Actions

Work Header

Uncharted

Chapter Text

As written by Doctor John H. Watson, as an account of my adventures with Sherlock Holmes in a land called Berk.

To all intents and purposes, I was slumped against the wall, spent of adrenaline after Sherlock had wrestled the bomb-laden coat off of me.

Every muscle in my body was ready to pounce. The laser of the sniper, shining down on Sherlock's black suit, was something I was too familiar with from the war. I knew that if I could time it exactly right, I would be able to throw myself at Sherlock before the sniper got the signal from Moriarty that was sure to come.

But then Sherlock looked at me, just a quick glance. It was enough. I knew exactly what was running through his mind.

Moriarty was a danger, not just to Sherlock, or me, or London, for that matter. If Sherlock didn't do anything, Moriarty had the power to endanger the world. Even if Sherlock and I died, if we brought Moriarty down with us, it would be worth it.

I nodded. Sherlock slowly pointed the revolver at the bomb, lying on the ground twenty or so feet away.

The few seconds it took for Sherlock's finger to pull the trigger stretched into several million years. It was at least long enough for me to switch position. I watched Sherlock's finger tighten on the trigger, as if in slow motion. As soon the gun went off, the powder and sparks making a slow motion Ritchie-esque explosion.

I hurled myself, with all the might my legs could muster. I bowled into Sherlock the exact moment the bullet hit the bomb.

If I could just hit the pool before the bomb ripped the world apart, then it was at least possible Sherlock and I could escape death.

I held my breath, hoping against hope Sherlock was doing the same. He made no struggle against my tackle; obviously he'd deduced that I would make some sort of heroic attempt at saving us.

A crushing whiteness enveloped us. I'd experienced such things in the war, of course, but never at such a close proximity. I couldn't do anything. All my senses were overloaded. All I could see and hear was rushing white. I think it was so loud, my hearing had shut down.

All I was really conscious of, at that moment, was the feeling of Sherlock and the crushing fear of not surviving this. And then the fact that we hadn't hit the water in the pool yet.

I knew that time was going slowly, but that slowly? No, that wouldn't work. I might have tried to open my eyes to see what was going on, or maybe to check if we were both dead already, or something. Either way, I couldn't see a thing, due to either the whiteness of the explosion, or that my face was buried in Sherlock's black jacket.

It must have been about then that I let out my breath.

Right after I exhaled, we hit the water.

We must have sunk about ten feet. The significance of that didn't even hit home, even when my lungs almost burst from trying to get to the surface. Sherlock was a lot heavier than his physique would let you know. He was also extremely awkward to carry.

My head finally broke the surface, but it was either too bright to see anything or my vision was damaged quite extensively from the explosion.

These thoughts rushed through my head with no order. Adrenaline made my thoughts whirl about my head the way I fancied they did for Sherlock when he was bored.

I think I first subconsciously realized something was very wrong when my feet hit the muddy bottom of the pool. Somewhere in my brain, it probably registered that pools didn't have muddy bottoms.

At the moment however, my army medic training took over and I didn't think. Pulling myself and my companion out of the water was no easy task, as Sherlock seemed to have doubled in weight, but of course I managed.

Tending to my friend was higher on the list than myself, even though my ears were rushing and I felt extremely lightheaded. I bent down to check if he was still breathing, or if I needed to administer CPR. My numb fingers felt for his wrist, or maybe his neck, I'm not positive.

My bleary eyes saw the impossible, my fingers felt the impossible at least a minute before my brain finally caught up.

It wasn't Sherlock collapsed on the sand next to me.

It was a great leathery black dragon.