~HIS WEDDING GIFT~
by: WhiteGloves
I love Sherlock Holmes Movies! MORE! ;)
Enjoy the story!
When she shouted that he wasn't breathing, my mind went blank for a second, and even the quickest nerve in my whole system seemed to freeze numb. As a doctor myself, I am accustomed to emergency calls, but never to Holmes' sudden life call.
The moment I saw him lying on Simza's lap as pale as the white snow enveloping us at that moment of escape, I knew he was in trouble. I went out of my way, ignoring my own left side injury I had just finished putting back together to look at him. There was a cold shiver on my spine when my finger tips touched his neck and confirmed the lack of pulse. I told anyone who would listen to do as I bid without a clear idea of what I was saying. That was the purpose I was trained- to be a medical personnel who can give instructions no matter how dumbfounded I am be.
I was not dumbfounded. I was scared.
"Come on! Come on!" I hissed in a hurry as I pumped his heart. Seconds passed and still there was no response. I was afraid it might be too late. A sharp curse slipped out of my lips as I saw my friend fade away before me. That was when I promised to god he will not die on me. Slamming my fist on his chest and to anywhere else my hand could reach I called him, "I know you can hear me you selfish bastard!"
It was the thought of losing him- my best mate- that drove me to hurt his unresponsive body. Hands pulled me away from him and a warm, sympathetic embrace was given to my shoulders.
And I was lost. Looking at his body- lifeless and unmoving- a sad feeling of loneliness enveloped my heart, like a hole was suddenly dug in it. What was I without Sherlock Holmes?
That was when his pale body reflected my dog's similar feature of being on death's door. My poor Gladstone immediately barked his saviour- a thin, packet of syringe hidden at the best pocket of my coat! Holmes' own making- his wedding gift!
Jumping to my coat pockets, I carefully, but hurriedly grabbed the thin gift and quickly stabbed it on his body. There was no resp-
"AhhhHHHhhh!"
Holmes jumped up and cried for what's good for him. I stand appaled with the others, looking at him with our mouths hanging open. He was in panick- I saw it in his eyes. He was muttering about me marrying my dog and Mary, and then something about a fork. Gladness swept my numb feet as I reach to him and gripped his arm. A feeling of warmth spread on my cold body as I feel his shaking hand.
"What did you do?" asks he.
"Your wedding present." I answered, showing him the drug I used.
He shouted something about not feeling his chest with spits flying after the syringe I threw on the floor. I whispered as low as I can that it was because of me beating him to pulp, but my concern was different. He was alive so I decided to keep him at that as I escort him to a seat to make him comfortable.
"Why is my ankle so itchy?" he asked looking around in his panic state.
"Because you have a large piece of wood sticking out of it," was my answer as I pushed him to sit.
He looked about to collapse and my worry did not cease. My friend, the cherished mate I have always tried to help from since we met was wavering from life and death. I cannot afford to lose him- I have saved his life so many times that I always think he already owe me. But that's not quite right, is it? After all, he has also saved me, not more than he almost got me killed, of course.
He was still talking- more than he used to, probably the effects of the drug I gave him- about an important job to be discussed, and if I called him a selfish bastard. I answered him as politely as I can; he was in dire need of my attention after all. He muttered a curse about me. I had to be severe and had to tell him to behave else he would meet his life's end through the lost of blood. He had just suffered a shoulder injury from a previous encounter with the most ruthless man I've ever heard of. We have just escaped the most dangerous hunting event we've ever had, escaped the most dangerous gunman I've ever known, and escaped the place where bombs and guns were firing at us, and yet- he didn't seem to be troubled for his worry was this…
"Sorry about the train…"
I looked at him. He looked sincere. He was sorry about my honeymoon.
"Me too." I meant this because I swear I can remember punching him then. Then an idea occurred to me, something that has crossed my mind long before when he was nearly buried in bricks when I fired that canon to save him. If I want my friend to be safe then there's only one place he can be even if it meant locking himself in his room for years. "I think we should go home."
"I concur."
His quick response made me look at him in disbelief.
"We're going home. Via Switzerland." he finished.
I raised an eyebrow as I listened to him. He was still after Moriarty.
I wanted to object for his sake. Knowing him, he will not stop on lose ends until he reaches his goal… but to what end? Fear gripped my heart as we set out for Switzerland. A feeling of dread was constantly in my heart for fear that he may have survived the first and second attempt to his life, but of the third? Not even Sherlock Holmes can be that lucky!
As I ponder over this, only one question has formed in my mind. Why go after Moriarty too much? Was it a chain of events? Was it the game of knowledge? From Adler's death, to me and my wife's death threat, I know Holmes is not just doing this for the purpose of a check mate. I know Holmes well enough to believe that.
In one way or another, he can be like Moriarty, but my friend chose not to be. That is why I believed him to be the greatest.
No matter how our story might end, I always ask for the safety of this lone man, working against all odds to save those who are innocent, those who does not know how to fight, and best of all for those whom he cares too much about. And I pride myself to be one of those people.
The End.