John Watson had never handled boredom well.
It wasn’t the quiet kind—the sort that invited rest or reflection. No, his boredom was a restless, crawling thing, burrowing under his skin and settling somewhere behind his ribs. It itched. It demanded. It waited.
@PleasedToSeeMe Unnoticed that there had been no creak of the unforgiving step up towards the flat. "You're learning dear..." pushing himself to stand up right, he closed the curtains, a habit he had picked up over time of his stay, once a innocent habit now more for Moriarty's benefit than -
@AstuteRavenStud Finally bringing his gaze up to the man...British? American? He wasnt sure. His brows knitting together as a distant distorted voice in the back of his mind jeered at him.
"H-how?"
@AstuteRavenStud The medic laughed almost to himself, it cant...surely... if it hadn't been for the crimson liquid coating his hand he would be sure it was a trick of the light. Pulling his hand away slowly, looking at his palm, then back to what appeared to be healed skin as if it betrayed him-
@PleasedToSeeMe It was a response. Gathering the device, the blonde traced his lips with his tongue before allowing himself to look. Tick tock... was that all? Pushing himself to his feet device in hand as he peered through the net curtains as he pressed the call button to dial the number -
@AstuteRavenStud Watson laughed thinking its the worlds worst joke, rechecking the mans pulse with his cleaner hand, his other remained over where the wound once had been. "We should get you to the hospital"
The medic reached into his pocket to pull his phone.
@AstuteRavenStud Blood, he would be sure but it made no sense.
The noise hadn’t come from behind him.
It had come from the man.
Slowly—very slowly—John looked down.
The man’s eyes were open.
Alive.
That wasn’t possible.
John recoiled slightly, shock cutting through his usual composure. “You— I -
@AstuteRavenStud Efficient. Fatal.
“Damn it,” John muttered under his breath, already shifting into clinical assessment despite the futility. He pressed his hand against the wound, knowing it was pointless but unable to stop himself. “Stay with me—”
@AstuteRavenStud something striking about him—dark coat, military posture even in collapse, and a face that might have beenhandsome if not for the unmistakable stillness of death.
John dropped beside him immediately, fingers searching for a pulse.
Nothing. A gunshot wound to the chest. Clean. -