It was just another normal day. Atleast as normal as it gets in the life of one Sherlock Holmes.
His feet slapped the wet cobblestones as Holmes ran in pursuit of Tobby Montgomery, the murderer who had claimed the lives of eighteen people. The murderer who was to become the victim thanks to the brilliance of the greatest detective in all of England.
Holmes rounded the alley and came face to face with the criminal. Fortunately the murderer was cornered cutting off his plans to escape. But unfortunately he had a revolver pointed at Holmes' face while Holmes did not have his.
For all his brilliance, thought Holmes, how he managed to forget his revolver(again), he would never know. But he was not greatly worried as he was sure that John Watson, his doctor and friend, was just moments behind him. All he had to do was buy some time.
"Finally caught up with me, have you detective?" Montgomery sneered.
"So it seems. Not that you were clever at hiding from me. Tell me Montgomery how long do you think you'll be in prison? I'll wager about twenty years. Though the people's choice obviously will be to hang you..." Holmes smirked, seeing the anger clouding in the monster's eyes.
"Shut up" roared Montgomery "I shall enjoy watching you die a slow painful death. As for me I shall not go to prison. For after I kill you I plan on making an escape through personal allies of mine"
"Oh don't be so sure on that. I assure you that you will atleast rot in some dark, dingy cell for the atrocities you have commited" Holmes retorted.
But now he knew he had gone too far as a two shots rang out. He felt something impact on his stomach. But hadn't there been two shots? Was he hit somewhere else? Even the fact that his blood was now gushing down his did not deter the detective from deeply and thoroughly analyzing the facts.
Just then the sound of a body falling to the ground drew his gaze from his wound to the murderer's lifeless body in front.
So one shot hit his stomach and the other hit Tobby Montgomery. But the shots were simultaneous. So ... so he can't have killed himself , right? Ugh, why was it taking so long to figure it out. That left one shot. It must have been fired by...
Slowly his knees gave out and he would have fallen to the cold ground, had it not been for a pair of strong arms that caught him from behind and lowered him gently to the ground.
His failing eyesight informed him that his savior was Watson.
"Holmes can you hear me? Answers me old chap." Watson asked, slapping Holmes' cheek for a response.
"Wassn..." Hmm why wasn't his tongue cooperating? He meant to say Watson but it had come out badly slurred. Had he been drinking. If that was so then why was there a pain in his stomach? Maybe he should rest. Yes. It would be nice to sleep.
"Holmes. Stay with me, old boy. Stay awake" Holmes was rudely awaken by Watson shaking him.
"Wassn...tired" was all that came out when Holmes tried to explain his predicament. He was growing confused now. Why was he not able to speak I'm full sentences?
"I know, Holmes. But you can't sleep yet. You've lost too much blood" Watson's face was filled with concern and fear.
Holmes pondered why Watson was concerned until an agonizing pain distracted him from the query. His back arched and he would have screamed had his vocal cord not chosen that moment to disobey him. He clawed the ground, seeking an escape from the pain. The cause to the sudden pain was suddenly clear as Watson removed a now blood soaked jacket (Watson's own, Holmes noticed) from his wound.
"Holmes, focus on me. Don't go to sleep. Lestrade will be here any moment now ad we'll be back at home soon, alright?" Watson said soothingly, hoping to keep Holmes awake.
"Hurrs Watson. Make it stop" Holmes gasped.
"Sshh, it'll go away soon. Trust me" Watson continued to comfort Holmes.
But the sleepless nights, the chase and now the blood loss had taken its toll on Holmes. His last drifting thought was his Watson's voice telling him that it's alright. His dear Watson.