A Laugh
A barely visible tremor ran through Holmes' hand as he took the gun, accompanying the shudder that ran down my spine as Harrison's words sunk in.
And where the devil was Edgar?! Surely he should have alerted the Yard to our predicament by now? Or at the very least have found an officer who could have?
Perhaps it should have been strange for me to wonder about a friend who had yet to fully win my trust again in the face of my demise by my best of friends, but something in me could not let go of the idea that Edgar was truly willing to change his ways.
The irony of the situation I found myself in too, did not escape me. Change a few names, omit some details such as Holmes' involvement, and go back several decades into my life and the scene would not have been much different.
But especially in omitting Holmes' involvement, I grimaced, watching as my friend still stood indecisively for longer than was wise, the gun still in his hand. His eyes, which could usually tell me all that was on his mind, were unusually hazy, like he was purposefully guarding the decisions that would with any luck let us all escape with our lives. This cloudiness combined with his indecision shook my adrenaline rattled nerves all the more.
My anxiety was well-founded as not a moment later Holmes turned the gun on Harrison himself, firing a point blank shot and then launching himself at my captors and Alfie's, effectively taking them all down in their surprise. Moving just as quickly I felt the ties that bound my hands give way and the gag removed from my mouth as I was pushed in the direction of the back door.
"Run, Watson!" Holmes bellowed into my ear, grabbing Alfie about the waist to hoist the lad up over his shoulder as he sprinted towards the door.
Needing no more persuasion on my part, I hurried after Holmes as fast as my legs could carry me.
His hands quickly uprooting the heavy latch that barred the door, Alfie and all, freedom seemed within our reach until a shot rang out from behind and Holmes fell to the floor with a shout, instinctively releasing the boy just before he hit the ground.
"Holmes!" I heard myself cry along with Alfie, moving fast to his side and instinctively searched for wounds.
"Alright, Watson, just my leg," I heard Holmes hiss through clenched teeth, my own eyes and fingers confirming his diagnosis, but nevertheless the blood that had drained from my face refused to return. Shaking hands immediately ripping off my cravat I tied a rough but tight tourniquet around his leg, mumbling apologies as he gasped from the pain my actions caused. The shot had been a clean through and through, but the amount of blood he had already lost worried me, his face looked paler than usual and not just from the shock.
As always my face and its expressions were like an open to book to my friend, and obviously he saw the dread on my features at that time. But before he could try and reassure me I was ripped fiercely from his side by two too familiar pairs of large hands.
Holmes was also pulled up and I shouted in rage as the gun that had shot him was pressed into the wound itself by none other than Harrison. My jaw slackened in shock at the sight of the man; Holmes was an incredible shot and Harrison had been hit at extremely close range, how the devil had the man managed to survive, let alone shoot a gun? My answer came when I noted the dark red stain that now graced once impeccably clean jacket. He was wounded, seriously so, but even the threat of losing his life had not been enough to keep him from pursuit. This much was made chillingly clear as Holmes' face blanched in pain, and Harrison smiled back with sadistic delight.
"Now, Mr. Holmes, where would you like it? The head, the stomach, or the chest as you so wonderfully already bestowed on me?" The man grinned as he moved the gun to each vital spot in demonstration. The polite and polished demeanor he had oozed before gone, malice and contempt in their places, his ruined face made that much more horrid by the exchange.
Holmes, however, remained calm in the face of such evil; yet again displaying that iron self-control of which I have always envied him.
"Do not to be so dim-witted as to assume that you have gotten the better of me, Mr. Harrison. Even if you manage to put me in my grave, which so many more worthy before you have tried and still failed, do not think yourself to have escaped from my grasp."
His words, while so quiet, sliced through the air like sharpened steel and made even the evil joy in Harrison's eyes waver for a moment, but apparently not enough as the man began to laugh.
Dear God, what a laugh. A hyena's sounded saner.
"Oh but Mr. Holmes, whatever made you think that I was referring to you?"
Somehow I knew in that same instant we both realized just whom Mr. Harrison had been referring to, but it was an instant too late as the mad man whirled in my direction and pulled the trigger.
Author's Note: Yes, long time, no update. But surely this chapter makes up for it, yes? No? Let me know!
