London Aquarium. Come immediately. SH
Sherlock's last text message continued to echo through John's head as he sat in the cab. Mary had already gone off but John had to drop Rosie at Molly's first.
"Here, please." John practically dropped his wallet trying to pull out the bills. He quickly stuffed them in the cabbie's hand and sprinted in.
The hallways were dark and gloomy, the rippling water casting an eerie shadow on the walls. John wasn't sure where to go, aside from the faint voices coming from farther up the hallway, the shark tanks. It wasn't much but it was a start.
When he reached the shark exhibit Mycroft, Sherlock, Mary and a gray-haired woman were still there.
"Maybe I can still surprise you." The woman said quietly. Out of nowhere, she pulled out a gun. Terror for his wife, his friend flooded through John, but he was frozen in shock.
Bang! The gunshot echoed throughout the chamber. The bullet seemed to slow down as it raced towards Sherlock. There was an look of genuine fear, etched across his normally unemotional face.
And suddenly, Mycroft was there, running straight into Sherlock and shoving him down towards the floor. "Sherlock, down!" He cried out, as they both fell over.
There was a moment of silence. Then, two police officers came rushing in and handcuffed the woman before taking her away. Yet John only had eyes for Mycroft, the man who had saved his best friend's life. But at the expense of what?
John and Mary ran over. There was a small puddle of blood forming on the floor.
"Mycroft..." Sherlock stared down at his brother, with a lost expression. He didn't know what to do. John crouched down and pulled back Mycroft's jacket. "Oh, Jesus..."
The bullet had passed through just underneath his collarbone. John didn't have the entire human anatomy memorized, but he had enough knowledge of it to know that a major blood vessel, most likely one of the jugular veins, had been hit.
"Press your scarf on the wound." John instructed, but both he and Sherlock knew that it was no use. Even if the an ambulance got here in time, the paramedics would have to navigate through the maze of tunnels in and out, and Barts was ten minutes away.
"Sherlock, I need to tell you something," whispered Mycroft, "About your sister."
"Sister?" Sherlock asked, looking up. He wasn't crying, but his face looked a bit odd.
"Call Sherrinford," Mycroft murmured, "There are things you need to know..." he coughed once and stopped.
"What things? What things do I need to know?" Sherlock pressed urgently, almost desperate. "Mycroft?"
"Redbeard." The last word was barely audible, but loud enough for all of them to catch it. Then his eyes closed for the last time as Mycroft Holmes died.
Sherlock stood up, clutching his blue scarf, still red with blood. "No. No, no." He shook his head, still in denial. "Mycroft, why? Why me?" And just like that, he slowly walked out of the enclosure.
"Sherlock?" John called, alarmed, "Where are you going?"
Sherlock didn't answer. He pulled his collar up tighter and started running.
"Wait, come back!" Mary shouted, but Sherlock was already out of earshot.