#watsonofagun

@watsonofagun

“ow, ow, ow ow ow!!” q tried to break free from the headlock john had put him in as he was dragged away from his laptop. in his own home. the audacity! however the other had tried to reason with q about bedtime and he’d been working all day and it was in the middle of the night now, q had completely ignored the words and had kept on working. so could you blame john for getting pissed?

being dragged along down the hallway and towards the bathroom for him to brush his teeth and do his business before bedtime, because let’s face it. q had been hooked up on caffeine from all the tea he’d been drinking and at some point it needed to get out again.

x

Q was already ready to drift off to sleep when he heard foot steps. Still that didn’t make him move from the couch he currently was lying on sighing and keeping his eyes closed.

I'm forever salty they didn't let him show off how effin' good he is with the gun

‘Do you eat cereal with milk?’

{ Soft drawl in RESPONSE was automatic, no snark present in his tone. ( Blood with alcohol curbed the cravings. Making his thirst bearable. ) How could John assume that in the countless   aeons alive he hadn’t at least  experimented with such? }

for @watsonofagun based on the back of a stolen car

Holding onto him was unwise. He was a man of masks, shifting around on the sands to be who the situation demanded. John Watson, Moriarty, Dr. Watson, they were disguises based on what people wanted to see.

Yet here, in the back seat of a stolen car, folded into his arms with a seat belt digging into her back, she could pretend the rest of the world didn’t exist. Rain pelted the window, drips racing towards the edge of the doors with a steady pace. They caught her eye as her breath fell back in time with his, one after the other, a soft comforting rhythm she could almost drift off to.

She tore her gaze away from the rain to focus on his face, her hand coming to rest on his chest.

“Been there, had one, got the requisitely shitty first aid.” He grunted, tired fingers reaching up to probe at the stitching job on his flank that was already coming undone. He could practically smell that the nurse was new on the job, but he’d been fading in and out of consciousness at the time and hadn’t had the mental wherewithal to correct him on is sutures. Blood loss will do that to one, he supposed.

“Do you think it’s because I’m uninsured, or they’re biased against wizards?” he asked, peeling his jacket away from the shirt underneath and finding more blood than he was hoping for.

Turns out he really did need a doctor. Shit.

[ Message: Jawn ]