John dropped his emergency bag and kneeled by the american, a piece of shrapnel tear the vest apart leaving a bleeding gaping hole in its place. He tried to ignore the gunfire, he could almost feel the bullets whizzing past his head. He tried to stop the bleeding but it was too late. They were in a dire situation, back up was on the way but before they arrive it could all be too late.
Suddenly he felt the burning sand connect to side of his face, he fell flat on his stomach. For a moment he didn't understand why he was lying there, only when he tried to move, the excruciating pain ricocheted from his shoulder through his whole body and he knew.
He was hit by bullet, great. He saw how his own blood was soaking the dessert sand under him, there was nothing he could do about it. He witnessed how his whole platoon got shot, one at the time. He couldn't do anything but stare and witness as his friends were slaughtered. The sun was burning, but nonetheless he felt the cold seep into him. This was it then, John thought as he saw a man running towards him. This is how I die, alone in in the sand.
He saw the man approaching him, he didn't look familiar at all, but it hardly mattered. The stranger dropped his helmet and rifle on the ground and dragged him behind the a water well, so they were more safely covered.
“Hamish? Is your name Hamish?” the stranger looked at him with an inpatient look. John definitely didn't see this man before, he would remember those striking cheekbones.
“Yes.” he said with a lot of effort. Bloody hell, why would someone call him Hamish, he hadn't used that name in ages. Somehow the stranger, ‘Cheekbones’ he nicknamed him automatically, was extremely delighted by this information.
“I’ve been looking for you, for a long time. Finally!” Cheekbones gently tugged the dogtags from under his bleeding attire and looked at it, probably reading his whole name. “John” he looked into his eyes, but he had difficulties staring back in those eyes, he felt his life slowly dripping out of him.
“John Hamish Watson, I am going to save you.” he heard Cheekbones say determined, but he couldn't make out the meaning the individual words, it was too late, the darkness swallowed him whole.
Re: Dead Like Me/Sherlock, John did die in Afghanistan and is a Reaper
Chapter One
John dropped his emergency bag and kneeled by the american, a piece of shrapnel tear the vest apart leaving a bleeding gaping hole in its place. He tried to ignore the gunfire, he could almost feel the bullets whizzing past his head. He tried to stop the bleeding but it was too late. They were in a dire situation, back up was on the way but before they arrive it could all be too late.
Suddenly he felt the burning sand connect to side of his face, he fell flat on his stomach. For a moment he didn't understand why he was lying there, only when he tried to move, the excruciating pain ricocheted from his shoulder through his whole body and he knew.
He was hit by bullet, great. He saw how his own blood was soaking the dessert sand under him, there was nothing he could do about it. He witnessed how his whole platoon got shot, one at the time. He couldn't do anything but stare and witness as his friends were slaughtered. The sun was burning, but nonetheless he felt the cold seep into him. This was it then, John thought as he saw a man running towards him. This is how I die, alone in in the sand.
He saw the man approaching him, he didn't look familiar at all, but it hardly mattered. The stranger dropped his helmet and rifle on the ground and dragged him behind the a water well, so they were more safely covered.
“Hamish? Is your name Hamish?” the stranger looked at him with an inpatient look. John definitely didn't see this man before, he would remember those striking cheekbones.
“Yes.” he said with a lot of effort. Bloody hell, why would someone call him Hamish, he hadn't used that name in ages. Somehow the stranger, ‘Cheekbones’ he nicknamed him automatically, was extremely delighted by this information.
“I’ve been looking for you, for a long time. Finally!” Cheekbones gently tugged the dogtags from under his bleeding attire and looked at it, probably reading his whole name.
“John” he looked into his eyes, but he had difficulties staring back in those eyes, he felt his life slowly dripping out of him.
“John Hamish Watson, I am going to save you.” he heard Cheekbones say determined, but he couldn't make out the meaning the individual words, it was too late, the darkness swallowed him whole.