"Nonsense, you replaced mine." After a moment more of vague laughter, Watson gave himself a shake. He was feeling nauseous again, vague and sick, and he shut his eyes while he waited for the moment to pass. The touch on his shoulder was reassuring, comforting.

"All right." He was doing his best to clean out the hole in his arm with the damp towel, and with a bottle of medicinal alcohol he'd got his hands on. He bit down on his lip, concentrating hard. "I need to stitch myself up." This was going to be the really unpleasant bit, and one-handed was not going to be simple, but he wouldn't ask Holmes to do such a thing. He wasn't sure Holmes was up to it. "If you could fetch me my needle and catgut?"