Family or friend. He has to choose or Eurus will kill both 1of them. There was no other way. He lifted the gun to his shoulder. And pulled the trigger.
"Sherlock NO!"
Too late.
He felt himself falling. "SHERLOCK!" A familiar scent reached his nose. John's soft jacket brushed his face, luring him into a welcoming sleep.
"No, no, no, Sherlock!" It was his sister. Disappointment laced her words as she watched her brother's broken body on the ground. She was panicking. For some reason, Moriarty voice rang through the room yelling something about big bouncy red alerts. John hands were hovering over his shoulder, not sure what to do.
"Sherlock you absolute cock," John muttered, stripping off layers to reveal bare skin. He quickly took off his own jacket to stop the flow. Sherlock glanced up at Mycroft to see his face stark white and blanching even more every second. Medics suddenly burst in from the door carrying all sorts of equipment and John was shoved away. Sherlock barely had time to grasp his friend's hand before they placed an oxygen mask on his face and he slowly succumbed to the darkness surrounding.
—
"Sherlock you absolute cock,"
He opened is eyes to a blank wall. A heart monitor beeped next to him and his body was entangled in a series of tubes. He tensed, remembering the small episode of what happened last time when he was in a hospital. His shoulder ached as if a thousand needles were piercing it. Blinking furiously, he tried to clear his mind.
He shifted to get into a more comfortable position. An unexpected gasp escaped from him as he clenched his teeth to stop the pain. Finally regaining conscious again, he checked his surrounding. A plain white room, no windows or decorations. A plain picture of the six-year-old him was propped up on the bare table next. Groaning, he knocked the photo down. He has to find a way to get out of here.
The heart monitor pads went first. Peeling them off one by one, he then pulled out the IV line and the rest of the tubes stuck in his body. He was careful not to move his arm so much as he got out of bed. The hospital sheet hung loosely on his body, every movement causing pain to run up his arm. He managed a few steps before he realized another line still snagged him. Plucking it from his arm, he continued to take a few stumbling steps until he reached the door. Testing his shoulder, he pushed open the door. There was no one in sight.
Looking down the hallway, he made sure the coast was clear and started walking with one hand still grasping the bullet wound he so carelessly shot. He has to find where they're keeping John and his brother. The hallway was built the same as the prison so he's guessing he hasn't left the island yet. John must be in one of the holding cells. Sherlock starts to run.
He glanced back to make sure no one was following him. He was just about to turn at a corner when he quickly snapped back again. A guard was pacing at the intersection, gun held in his hand. If he could just…
Sherlock considered knocking the guard out and taking his uniform. The chances are slim to none, especially now with his injured state.
John.
He made up his mind. Waiting for the guard to turn his back, Sherlock quickly edged towards him. The guard whipped around, gun ready. Sherlock lashed out his leg, sweeping the man off his feet, punching him in the face. His head hit the floor with a heavy thud.
However, the victory only lasted a second because soon he felt warm liquid seep through as he gasped and clutched his shoulder again. He could feel the stitches ripping.
Not good, he thought, not good at all.
It won't be long till he passes out due to blood loss. Just as he went over to grab the man's jacket, a shout came down the hallway. Realizing that someone has discovered him, Sherlock abandoned the man's uniform and started running.
Stupid stupid stupid! He reprimanded himself. What an idiot! He just wasted time on taking out a man, injuring himself, and calling attention to other guards. What was he thinking! Of course, his sister must have drugged the medication. She wouldn't want him escaping.
He turned a corner and kept on running, hand pushing at his bullet wound trying to reduce blood loss. More guards were following now, around four to five chasing him and he estimated that there will be three more down the hall. The quickest route should take him only 20 seconds yet outrunning the guards will pose another problem. He was eight yards from the door, and Sherlock could almost sense John behind the sealed gates.
Something buried in his neck. Confused, Sherlock reached to pull it out. It was a needle.
"John," He managed. He was right outside the doors now, vaguely aware of the two guards at his side grabbing his arm. And then he crumpled into a muddled mess.