It was tempting, to be sure, but one look at Holmes right now made it perfectly clear to Watson that he had to keep his head, although that was the last thing he felt able to do. "Not yet," he said, "but I'll need one soon enough. You can pour me one. A good stiff one."

Having bared his arm, Watson gave the wound a closer look. A flesh wound, nothing serious, nothing compared to the one in his leg or his shoulder, but it was damned inconvenient, and damned painful. He prodded at it carefully, trying to locate the bullet as accurately as possible before he began digging about under his skin.

"No, wait," he corrected himself. "Light the lamp for me. I'll need the flame." Simplest way to sanitize his tools, after all. In the meantime, he reached for a cloth and began trying to clean up the wound, pressing hard to staunch the bleeding, which was steady if not fast.