All rights for Sherlock Holmes reserved to Arthur Conan Doyle, or whoever owns the rights these days. I don't own anything (unfortunately).
Even now, as I look back and remember those days, they give me shudder. It was a hard time, in which Holmes and I were busy running around England, solving dozens of cases. As usual, Holmes did not mind who his client was, but only how interesting the case seemed to him, and so we found ourselves travelling England and even parts of Europe in order to solve cases. It was shortly after I sold my clinic, and so I was free to travel with him and write all about his adventures, a thing that we both enjoyed.
One of the cases we were working on was the complicated case of her majesty, the Queen of England. I cannot say much of it, as we have both given our promise to keep it to ourselves, but as I hardly believe this story will ever be published, I can tell about one of the events that made that case as important to me as it was.
Holmes and I have just returned to London when the Queen had contacted us. Both Holmes and I were exhausted after a two-month travel in Europe, yet when the telegram had arrived, a small smile found its way to Holmes' lips as he handed it to me. Despite his tiredness and the severe malnutrition he was in, the case seemed to have interested him, and I knew better than to try and change his mind. All I could do was ask Mrs Hudson to get him food before the Queen arrives, as he sat down in his favourite armchair and filled his pipe with tobacco. As first it seemed to me that he would refuse the food, and I was about to once again ask him to eat, before he quickly finished it, showing me just how hungry he was.
Once Holmes had heard all that the Queen had to tell us, we embarked on a long investigation, which at times led us to dead ends and desperation and at times led us to working full days, neither resting nor eating enough, when he thought we had a lead.
One of these days I remember as if it had just happened, even though it happened years ago. We were in one of London's darkest, most crawling with criminals, parts, following our victim-to-be. He had no idea we were following him, or so Holmes and I thought. We were as careful as possible, yet in some way he managed to find out that the Great Holmes was after him, and so he did all that he could to at first escape my friend's hand, and as time went by and he knew he could not, to lead us into a trap and solve his problem once and for all.
He had managed to lead us into an abandoned house, in which he and three of his men were waiting. I quickly pulled out my gun as Holmes used the techniques he learned so long ago in order to knock them out. It took but a few minutes before they were all tied together, all still alive but unconscious. Unfortunately, during our fight, the man we were following had managed to escape, leaving no trace behind, not even for Holmes. However, as we turned to leave we could both smell the smell of smoke. There was fire nearby, and I did not take us more than a few moments to realize the fire was burning through the house we were standing in.
"Clever," Holmes muttered to himself as we searched for a way out. There was no window on the second floor, in which we were standing, and the stairwell was already beginning to fill with fire.
"He would kill his own people?" I asked as I joined him in examining the walls. I was not sure what we were looking for, but when my friend's eyes lit up I realized there was no need for me to continue searching.
"I am too much of a threat to him," He explained before walking back. He then hit the wall, and I stared at him for a moment, not understanding what he was doing. It took a few more hits before I realized he was breaking the wooden walls. "The downside of his plan," Holmes explained to me as we broke the wall, "is that these walls, unlike brick walls, are easy to break. Wait." He stopped me as I turned to look through the hall we have made. "There will be people waiting for us on the road. We must be careful."
I stepped back, doing as he told me. He then quickly climbed up to the next floor, and I heard the noise of a gun firing. Holmes' quiet laughter assured me that he was alright, and amused, too. I only climbed after him after I heard him calling my name, and as I climbed up to where he was waiting for me, I looked down and realized what it was that amused him. There were five men on the road, all holding guns, but none of them managed to hit either of us. They were either very bad snipers or, as we were about to find out, a distraction for the man that was waiting for us on the roof.
"Holmes!" I had just made it to the roof when I saw my friend falling down. I ran towards him, but before I arrived to him he jumped back up, holding the other man's gun. He aimed at him with one hand while reaching out to help me stand with the other. "Are you alright?" I asked, worried.
Holmes nodded. "Where is-" He started asking the man.
He was cut off by the sound of shooting. The bullet that was shot from behind us was stuck in the wooden roof, but it achieved what it was meant to achieve – turning both of us towards the shooter. "Release him, Holmes!" It was the man we were chasing. "Or I shoot your friend."
I aimed at him. "I can stop him in one shot," I quietly said to my friend, whose gun was still aimed towards the man behind us.
Holmes nodded briefly, a nod that was barely seen by anyone but me. I knew him for long enough to realize what he was planning. "Shoot when I tell you, and then follow me." He whispered to me. I nodded briefly. "No, you won't." He said calmly, turning back to the criminal.
"Are you challenging me?" He retorted.
Holmes once explained to me how he sees the human mind. One of the things that came up in our conversation was the way criminals' minds work, and what allows him to capture them as easily as he usually did. He told me that people that are being challenged tend to tell more than they would have told otherwise, and that criminals tend to see more things as challenges than regular people. It may be an inner desire to get caught or pure stupidity, but either way, it was true to all criminals. As I stood in front of that man, I realized that he was right.
"I am stating," Holmes replied, remaining calm. "If you hurt one hair of Watson's hair, even by accident, I will kill you." It was not a threat. It was a statement of fact. Once again, I found myself amazed at how much Holmes really seemed to care about me, even if he would never say that.
A derisive smile crossed the criminal's face. "It would be a threat only if you could kill me." He replied, half ignoring me. From the corner of my eye I could see Holmes nodding briefly to me. I pulled the trigger, and was not surprised when the bullet found its way to his right arm, in which he was holding his own weapon. He dropped it, and I turned to my friend… and fell down as I felt excruciating pain in my left leg.
I heard two more shots before I could feel Holmes' hands around me, supporting me as we made our way to another roof. He helped me lay down before quickly turning to examine my leg. "Are you okay?" He breathed out, and in his voice I could hear how worried he really was. It was one of the very few times he revealed how deeply he cared for me, and I could not help but be grateful to hear it. Even though at times he acted like a machine with no feelings, I knew that he did feel things, and those occasions proved it to me time and again.
"I'm fine," I gritted my teeth as Sherlock gently touched the wound. "Is he dead?"
Holmes nodded. "Better for society," He muttered. "We should get you to a hospital," He added as he fired a few shots in the air. I stared at him, not understanding what he was doing. "The men from the Scotland Yard would be here sooner," He explained. I laughed quietly. Seeing me slightly more cheered up, Holmes smiled as well, finally relaxing for a moment. A minute later I could feel his long fingers gently pressing against the wound, in the hope that he could stop the bleed. "You will be fine," He assured me. His grey eyes went unfocused for a moment as he stared forward, ignoring the fire behind us. "I should not have asked you to come." His voice was quiet.
"I would not have missed it for the world."