He looks even more hawk-like now, John Watson decides, when he leers so close to the muted flame of their lamplight.
Sharp angles become even sharper, you see, when highlighted with shadow.
Holmes' is whispering something, perhaps to himself, perhaps to him; Watson isn't exactly paying enough attention. He should be, for it is dark (save for their flame), dangerous, and the paper that Holmes clutches between his spindly and shaking fingers is something Mycroft quoted as "necessary for the safety and security of our great nation".
Holmes is smiling now and Watson wants desperately to smile with him, to pretend that he didn't see the small and trembling child hiding in the rafters above their heads and the small and trembling pistol said child held tightly in his hands. Watson wants to smile back at Holmes, clap him heartily on his shoulder and follow dutifully behind as the detective leads them cheerfully out of this dank basement and back into a world that is bright and happy.
But those endings are meant for fairy tales, John Watson chides himself, and now Holmes is speaking quickly and softly and turns his hurricane gray eyes onto John himself, but John is still not listening. At the moment, he is running his own deductions through his mind and coming up with a list that he hopes is at least half as accurate as Holmes' are:
a young boy, obviously scared and just as inexperienced
perhaps a servant of Lord Carlton's, one that he forced into his plot—that means this child must be ordered to kill Holmes
notice how he grips the pistol with both hands? He is unsure and unsteady-
And then, of course, that's when the realization finally hits, because the truth of the matter always waits until the last moment to surprise you, doesn't it? A child clutching a gun and hiding in the rafters who must be there to kill Holmes is unsure and unsteady, which could only mean one thing really, for even Holmes himself told him once "whatever remains, however improbable, must be the truth". And the truth, Watson decides, must be this: the child does not know who is who. Now, that makes Watson's ultimatum both easier and harder at the same time, for he knows what he has to do and he is most certainly afraid to do it. But John H. Watson has been afraid before, and if there is one thing that fear does, it is this: it makes you aware.
Aware of what you must do, and John H. Watson knows what he must do; for Holmes and for his country (and most certainly for Holmes).
The dull throbbing in his ears that appeared when he first saw the child now begins to disappear and is replaced with the more familiar drone of Holmes' sombre voice, now raised to the excited pitch that Watson has come to know means the culmination of a case:
"- must admit, though, he chose quite a moronic place to hide such a worthy document, wouldn't you say? In his cellar cabinets, honestly. Mycroft will at least be pleased we've retrieved it. Safety and security, remember?" He chuckles lightly, and Watson takes a moment to appreciate his friend in all of his exulted glory, in this moment before-
"Come then, let us go." Holmes' voice scatters Watson's thoughts like a professional billiards stick, and each idea falls away until only one rolls to the forefront of his mind.
Time, the funny bugger, seems to slow, like all the world was dipped in a thick coat of molasses and Watson watches with wary eyes that he honed in Afghanistan.
Holmes' hand rests lightly for a moment on his upper-right bicep, a silent urge to leave, and then he passes behind Watson with the lamp in his left hand and the paper already tucked in his jacket pocket. Watson turns on his heel to follow, and sneaks a nonchalant glance up towards the rafters where the young boy still crouches, the glint of the pistol flicking between himself and Holmes. Watson's heart starts thumping loudly in his chest as he lays a hand solidly on Holmes' left shoulder and speaks loudly to the air: "Excellent work, Watson. Excellent work."
Then time speeds up again; Watson's hand falls, Holmes head snaps to his in confusion, and the sound of a gunshot rings out in the muted darkness.
John Watson notices two things as well, before it all turns black. First is the expression on Holmes' face; and second is the cold shock of a bullet entering his shoulder for a second time.