(no subject)
Sherlock is perfectly confident in his ability to take on a vampire in hand-to-hand combat and survive, unless the vampire in question has significant training. That's one vampire.
He is also perfectly confident in his ability to take on any number of them at a distance with his laser in hand, at a distance being the operative phrase.
The situation he finds himself in, when he tracks down the lair of the conspirators at last, transpires to be somewhat chancier. There is little margin for error, and at the end of what is unquestionably the most violent fifteen minutes of his life, he is lying on a richly carpeted floor surrounded by clouds of dust and wishing there were two of him so he could delegate the job of calling Peter Beardsley to the other one. Surely Tony could have cooked up an extra while he was at it.
No, that is not a productive train of thought. Coughing hoarsely, he drags himself to his feet and finds a telephone.
He is also perfectly confident in his ability to take on any number of them at a distance with his laser in hand, at a distance being the operative phrase.
The situation he finds himself in, when he tracks down the lair of the conspirators at last, transpires to be somewhat chancier. There is little margin for error, and at the end of what is unquestionably the most violent fifteen minutes of his life, he is lying on a richly carpeted floor surrounded by clouds of dust and wishing there were two of him so he could delegate the job of calling Peter Beardsley to the other one. Surely Tony could have cooked up an extra while he was at it.
No, that is not a productive train of thought. Coughing hoarsely, he drags himself to his feet and finds a telephone.