoroughfare…too far for me to carry Watson. I had briefly considered leaving him here and running for help, but I was far too reluctant to leave him here, alone, unconscious and defenseless. In fact, the question was moot anyway, since the bleeding commenced again as soon as I reduced the pressure on the site. I could only wait for him to awaken and  to continue to apply pressure in the meantime. I kept calling his name, and finally, after an interval of time which my pocket watch assured me was only ten minutes, yet which had seemed interminable, his eyes fluttered open.

“Holmes?”

“Watson?”

A look of intense pain crossed his face and he squeezed his eyes shut. Now I was truly growing frightened. 

“Watson?! What’s wrong? Talk to me.”

His face smoothed into his usual calm expression and he opened his eyes.

“Sorry, Holmes, it’s just that I thought I saw…”

“What?”

“…Mary…and my daughter—a young woman now…it seemed so real that I didn’t want to come back.”

His words did nothing to dispel my fear; I could think of nothing else except inquiring, “I see…indulge my curiosity, why did you?”

“I heard you calling me.”

This was no time for fanciful imaginings, however, and I firmly yanked my errant emotions under control.

“Now, Watson, can you stand?”

“Yes, if you help me…keep pressure on the site…ah, there.”

“We’ve a few miles to walk back to the main thoroughfare, as you probably recall, Watson…”

“Yes, so we’d best get started if we want to get out of here before dark, hadn’t we? Here, Holmes, let go of the handkerchief, I can keep pressure on it now…”

We started off; suffice it to say that was not a journey I’d care to experience again…Watson was deathly pale and barely able to stumble along, even with my support.  At long last, we came out onto the main thoroughfare, and to our great good luck, a farmer in his buggy passed by a few minutes later.  He agreed to give us a ride back to my cottage.

Finally, we stumbled into my sitting room. I helped Watson take off his coat and lie down on the settee, quickly shedding my own coat and fetching his medical bag.

Watson asked me to hand him supplies; I was relieved to see the bleeding has nearly stopped as I helped him treat and bandage the injury. He lay back, wincing, and murmured, “Well, at least it’s my bad arm anyway.”

I must have had quite a look on my face because he looked up at me and inquired, “What’s wrong?”

My nerves must have been in shreds by then, because, much to my mortification, I exploded,  yelling,

“’A pleasant walk through the forest’, you said! ‘I’ve been so busy at my practice all week that I’d hardly stepped foot outside, so the fresh air will do us both good,’ you said! All this—this—because you touted the benefits of fresh air and exercise! Sound medical advice, my aunt Sophronia!”

Watson looked quite taken aback and obviously sought to distract me by inquiring,

“Holmes…you never had an aunt Sophronia…did you now?!”

I collected myself with an effort, forcing a smile onto my face, and responded,

“No, Watson, you are quite right about that. Her name was Augusta…an august and formidable individual, if ever there was one. I confess I used to feel quite intimidated in her presence.”

“You, intimidated?!”

“Well, I was only seven years old at the time.”

“Ah, I see.  And Holmes?  I am very sorry about this afternoon.”

“Well, no doubt your medical advice was sound…until that tree root intervened.”

“Rather.”

We smiled at each other.