Swallowing hard, Watson sank gratefully against Holmes's support. His breathing was hard, but he kept it even, trying to keep himself calm. It was key, he knew, not to lose himself in the pain. He was feeling alert, all his senses thrumming with excitement and intensity. With the adrenaline pounding through his veins, he felt alive.

"We should go after him," he gasped, "before he has a chance to get away." He said we because he could not bear the idea of letting Holmes go after such a dangerous gunman alone -- that was just foolishness.

The doorway was at least somewhat sheltered, though it was hardly strong protection, and he wasn't sure where the shot had come from in any case. Unable to open the door himself, he risked another glance at his arm. His right hand was quite bloody by now, and he needed something better than his own palm to staunch the bleeding. He also had to work out whether the bullet had passed through his arm entirely, or whether it would have to be removed.

Focusing on the work to be done helped.