江戸川コナン(工藤新一) // Edogawa Conan (Kudou Shinichi) ([personal profile] walkingdesuno) wrote in [community profile] entranceway2012-07-05 12:55 pm

FILE 2 : video

[ Conan is outside in the Mansion grounds, dribbling the soccer ball with skill while looking at the communicator in one hand. ]

Does anyone here know how to play soccer? It'll really be a nice way to sp-

[ His words are suddenly cut off as he looks surprise for just a moment before the communicator falls to the ground and he goes off frame. He reappears laying on the green grass, facedown and gripping his left side of the body. The shirt he's wearing is already staining red from a tear on the side of his body at the lower rib area.

Rolling around onto his back, it's obvious he's in pain but he's not panicking greatly at all. ]

Agh..... Wh....ere? [ He is trying to look for where the attack, the bullet, came from, but the rapid blood flow is draining his strength quickly. Conan tries to put pressure above the wound, but it seems to not being able to do much. First aid is obviously needed... ]

(( ooc; Dr. Watson will be first on scene so any reply that's going to happen will be after that! Thank you ♥ ))
was_a_soldier: (run through shadows)

[video -> action]

[personal profile] was_a_soldier 2012-07-05 08:50 pm (UTC)(link)
[John lets out a breath in shock.]

Oh my god...

[Before quickly composing himself into doctor mode, recognizing the scenery around Conan and knowing here he needs to go to help the boy.]

Listen. Stay calm, alright? I'm a doctor. Keep pressure on the wound and lay still. I'll be there in a minute.

[John, ever calm in the face of medical emergencies, grabs his medical bag and gun, which he tucks safely into the back of his jeans in case the shooter is still around and takes off towards the mansion grounds. Speed is the key, in this instance.]
was_a_soldier: (shock and awe)


[personal profile] was_a_soldier 2012-07-05 09:23 pm (UTC)(link)
[When John finds Conan--in just a few minutes, but always far too slow for the doctor--he drops down next to the boy and pulls a pair of surgical gloves from his bag as quickly as possible. His eyes dart around, searching for the possible gunman as he pulls on the gloves and presses his hand over the wound. There's no one in sight, but who would possibly shoot a young boy like this completely unprovoked? If this was some sort of 'event,' Wonderland was becoming a far darker place then he'd originally anticipated.

He leans forward to get a better look at the young, pale face, worry twisting in his stomach but his voice calm and reassuring.]

Can you hear me? I'm Doctor Watson, I'm here to help, okay? Can you open your eyes for me?
willfixitforyou: (| resurfacing)


[personal profile] willfixitforyou 2012-07-05 09:29 pm (UTC)(link)
[Elsewhere, hidden by the neat treeline, Jim carefully takes apart the rifle and packs it up. He's seen Moran do it. The communicator is open and running next to him, and just as he'd thought, just as he'd timed, the good doctor was on the way already. Really, this was almost too easy.

He sets a long, sharp knife aside that he's pulled out of the bag, just as he sees the former soldier find the boy. In no hurry whatsoever he pockets the communicator and picks up the bag and places it enough yards away not to be found too easily.]
was_a_soldier: (the way you hold yourself says military)


[personal profile] was_a_soldier 2012-07-05 10:04 pm (UTC)(link)
[A relieved smile tugs at the corner of John's lips when Conan responds, but he doesn't let it overtake his face just yet. The graze is bad, and they weren't out of the woods just yet.

A vague shadow of threat rushed down his spine and John twisted to look over his shoulder and contemplate the gardens around them. When, after a few seconds, he saw nothing, the doctor returned his focus on his patient.]

Not at all. We'll get you fixed right up, okay? What's your name, then?

[He asked, getting to work on slowing the blood flow and examining the damage the bullet had caused. The boy would need stitches, and the fractured ribs that John assumed he probably had at the angle and depth of the wound, then he was in for a few weeks recovery.]
willfixitforyou: (Everybody loves me)


[personal profile] willfixitforyou 2012-07-05 10:26 pm (UTC)(link)
[Not yet, not yet. Jim watched and waited, checking the communicator again - dear Watson had been the first by some distance. The glance over his shoulder did not escape Jim, after all, this man had been a soldier, the precise reason he needed the man distracted in order to dispatch him easily. Immersed in the emergency treatment, hopefully.]
was_a_soldier: (poised by nature)


[personal profile] was_a_soldier 2012-07-05 11:09 pm (UTC)(link)
Right then, Conan. Nice to meet you. Though obviously not under the best circumstances...

[He said, smiling reassuringly and reaching for his bag. The bleeding had slowed, and he flushed the wound with a bottle of water before disinfecting it. Muttering an apology for the sting, though he was sure that given the situation the sting probably was nothing compared to the pain of the wound itself, John reached over to grab string, numbing agent and a needle.]

Stay awake, Conan. I'm going to stitch up the wound. While I do that, why don't you tell me about your home world, huh?

[He said, voice calm as he tried to keep the boy conscious. As he talked, John numbed the wound and began to stitch it shut quickly and with medical perfection. Hands moving fast and smooth, mind focused.]
Edited 2012-07-05 23:09 (UTC)
willfixitforyou: (But I'm feeling oh so good)


[personal profile] willfixitforyou 2012-07-05 11:15 pm (UTC)(link)
[Good. Dear John set to work, and Jim moved out of the shade, knife in his hand but out of sight. Measured, quiet steps, certain to stay out of the doctor's sight.]
was_a_soldier: (don't be fooled)


[personal profile] was_a_soldier 2012-07-05 11:42 pm (UTC)(link)
Conan? Con-- shit.

[John hissed, pausing in his stitching to reach over and fumble for the boy's pulse. It fluttered under his fingers and he allowed himself one breath of relief. But with the boy now unconscious he had to hurry to finish the stitching and get Conan inside. The doctor doubled his efforts, his hands were calm and steady.

A thrill of panicked warning raced down his spine, but he associated that with the condition of his young patient rather then anything in the world around them. He didn't hear the footsteps. He didn't see the approaching shadow or catch of light against the knife.

Tying off the stitch knot, John snipped the stitch string and reached for the disinfectant next to him, taking a calming breath.]
willfixitforyou: (You don't have to make a sound)


[personal profile] willfixitforyou 2012-07-06 12:29 am (UTC)(link)
[It was a precarious situation - for his success - not that he cared whether the boy lived or died. John truly was engrossed in his work here, just as dear Miss Carnahan had been before him.

Jim slowed, though not by much, just enough to reach John as he applied the disinfectant. When he struck, it was with precision, and more, much more quickly than people would consider him capable of. A quick stab from the side, risking John's peripheral vision, that would destroy quite indiscriminately: trachea, esophagus, veins, arteries. A hand hovering in place to hold John down should he try to rise or turn.

Lives were easily ended. And after all, people died, didn't they? It was what they did best.]
was_a_soldier: (please help me)


[personal profile] was_a_soldier 2012-07-06 01:09 am (UTC)(link)
[When the throat is slit, the blood leaves the head in a rush. One falls unconscious soon after. But in those spare moments between life and death, John comprehended what was happening. His muscles had no time to tense, to defend... And then there was pain. Then, he could feel the hot blood rushing down the front of his shirt, gurgle in his throat, even as he numbly tried to lift a hand to cup it in, to try and save himself.

John toppled over, writhing briefly in the dirt, clutching at his throat with one hand and clawing at the ground with the other. Panic, fear, pleasegodletmelive. His eyes, growing dark around the edges, darted back awkwardly to lock with those of Moriarty.

Moriarty. It was Moriarty. What was happening? He was dying. He was scared. Where was Sherlock...? Was Sherlock safe?

His fingers were numb. Silence filled his ears in a muffled hum, like being dragged under water, dragged slowly away from realty...

And then, far too terribly easily, the world disappeared in the tide.]
Edited 2012-07-06 01:10 (UTC)
willfixitforyou: (You don't have to make a sound)


[personal profile] willfixitforyou 2012-07-06 01:17 am (UTC)(link)
[Oh, dear. Well. He hadn't meant to meet the man's eyes, or for him to look at his face at all. It would've been better if he could've gone unseen, even though, he supposed, Sherlock would readily reveal him to his loyal companion one way or another. So he looked at John the way one might regard an experiment that has been done before, a specimen, a pinned down insect, perhaps.

Watched the life fade from his eyes.

At least it was over quickly, more spectators, sorry, other concerned inmates of this roomy prison were surely on their way, so Moriarty shifted John Watson's body and set to collecting his prize. He would be gone before anyone else appeared.]