Nearly two hours later, an alarm sounds, and a few moments after that the fences crackle to life. It was just the luck of one Sherlock Holmes that he managed to pull a wounded John Watson out of harms way mere moments before, the majority of their supplies left in the grass just past the fence. It was impossible to carry both them and John but he is determined not to leave the hard won supplies behind.
He just has more pressing, urgent matters on his mind.
John's arm is slung over Sherlock's shoulders as he limps at his side, bleeding profusely. A very haphazard but workable tourniquet around his thigh - obviously done by Sherlock himself - using a srap from his shirt (already, he notes to himself, he feels he loses more clothes every arena) and one of the knives he obtained, carefully wrapped so as not to cause new injury.
Tracking Joan is a matter of simplicity itself. He knew exactly where she was headed (or at least, where she should have been headed) and indeed her trail was only a couple of degrees off due south.
The troubling thing was that she was not the only trail heading that way. Counting out 500 yards was difficult while dragging John, since he had to keep up a constant stream of irrelevant chatter just under his breath to ensure that John did not pass out before they could see to his wound. Never the less, he managed it, and as he hit the 500 mark, now deep into the trees, he immediately began to scan upward for her.
"Joan," He hissed. "Joan! You're needed immediately."
no subject
He just has more pressing, urgent matters on his mind.
John's arm is slung over Sherlock's shoulders as he limps at his side, bleeding profusely. A very haphazard but workable tourniquet around his thigh - obviously done by Sherlock himself - using a srap from his shirt (already, he notes to himself, he feels he loses more clothes every arena) and one of the knives he obtained, carefully wrapped so as not to cause new injury.
Tracking Joan is a matter of simplicity itself. He knew exactly where she was headed (or at least, where she should have been headed) and indeed her trail was only a couple of degrees off due south.
The troubling thing was that she was not the only trail heading that way. Counting out 500 yards was difficult while dragging John, since he had to keep up a constant stream of irrelevant chatter just under his breath to ensure that John did not pass out before they could see to his wound. Never the less, he managed it, and as he hit the 500 mark, now deep into the trees, he immediately began to scan upward for her.
"Joan," He hissed. "Joan! You're needed immediately."