Watson flicked his gaze up to Holmes, not sure what to make of that offer. "One would almost think you hadn't seen a man get shot at before," he said. Gallows humour was a quick and easy refuge in a moment like this.

First things first. He drew out a pair of scissors, and with a slight wince at having to do such a thing to his good clothes, began to cut away the cloth from the wound. A careful probing with his fingers provoked a hiss of pain, but it confirmed two things: first, that there was no exit wound, and second, that the bullet was still in his arm.

"I can get this out," he decided aloud. "My tweezers. Get me my tweezers."