Survival

[formersurgeon]

Who| Sherlock, the Watsons, and OTA
What| Like it says on the tin
Where| The jungle
When| End of week 1, early week 2
Warnings/Notes| Sherlock, John and Joan are all available here to thread with, one of them, two of them, or all three. Just specify who in the subject line!


Surviving in the jungle hadn't been easy on the three of them. Among them, only John had any real outdoor survival experience prior to the Arenas, and that had been for deserts, mostly. Sherlock had plenty of theoretical knowledge on the subject, but not much practical experience beyond the previous Arenas. And as far as survival techniques went, Joan was the most useless of the three.

Regardless, they were making it work. They had picked a decent spot to set up camp, managed to keep their supplies passably dry, and took turns scouting or keeping watch while at least one of them stayed at the camp. That one was frequently John, since he had to stay off his injured leg as much as possible. Joan checked his stitches every day, and so far there hadn't been any major problems.

It was a relatively comfortable setup, but Joan knew it couldn't last. They were already running low on food, and eventually they would have to worry about the wrong type of person finding them. The kind of person who wanted to win. If they could only hold out a couple more days, until John's wound is sufficiently healed...

Comments

[alldeduction]

"No." He snapped the word, immediately, and then continued in a low hiss.

"No, John. This isn't-- This isn't the same. This isn't Afghanistan and this isn't London and they aren't the enemy and there is no justice. We'll find another way. Trust me."

[drpsychosomatic]

He held Sherlock's gaze for a long moment before nodding slowly. "I do trust you, Sherlock, but there are some things that are out of your control, and mine. And if it comes to that, you are going to have to let me do it, and you need to trust me on that."

[alldeduction]

His lips pierced into a thin line, his eyes hard. He wanted to argue. He wanted more than anything to argue, but there wasn't a point. It was something he had loved about John (and yes, he could use that word in this context, for it was true) - that moral resolve, his steady gun hand.

But they had been up against bad guys, before. They had fought in the secret war. This was not the same.

"Out of our control but not out of theirs," Sherlock said, his voice barely loud enough to be heard even by John, "I will not -- I refuse to let them twist--"

[drpsychosomatic]

He looked away, eyes narrowing slightly, his lips pressed firmly together. There were a lot of things he was willing to do to keep Sherlock safe- and he'd rather be the one responsible than Joan, or, god forbid, Sherlock himself. While dying was undoubtedly taking its toll on Sherlock's sanity, John was all too aware of what killing someone might do to him.

"Alright," he ceded- outwardly, at least. "Not unless there's no other way."

[alldeduction]

Sherlock's lips pressed tightly together and he very much looked like he was going to continue to argue the point - argue it until he was completely satisfied - but he had to let it go.

"Fine. Not unless there is no other way," he bit out, and then grumbled: "Though there is almost always another way."

[drpsychosomatic]

"Yes, there usually is, but there isn't always time enough to find it," he argued carefully. "Sometimes time forces your hand."

[alldeduction]

"John- don't," Sherlock snapped, the warning embedded deep in his tone.

"If there is no other way, fine. Leave it at that." Not that he was any good at leaving anything 'at that', but no one had ever said that Sherlock wasn't often a hypocrite.