This is my first Sherlock Holmes story. Hope you enjoy it!
Disclaimer: I do not own Sherlock Holmes or any of the characters.
Summary: My life has always been like a game of Russian roulette. Sherlock's POV.
Russian Roulette
My life has always been like a game of Russian roulette. Not surprising, given the line of work I'm in. I find it appropriate to metaphorically compare my way of living to a deadly game of guns. Watson's always saying how suicide is not a concept that befits my character, and I have to say I agree with him. However, given the cases I've been involved with as of late, and the predicament I now find myself in, I believe I'm contradicting myself.
Watson and I are on the hunt for Lord Blackwood, and I have just discovered Reordan's place of experimentation, when a sweet unknown odor reaches my nose. I wheel around as Watson announces the source of the smell: two arsonists who have come to torch the place down. I watch, my dread skillfully masked, as the man named Dredger squeezes into the room. The bullet is loaded. "Meat, or potatoes," I calmly ask my friend, to which he makes a smart reply, and our forceful attack begins the fight. And so the chamber begins its spin. The fight takes me and Dredger to the ship yard, where I am temporarily knocked unconscious, and nearly flattened by the ship escaping into the sea. If it were not for Watson putting his life in danger to pull me down, I would have been taken out by the giant post of which the ship was formerly tethered. As Watson and I slowly sit up, I find myself thanking Fate for the luck it seems to have granted me. Click. Misfire. We both live to see another day.
Watson and I have just rescued Irene from being slaughtered, and we begin to make our escape back to the boat. But I knew it couldn't be that easy. As soon as I run out onto the wharf and see Watson standing there staring down in shock, I know all Hell is about to break loose. And break loose it did. And Fate once again loads the gun. Even before my friend puts his hand up and yells my name, I know it's too late. The chamber spins, the trigger is pulled. I first see the explosion engulf my friend, and as much as I want to run to him, to make sure he's alive, I don't. Instead, I turn and run, and another explosion goes off beside me. I remember grabbing Irene and trying to make my way back to where Watson is, but a final explosion knocks us to the ground. The next thing I remember is Clarkie pulling me to my feet, telling me there is a warrant out for my arrest, and that I need to run. And I do. Click. Closer this time. Too close. The bullet only one chamber off. But I escape, and Irene and Watson are alive, and that's really all that matters. My luck holds fast, and I stop Lord Blackwood, though it seems his gun rang true. But still, luck can only hold on for so long.
It's true that I've never faced an opponent quite as devious and cunning as Professor James Moriarty, but even knowing his reputation, I'm too cocky and arrogant to believe I can be beaten, and so I raucously pursue him. It's not until I'm dangling from the ceiling with a meat hook lodged in my shoulder that I truly understand his sick twisted mind, and the lengths he will go to win. I hear the sound of the spinning barrel. Watson comes to my rescue, as always, and he and I, along with Simza, make it to the train. I lay there as Watson stitches his wound, and I wish, not for the first time, that I had never involved him in this mess. I listen to the soft gypsy song that Sim hums, and I realize I have never felt true exhaustion like this before. I'm so tired, and all I want to do is rest my eyes. So I close them, blissfully unaware of my body letting go, and slipping off into the darkness. I'm told later of Watson's grief-stricken reaction, and his quick remembrance of his wedding gift and plunging it into my heart, sending adrenaline through my veins and shocking my body back to life. The trigger is pulled. The bullet is in the firing chamber…but the gun is jammed. This is the point when normal people would decide to stop pressing their luck. But, then again, I'm not normal, am I?
I feel the bite of the crisp air; see my breath form in puffs of fog. Moriarty makes his next move on the chessboard, trying to explain his reasons for wanting to start a world war. I never understood why villains did this, as if by pitching their plans to their enemies they could make them understand. But I know the truth. I know how evil he is. He stands, turns his back to me, and walks away from the board, declaring that the game is over. I wish I could see his face as I explain my plans, revealing how I had stolen the red diary, and at this very moment Mary, Lestrade, and countless other officers of Scotland Yard are deciphering the codes contained in the pages. He turns to me, and now I can see his face, which reveals surprise, intrigue, and barely controlled rage. He walks towards me, and I make a clever comment about my shoulder, calmly asking if he would light my pipe. I know I've won, and so does he. He obliges my request, but then makes a statement about seeing to the demise of my dear friend and his wife, and that makes my blood run cold. I look him in the eye, and scenarios of a soon to be battle run through my head. But this time it's not that easy, not with Moriarty playing the game. He has plans of his own, more clever than mine, and unfortunately they all end negatively for me. He smirks at me, and I smile back, knowing what I must do. I had hoped it wouldn't come to this, but it seems I have no choice. Not if I want to keep John safe, to protect him, to save him as he has done so many times for me. Deep inside, I always knew this is how it would end. To tell the truth, I'm okay with it. I look once more into Moriarty's eyes, then make my move, blowing the embers into his face. While he's distracted, I quickly grab hold of him and brace my feet, preparing myself. Then the door opens, and there's John. So many emotions run across his face as he takes in the scene before him, and I know he's aware of what's about to happen. I look into his eyes, which are begging me, pleading with me to please Sherlock, don't do this, there must be another way! There's not, my eyes sadly answer back. I'm sorry, dear brother. I truly am. I close my eyes, and I can almost feel Fate's presence around me, hear the soft click of a gun being cocked. And as I push off and pull Moriarty and me over the balcony and into the icy spray of Reichenbach Falls, I pray that my luck holds strong one final time. I take the gun from Fate's hand and pull the trigger.
And wait to see if I live or die.
Please review!