The clock ticked incessantly on the mantle piece. Holmes closed his eyes but could feel the beat of his heart echoing every tick. He ground his teeth and placed a finger either side of his head and pressed. How fragile life was, how easy it would be for his enemies to take him now? Would he resist them? Maybe it was time to go, he could not fight an organisation so huge, so utterly corrupt as this one. He could not fight the one man in all the world he feared, and he had never feared anyone. This man was different, powerful, there was something otherworldly about him. He had never seen such evil, such a compulsive will to destroy. He opened his eyes and wrapped his arms tightly around himself, he gazed into the fire and saw a face smile mockingly back at him, he held it for a while before turning away. This was the end, he knew it and for the first time in his life felt an overwhelming urge not to die, he wanted peace and stability, wanted to sit quietly by this fire until the rest of his days. He sighed, where was Watson? Watson, the only regret he would take with him to the grave and to the grave was where he had to be.
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That was hard! But whoo 221 words baby… : )