Thank you for the reviews! I love you guys. You absolutely made my day :DDD

And because I love you so much I wrote you another one. I hope you like it ;)

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The moments they spent sitting in silence were probably the longest minutes of Watson's life. He could just pray for the police and medics to arrive at the scene as early as possible. He had to shake his friend every now and then to make sure he didn't fall asleep, to never wake up again. All the time, Holmes was gritting his teeth, but he had given up on trying to keep a straight face long ago. His breathing was irregular and he stirred repeatedly, as violent coughs shook his body more and more often.

'You know…' Sherlock started whispering. 'I meant it w-when I said I was sorry about Brighton.'

'Forget it.' Watson replied shortly, grabbing Holmes's writs, which again moved instinctively towards the source of the pain. No matter how hard he tried, the blood kept flowing freely and Watson knew that having a bullet lodged inside of him for so long couldn't be good for Holmes. He was surprised to find that the other man was still trying to speak.

'And…ab-bout Gladstone. And tell Mrs…Hudson that I didn't…'he suddenly stopped, desperately trying to catch another breath.

'You can tell her yourself.' Holmes was a fighter. Whether he was boxing or simply living and the thought of him giving up was scaring Watson deeply. 'They'll open the door in a while and I'll get you to hospital and you'll be fine. Understand?'

'Liar.' Holmes's voice was barely audible now. Seconds later he was curled up against Watson again, as another spasmodic cough shook his weak body. The doctor's heart started racing when he noticed a few scarlet drops of blood on the collar of Holmes's shirt. They both knew he had minutes. Maybe less. Watson couldn't bear the pitiful sight in front of his eyes. He wanted his arrogant, smart-ass and eccentric friend back. Holmes's eyes started closing involuntarily, which earned him another slap on his right cheek.

'Tired…' Holmes murmured.

'I know, but you can't sleep yet, old boy.' As a doctor and a soldier, Watson has been in many situations of this sort before. But it was always someone else. Not family, not friends…not his best friend. The doctor became completely overwhelmed by his inability to help and before he realized, he was raising his hand to wipe a lone tear rolling down the side of his face. They could have stayed at home, Mary could have made muffins. Oh God, Mary would not be happy about the scarf…He was brought back to reality when Holmes almost slid out of his embrace. He drew his friend closer to himself, trying to communicate without words that all would end well. But was he trying to convince Holmes or himself? The wounded man started mumbling incoherently and he raised up his hand, which was now hanging in mid-air.

''m sorry…so, so sorry…' Holmes was looking ahead, as if there was someone standing in front of him. ''s'all my fault Irene…sorry…' Of course, thought Watson. He shook Holmes's shoulder delicately to bring him back to the realm of the living. His eyes were half-closed again, and he was still mumbling and seconds later his incoherent words turned into pain-filled sobs.

'Hey, it's ok. You're ok…' Watson rubbed Holmes's shoulder in an attempt to comfort him. Failed attempt to be more precise. The shock, the pain and blood-loss were taking their toll. Watson could only hope that the wound had not got infected, but he realized that a dusty, collapsed chemicals factory was not the most sterile place for a sick person to be in. He thought he would turn delirious as well because of how worried he was.

'Watson, I'm cold…' Ironic: a few hours before Watson would have come up with a witty reply, just to get Sherlock's tantrum out of the way. Now he was wrapping his dirty coat around Holmes's shoulders. He pressed his palm against the other man's forehead and found what he feared most. Even though Holmes was trembling, he was burning up with a spiking fever. The doctor had no idea how come his friend was still alive. All he could do was whisper a quiet 'thank you' to whatever deity was looking over him. 'so cold…' another sob escaped Holmes's lips.

It would not be a lie to say that Holmes had never felt this bad in his whole life. He just wanted to sleep and leave all the cold and all the agony behind, but John wouldn't let him. Why wouldn't he let him? He was just making things worse. The wound hurt even more because for some peculiar reason Watson decided to put more pressure on it and the man he always trusted with his life was now lying to him. He knew he wouldn't be fine. He had seen people killed by less serious wounds. He had seen people die even when they were surrounded by doctors desperately trying to save their lives. And he saw the expression on Watson's face. If he was supposed to die, he decided that the faster was the better. Being cradled by Watson like a little child might have been comfortable ( minus his current predicament), but he wanted to keep his dignity. And dear God…it hurt. God, if you're there, just make it quicker.

Holmes was so absorbed with unsuccessfully trying to suppress his constant whimpering, that he failed to notice a pile of rubble sliding down a few meters away and a group of police officers followed by medics with a stretcher running into the building.

Watson couldn't help but smile with relief. But as soon as he looked down on Holmes him miniature smile turned into a grimace. Holmes was even paler than before, and he was clearly struggling to open his mouth again. One last time, though Holmes.

'W-watson. T'was an honour. And…thank you for being my best friend.'

As Holmes closed his eyes he could hear Watson yelling something at him, but the words became impossible to comprehend. His head rolled to his right side and landed softly against Watson's shoulder. The pain, the cold, the fear and the nausea he had been feeling were all suddenly gone. So was Watson's voice.

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Please, don't even try to tell me that I am not evil.

It seems to me that Holmes and Watson have just lost the almost valuable piece :P Still, as evil as I am, I do have a tiny little bit of compassion remaining within me, so…

I would encourage you to *ekhem* REVIEW *ekhem*, and if you do review I might miraculously come up with a way of saving Holmes. Your clock is ticking and the game starts…NOW!

REVIEW and save Holmes!