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“Watson, are you sure you’re wholly capable of tending wounds?” Holmes asked in a strained, but skeptical tone. “You look as though you’re on the verge of collapse. I am uncertain whether you’re in any state to proceed.”
Watson made a noncommittal noise and fumbled with his medical bag. “Well, it’s my leg that’s injured, not my arms. I am perfectly capable of bandaging wounds.”
“Hardly my point, Watson, hardly my point.” Expression tightening still more, Holmes shifted uncomfortably. “I do not wish for you to incapacitate yourself in the process of caring for me.”
As much as everything hurt right now, Watson had to smile at that loving hypocrisy. Holmes often pushed himself far beyond his own limits not only in attempts to aid Watson, but in his eagerness to pursue any case even when wounded. “Well, thankfully you don’t need too much care. Then I’ll see to myself.”
They’d had something of an ugly fight today while completing a kidnapping case. The young woman who had been taken was safe and unharmed now, but the gang hoping to extort her wealthy family had put up a fight. Holmes had received a deep cut on his wrist which bled heavily, and another cut on his neck which while thankfully not deep had bled just as much. Perhaps more, and the combination of the two weakened Holmes to a great degree.
Watson ached everywhere, as was an understandable consequence of being smashed repeatedly into walls while grappling with people, but his own wounds were limited to a slight stab wound to the leg. The knife had impaled already damaged muscle, slipping neatly into the same spot as his old war wound, so at least he need not worry about multiple painful spots after healing.
Pain was certainly impeding him somewhat now, but he did not let it stop him. They weren’t in London right now, but rather in the countryside staying with the young woman’s family. No doubt there were doctors in one of the neighboring villages, but Watson did not know them, and he would not entrust Holmes’ care to a stranger unless he had no other choice.
“I know you loathe disinfectant, but I’m afraid it’s necessary,” he said, opening the bottle. “You aren’t hiding any other injuries from me, are you? It’s only your arm and neck?”
Holmes twitched a weak smile at him. He was lying back in bed right now, ashen and exhausted from blood loss. “In this particular instance, I am not hiding any injuries.”
“Well, good. In that case, we shall be done relatively soon.” Which was fortunate, as Watson really was becoming increasingly woozy. He would not ordinarily treat a patient in this condition.
But as it was necessary, he could manage. He cleaned and disinfected Holmes’ wounds, trying his best to ignore the throbbing pain in his own leg, as well as his racing heart. After a number of deep breaths to steady himself, he retrieved his supplies for suturing, and set to work.
By this time, he truly was not feeling well. His hands hadn’t yet started to shake—he’d been a surgeon for too long to let that happen unless he was in truly dire straits—but it was becoming difficult. He needed to finish this, and then possibly lie down for a while before he tended to himself.
“All right, old man,” Watson said at last, fumbling with bandages. His vision blurred, and he swallowed hard. “Almost done here. How do you feel?”
“I have admittedly been somewhat better. Blood loss is a little unpleasant.” Holmes winced as Watson wrapped his arm, then squinted up at him. “Dear me. You do not appear to be in good condition yourself, Watson.”
“I have also felt better.”
“Do you feel horrible enough that you are unable to clean and bandage your leg?”
Watson hesitated. He ought not to say yes. If he did, Holmes would certainly insist on taking care of him.
“Your face has answered me, Watson,” Holmes declared. He struggled into a seated position, gave a soft groan, and pointed imperiously to the bed. “Lie down, my boy. I shall at least perform a cursory amount of care on your wound, although I fear I am not steady enough for suturing at present.”
“That’s quite all right, old man.” Exhausted, Watson settled back. There was no point in resisting once Holmes adopted that tone. “Try not to push yourself too hard. You won’t do either of us any good if you faint.”
Holmes twitched a weak smile. “I shall certainly keep that in mind.”
He patted Watson very gently on the shoulder, then began to tend to his leg. He unwrapped the first bandages, then took a pair of scissors and cut back Watson’s trousers. After dampening a cloth, he sponged away dried blood, then bent over the wound with tweezers.
Watson had been watching up until this point, as was his habit as a doctor, but he laid back now. He was too tired to fight the exhaustion, too tired to do anything other than rest.
Sharp pain flared in the wound, no doubt Holmes removing threads or other debris with the tweezers. Then a different, lingering sting, the burn of disinfectant.
Watson’s mind blurred considerably at that, pain and fatigue leaving him faint. It was quite possible that he really had pushed himself to his limits in tending Holmes’ wounds. He was certainly in no shape to take care of his own.
Holmes was strong enough to tend to him, thankfully. Moving somewhat more slowly than usual, yes, but he proceeded through tending to Watson’s wound with skill.
Soon, Holmes let out a heavy sigh. “Dear me, I believe I shall need a nap myself now that you have been thoroughly bandaged. Is there anything else you need, Watson?”
“No, no. I’m quite all right.” Watson managed a smile, although he lacked the strength to open his eyes. “I’d like to just rest for now, old man. Perhaps we should both take a nap.”
“It is likely a wise idea.” With a soft groan, Holmes lay down beside Watson, then gave his arm a light pat. “I believe you would also very much deserve a little holiday after this.”
Watson chuckled weakly. “Well, I shall certainly never object to a holiday, but I’m rather startle to hear you suggest one. You hate holidays.”
“Mm.” Holmes tugged at the blanket, pulling them across them both. “But I am most fond of you, my dear Watson.”
The quiet comment tugged at Watson’s heart, and he smiled as he relaxed. Yes, Holmes cared for him deeply, and would go on at least a brief holiday with Watson if he needed one.
It was certainly quite tempting. After the case that they’d had, and with wounds still needing to heal, Watson rather thought that a holiday sounded like an excellent idea for both of them.