[Sherlock might've been horrified that his aluminum net just got shredded like it was made of cheese, but he doesn't really have the time to process it. He's just finished loading the ammunition into his gun when the claw strikes him. His coat receives the brunt of the damage and gets torn, while Sherlock himself falls backwards. The only thought to really race through his mind is not to lose his hold on the pistol. He hits the ground flat, spends maybe a second dazed, then quickly sits up and pulls the trigger.
Blam. What's fired Hyde's way is a clot of nasty, very sticky glue. How much of that hit its mark?]
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Blam. What's fired Hyde's way is a clot of nasty, very sticky glue. How much of that hit its mark?]