fandomhighdorms | Magic Reserves & Support Services, Wednesday After Classes

There was an adult man standing near the reserve leaders that afternoon. John Watson was keeping to himself, for the time being - he'd been invited here by Raven, but he had no intention of interrupting the children. Instead, it was Dolf who started to speak at first, a smile on his face like he hadn't just spent two days running around looking like a girl. "Hi," he said, "We have talked about being hurt before, but it is also a good idea to pay attention to what to do if others are, and you can help. We have a doctor here who will be telling you all some things about first aid. Bandaging and so. I know some of you have magic to heal people. You can talk about that too."

He was nodding, maybe subconsciously, at his fellow reserve leaders on that score. They knew more about that.

"As with everything, magical and regular healing require a balance," Karla said with a nod. "Regular healing isn't instantaneous and requires supplies that you may or may not have on hand: bandages, splints, silk and needles, stuff like that. Magical Healing, however, may also require supplies--which may be harder or more esoteric, depending on the magic user--and usually takes a heavy toll in energy from the caster, the patient, or both. Debating which is more appropriate to the occasion is important, even if you are a magical Healer."

"It might be a good idea for those of us who can heal magically to note our limitations," Raven said. "If there are any types of injuries you cannot heal or have difficulty with, or how much of your strength or resources are consumed. Perhaps there are ways we can teach one another. I would certainly be interested in such an exchange of ideas." Though her own gifts were without limit. Well, almost.

John had watched and listened until it sounded like they were through. Then he coughed. "My name is Doctor John Watson," he began, "I'm a clinic worker. I'm here today to demonstrate some first aid." Pause. "Non-magical first aid. Bandaging, the use of anti-septics, a few basic steps, mouth-to--" Wait. Teenagers. "Nevermind that." He coughed. Again. "You'll be practicing on each other, I've brought some supplies," he gestured at the table, where there were bandages and iodine and other such things. A few basics up front: the point is to preserve the wounded person's life until professional help can arrive at the scene. Don't move the wounded too much. Ensure that they can breathe, and if possible, that they are in the recovery position."

"Always make sure a wound is clean, by use of, say, ethanol or an equal antiseptic." He then picked up a bandage and motioned for Dolf to come closer. "There's a particular technique to bandaging a wound. You don't want to cut off the flow of blood by packing the layers too close..." He proceeded to go through all the steps of bandaging a pretend wound on Dolf's arm. The boy held still and attempted to smile through the enforced standing-upright, though his arm was quickly starting to protest.

Though it was done, after a few minutes. Dolf's smile became real then-- "It might also be important to know how to make a sling for a broken arm..." --and promptly fell again. Sigh.

Tara couldn't heal magically, so she'd been quiet (and, all right, a bit jealous) as Raven and Karla spoke, but she watched the demonstrations with clear interest. She'd taken a first aid class, but refreshing her skills was always a good idea. "For our activity today," she said, once Dr. Watson seemed to be done torturing Dolf, "we're going to pair up and practice bandaging each other. There are supplies over on that table, and, uh ... please give it a try. This could all be really important someday."

She just hoped that day wasn't soon.

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"Like a lemming," John supplied. He was starting to develop a headache.

"A lemming implies they have no clue."

"Yes," said John. Simply. Smiling in a way that wasn't entirely earnest.

Sherlock shot him a look. "Afghanistan."

"I never claimed to be any better," John pointed out.

"Good." Sherlock smoothed his jacket. "Good."

A beat.

"I'll need your laptop to answer questions on my website."

Conversational whiplash - such a comfortingly familiar thing.

He sighed. "You can borrow it, if you go back to the hotel now. It's there."

"Good. Now that you're done hiding with it."

"I have not been hiding," John snapped. "I mean, I haven't been hiding. Just a fair bit of work to catch up on." Yes, he knew lying to Sherlock was futile.

"Right."

"It was very off-putting."

Sherlock rolled his eyes. "It wasn't as though you had breasts."

"No one who doesn't ordinarily have breasts is supposed to get them on loan."

Or look as gorgeous as Sherlock had. At least now things were back to normal.

They weren't even that large, John!

"Apparently here they do," Sherlock replied coolly.

They were large enough by existing at all! John preferred his Sherlock as a talking head in expensive suits, as anatomically correct as a Ken doll. By far less confusing.

"Apparently!"

"I'm sure it will happen to you next time." And then Sherlock will test things on you.

... Dirty.

"I certainly hope not," John snapped, shoving his hands in his pockets.

"It would only be fair."

"If this happens again, we're returning to London," John ~~sulked~~ said.

"While you're still female?" Sherlock asked thoughtfully.

"What?"

John stared at him. "No!"

"You really need to learn to deal with these things better, John," Sherlock replied. "I'm sure your therapist would agree with me about this."

And ask about repressed homosexual urges for mentioning being attracted to his flatmate as a woman. Metaphorically.

"You think my therapist is an idiot," John said, flatly.

There were no repressed homosexual urges here, for god's sakes.

Of course not! Which was why Sherlock detested therapists. They were all idiots.

"Which isn't terribly different from most people."

And John still read his therapist's notes upside down, though this one only sighed about it and kept on writing.

... Then again, it had taken his old one a while to move on to complex ciphers, too.

"As you've also said," he noted, "After expressing a severe dislike of the last one."