He lifts his eyes from Watson's arm to his face at the mention of morphine and swallows thickly. That might turn out to be more uncomfortable and difficult than stitching his arm was. Taking a breath to steady himself, he nods and presses his lips together, mustering a casual attitude.

"Certainly. One moment." He bandages Watson's arm carefully, making sure that it's properly protected, before he considers his next task.

"Here," he says gently, and he reaches for Watson's good shoulder, drawing him up. "Let's take your jacket off. I could cut you out of it, but I think the poor thing's seen enough carnage for one evening, don't you?" He helps Watson slide the jacket off, carefully working it over the bandage, and he lays it aside.