"Why don't we play a game?" the shadowy figure asked as he came around the table where I found myself handcuffed, a single bright lamp hanging from the ceiling. My head spun as my vision began to clear, the corners of the dark room coming into view. The stinging sensation that I felt in my neck remained where I was sure I had been drugged. My memory of the incident was too scrambled to remember what I happened to be doing at that moment but I could make out that I had stepped out of a taxi onto Baker Street before it goes black.
"It's a fun little game," they continued, "Full of action. Adrenaline. Luck. And of course my personal favorite…murder or suicide, depends on your view." A door suddenly slid open and I saw someone thrown into the room. The shadowy figure walked over to them as two other men came into the room pulling the man to his feet.
"John?" I asked the air as his face came into view. It was beaten and bleeding.
"Don't worry," he tried saying with a long string of drool mixed with blood falling from his mouth, "Sherlock is-" The figure struck him before the two men moved John to the chair beside me.
"There are certain rules to my game," he continued with a cheery voice as he pulled a silver revolver from his pocket, "One bullet. Five chambers. One shot each until death." He pulled out the chair across from me and set the gun down between us.
"No," John muttered, "Let me play! Let her go!"
"You can play the winner," the man replied, "And there will be one, but, my dear, why don't we make this more interesting?" He lifted the gun and loaded one bullet into the chamber. The purr of the metal against itself sucked the air from my chest, "If you win then I'll let you and Captian John Watson go home. But if I win then…well. Sherlock Holmes loses two things that he holds very, very dear."
Despite what this man was saying, I already knew that if I won they would kill us both before we even had a chance to leave the room.
"W-Who goes f-first?" I stammered.
"Why," he smiled with beautiful white teeth, "Ladies of course." The shrill sound of metal on metal was amplified in the room as he offered me the gun. I closed my eyes for a moment feeling my pulse radiating from my chest through my fingers as I reached for it.
One in five.
"Don't do it!" John cried before a sickening thud came from the back of his head. He gurgled trying to say something else but it was incomprehensible as my hand wrapped around the grip. The barrel banged off the table twice as I lifted it to my head. The cold metal against my temple reminded me of Sherlock's hands, which were almost always cold. The smell of blood reminded me of the bloody nose he had gotten after I punched him when he discovered my real name.
I'll never get to feel those hands again.
Or hear him say my name.
Or smell that cologne.
"Take a breath," the man said and I did, "Nice and deep. Remember, we're playing for keeps so you've got to calm yourself. Just count to three."
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Click
I threw the gun to the table as though it were on fire.
One in four.
"You took that a lot better than I was expecting!" the man said excitedly, "Oh but the look on your face was just precious! Is that a tear I see?" Coming back to myself I felt sweat everywhere on my body. My hair was beginning to stick to my neck and forehead as he lifted the gun from where it landed.
"From my experience," he said looking at the designs on the gun, "It's much easier if you close your eyes." He raised it to his temple with his eyes still open, staring into mine.
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Click
"Please," John whimpered, "Don't make her do this!" Another blow against his head.
"Stop it!" I yelled, "Leave him alone!"
"If you would hurry this along one of us could get out of here very quickly," the man hissed as he slid the gun over to me. The shrill sound made my skin and tears crawl down my face.
One in three.
I had to reach with both hands in order to keep the gun from clattering back onto the table, like the time I almost dropped one of Sherlock's teacups after he saved me in that alley.
The barrel had warmed; it no longer felt cold against my head.
"John," I whispered, "I'm sorry…"
I closed my eyes remembering Sherlock's voice telling me to figure this out.
How many times had it clicked? Ten? Twenty? If every click was a chamber…
My heart pounded. It was so hard to think even with imagining Sherlock telling me what to do.
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Click
I exhaled with a loud sob as the gun fell from my hand and onto the ground. My chest heaved with relief. My heart running like a racehorse making my fingers feel numb and cold.
"Oh why are you crying?" the man asked as he got up from his chair and stood beside me, "We haven't even gotten to the best part yet." He slowly bent down and picked up the gun from the ground. I couldn't bear to look this time as I felt the mood of the room shift as it had before to the silent anticipation.
One in two.
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Click
"Oh wow!" he exclaimed as I uttered a hysterical shriek, "I've never gotten this far before! You should consider yourself lucky." He leaned in close to my ear and his breath felt cold as death. He carefully grabbed a strand of hair and stroked it against my cheek, smearing the salt water that was pouring down my face.
One.
The first person that appeared in my head was my mother when my flesh touched the handle. I missed her so much and I knew that she would never know what happened to her little girl who ran away from home. She would never get a chance to say goodbye.
Then the faces of all the people I had ever hurt came into mind. That woman with the twins I pinned with credit card fraud. The baker whom I stole a custom birthday cake from for his wife and that man I left at the altar who didn't even know my real name.
Finally Mr. Holmes, who had seen through every trick, dismantled every story and eradicated all doubts that I had that there, was no good in this world. That selfish, egocentric, cocky son of a bitch whom gave me the best birthday present I could have ever asked for.
The barrel was against my temple once again as the man sat on the table in front of me. He leaned in close enough that I could smell the minty mouthwash he had used.
"Pull it," he whispered, "Or would you like me to do it for you?" I felt his hand over my own and his finger carefully moving down my hand to the trigger. My body was rigid but my eyes drifted to John who was coming in and out of consciousness. The man behind him had already pulled out his gun and seemed to be waiting for me to end it first.
"Wait!" I said quickly as I felt his finger beginning to press down, "I can do it. Go sit down."
"Delaying the inevitable isn't going to save you," he hissed, "But I guess if you want me to be the last thing you see. How can I deny such a request?" He slid from the table and sat back down on his chair with a large grin on his face.
"John," I called trying to bring him back to consciousness, "John, do you think Sherlock will forgive me?"
"D-Do-Don't do it," he moaned as I took a breath as I had been told to.
"T-t-three," I stuttered trying to remain calm, "Two….One."
I heard the chamber click into position and felt the striking hammer pull against the trigger.
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Hey! Thanks for making it all the way to the end! I know I said it's a One-Shot (Russian Roulettes usually have just one shot ;) bah-dum-tiss) but this story has been an inspiration for me to write a full length fanfic about this girl and all the things in here about her and Sherlock. I may change this story in the fic but I thought it sounded pretty good enough here as the second draft to post and see what ya'll think about it. I'd love to hear some feedback. I feel like I really suck at the whole intense scenes and I also wanted to practice that with this. Cause perfect practice makes perfect stories :D
So if you could leave me a review and maybe even a little comment about how to go about putting this into a full fanfic I'd really appreciate it!
Also don't forget to check out my other stories!