I promised myself I would not write a word in another fandom until I finished my Sherlock Holmes movieverse story (which is at ten chapters, 2,000+ words each, and counting, by the way), but seeing as I'm officially stuck until I can either find someone knowledgeable in 19th-century chemical factories or get a book on it, I thought this couldn't be any harm. It is, after all, one of the best shows I have ever seen.
Oh, and big news: As of next Friday, I will be changing my pennname to OneDarkandStormyNight, or something akin to it, anyway. Just thought I'd give you a heads-up.
Hero
Somewhere in the back of his constantly whirring brain, a recollection drew itself up without his consent, partially distracting him from the potentially fatal situation playing itself out before him in that dark, chilly pool. His own words, perfectly recited in his unflawed memory, echoed throughout his mind louder than the half-strained command that came from his friend. As Moriarty mockingly praised the deed, Sherlock felt an alien panic rise in his chest and fought to control his physical reaction to it – the anxious reaction that made him bite hard on his lip, something he had not done since adolescence.
"Don't make people into heroes, John. Heroes don't exist."
Here now, both hands indiscernibly trembling as he aimed the Army handgun and watched Moriarty's honestly surprised expression as a formidable arm threatened to choke him, he realized that for once he had been completely and utterly wrong. Heroes did exist. Real, true heroes. Strong, brave, selfless heroes with noble hearts and gentle souls and fearless minds.
Such men were rare, he knew because he had never met one – never even knew one existed – until now.
It was with this knowledge that he refused to run. He would not allow one of the few heroic men left in the world to die as a sacrifice in the place of a man like him. If one of them alone was destined to die here, he vowed it would not be John Watson.