Water, water...

[drpsychosomatic]

Who| John and Sherlock
What| John's near-death experience with piranhas
Where| Adventureland
When| Backdated before the fireworks
Warnings/Notes| UST Bromance Piranhas.

They needed water. To that end, John was lugging one of the large, empty candy jars from the gift shop they'd broken into on Main street as they made their way towards Adventureland, where Sherlock assured him there would be plenty. They'd probably need to sterilise it as best they could, which John assumed would be easy enough as long as they could start a fire- but with his military survival training and Sherlock's own expertise both in chemisty and hell-raising, he wasn't too worried about that.

"Are you sure it won't crack?" he asked, tapping his fingertips on the glass as they walked, "Or is that a stupid question to ask a chemist?" 

Comments

[drpsychosomatic]

"Lemon, black pepper, maybe some... some parsley," he suggested with a fairly wide, loose grin, forcing his eyes open. "How's it going? Pressure point worked? Can't really do anything else until we've got the bleeding stopped..."

[alldeduction]

"Can't stand parsley," Sherlock bemoaned lowly, "Basil, maybe..."

With a long riiiiip he tore the first strip free and nodded. "Bleeding's coming down quite a bit. Once I get this bandaged I can take a look at the other bites and then get you somewhere a bit warmer."

[drpsychosomatic]

"Never had piranha," he offered, a low groan escaping his lips as Sherlock shifted. "Not... not sure how well it would go with basil. Not sure I care, actually, god- I'm cold, Sherlock, we need to get me warm..."

[alldeduction]

"Yes, I'm aware," He snapped a little more harshly than he meant as he let go of John's leg temporarily to wrap the strip of pant-let tight around his thigh.

"Two hands, John. And not a doctor. Your clothes are wet. Better to leave them on or remove them?"

[drpsychosomatic]

He laughed, eyes squeezing shut as he steadied his breathing. "You-- any excuse to get my clothes off, it's becoming a habit. I don't know what they're made of- is it wool?"

[alldeduction]

"No. Cotton blend," Sherlock answered tersely as he ripped another piece of his pant-leg free. "Your cape was, but as it's back at the camp--"

[drpsychosomatic]

"Could really use that right now," he groaned. "Cotton... wet cotton's really bad, Sherlock, it leeches heat. You need to help me out of it, we'll dry it and I'll be fine. All right?"

[alldeduction]

"Later. We'll get you back there later," He assured him. "Yes. Fine."

He tied off the last bandage and finally allowed himself to look up - glancing up the bank to where there was a small bush and a tree, shelter enough to keep them out of sight from anyone that might happen upon them.

"I'm going to move you up the bank." He said, pulling himself upright and walking around behind John, slipping his arms under John's armpits. "Then we'll get you out of your clothes. Alright?"

[drpsychosomatic]

"Yeah, I- yeah, okay," he mumbled, giving in to a full-body shiver. "Sorry. I can probably take some of my own weight..."

[alldeduction]

"It's fine," Sherlock assured him, and then with a grunt half lifted and half dragged John's sodden body up the bank to the bush, and let him down as softly as he could manage.

"Clothes," he demanded, while he began to strip off his own tunic. He'd keep his pants, of course, but John could use the mostly-dry tunic much more than he could.

[drpsychosomatic]

He began to fumble with his clothing, pulling it off as best he could. It clung wetly to his skin, making the task a little more difficult than he'd expected- and moving opened one of the smaller bite wounds on the back of his knee. Still, he managed to peel most of the sodden cotton off his body.

"People... really will talk," he mumbled, a shaky smile on his face.

[alldeduction]

"Good." Sherlock said, laying his tunic down off to the side before helping John with his. In a lower grumble he added: "Maybe they'll send us dinner."

John was still soaking, so he didn't want to put the dry clothes on him yet - luckily the sun was beating down and it wouldn't take too much to dry off John's skin. Still, his face fell as he saw how many bites their were. At least none of them were bleeding as intensely as the bandaged one had been...

"I'll make a fire," He said quickly, though he pulled the tunic over to within John's reach.

[drpsychosomatic]

He nodded in agreement, resting on the ground with a long, weary exhale. If he cared that he was basically naked on live TV, it didn't show- possibly due to the shock.
"Fire. Yes, that- good idea," he agreed, closing his eyes. "Though the smoke... we'll have to watch out for people drawn to it..."

[alldeduction]

"I still have my knife," Sherlock reminded him as he busied himself with snapping off dried twigs from the bush - not caring that he was working fast enough to scratch his hands and now-bare chest. "Keep talking, John."

[drpsychosomatic]

"God, that's a first, you telling me to keep talking," he laughed, a completely humourless sound. "Can't think of anything worth-- did you save the jars? We'll still need water, though maybe not... maybe not that water."

[alldeduction]

"They're on the bank," Sherlock replied a little tightly. The conversation was for John, not for him, and he was trying to concentrate. Finally he had built up a pile large enough to start a small fire, placed it down beside John, and went looking for two larger sticks that he could use to start a spark, as well as some tinder. "There's a few other places we can go. I would not recommend you drinking your own blood, no."

[drpsychosomatic]

"I'll take my own over someone else's," he mumbled. "I hope you saved those piranha. I don't think I'll ever feel more justified in eating meat. Do you need help..?"

[alldeduction]

"No, I'm fine. Only a minute more. And yes - I left them on the bank. They won't be going anywhere soon." His voice was slightly dark. He was also looking forward to ripping into the little bastards, though he would never phrase it that way.

He put the tinder under the little tower of sticks and then used two larger ones to rub together. He probably looked a little ridiculous as he had done this last when he was approximately 9, but surprisingly the knowledge came back quickly enough, now that he had deemed it 'useful'.

[drpsychosomatic]

"Wouldn't put it past the buggers to sprout legs," John muttered, a violent shiver shuddering through him. "Did you-- were you in the boy scouts, or have you always been someone you should never leave alone for more than ten minutes?"

[alldeduction]

Sherlock tsked under his breath, still attempting to make the sticks catch fire.

"Summer camp. Several of them. The one that kept me the longest allowed me to stay approximately a week before sending me home," He said offhandedly, barely thinking about it, happy to just keep John talking. He made a small Ah! as he finally got the tinder to light.

[drpsychosomatic]

John chuckled, clearly imagining Sherlock as a boy and having little trouble doing it. Little hellraiser, no doubt.

"I was in the boys brigade," he offered, cheerfully- though his teeth chattered. "You would have hated it."

[alldeduction]

"Probably," He agreed, as he quickly built the fire. Luckily the wood was dry enough that it was catching fairly easily, and within a moment it had a small but healthy blaze. Sherlock let out a long breath as he finally let himself relax.

He walked back over to John, leaning down to touch his shoulders. "Can you move closer to the fire? If we can get you dry, we can get my tunic on you--"

[drpsychosomatic]

"Yeah, I can, hang on." He manoeuvred himself closer to the fire, his skin still cold and clammy to the touch. He shivered. "Well, I hope they don't mind getting an eyeful..."

[alldeduction]

"I am sure we're making spectacular television," Sherlock muttered, standing up and walking over to where his tunic lay, and bringing it over. He put a hand on John's side and tsked loudly when he found the skin still clammy. "Dry faster," he complained.

[drpsychosomatic]

He laughed, shivering and shifting a little closer to the fire. "Believe me, Sherlock, I'm doing my best," he said. "Do you think, if we asked nicely, they'd send some marshmallows?