I opened my eyes, almost immediately being blinded by a light shining directly in my face. I winced at the brightness and began to come round a little. My head began to pound and I realised I had been knocked unconscious by something hitting my head. Oh, had Sherlock's skills of deducing rubbed off on me.
When I had woken up a bit and managed to turn my head away from the shining lamp, I tried to work out where I was.
"Sh-Sherlock?" I whispered, as if he was right next to me. "Oh my God, Sherlock, Sherlock help me."
I went silent to see if I could hear voices, or any clues as to my whereabouts.
I gathered enough energy to produce a bellowing call of Sherlock's name, and immediately I heard a reply.
"John? JOHN!"
Loud footsteps came closer and closer with each passing second until Sherlock turned me to face him directly.
"You're alright, Sherlock!"
"This isn't about me, this is about you! Are you alright? What happened? I've called Lestrade and the police teams to come here but right now it's just me. I just ran past Moran, I had to find you, I-"
Suddenly, Sherlock's eyes widened and focused on mine. He went silent and his body became stiff. I didn't dare look at the figure emerging behind him, the figure that was Moran.
"You found your friend then, Sherlock. Well done. James would have been so touched."
"Don't panic," I mouthed to Sherlock, the loose and relaxed man who had turned into a senseless and tightened robot in under a mere 5 seconds.
"James? James is dead. Moriarty is DEAD." He spoke with a vicious tone, while keeping his eyes fixed on mine.
"You should be, too. Six foot under with the man I loved."
"But I'm not. I'm standing right in front of you."
Moran chuckled a little and the corners of his mouth curled into a smile.
"Sherlock, go!" I attempted to yell, but my voice was too weak and it produced a quiet whisper. Moran turned around and towered over me. It was intimidating, but it didn't stop Sherlock trying to pass him to get to me, to set me free from whatever I was attached to.
"He's so loyal, isn't he? Like a puppy."
From a distance, Lestrade giving orders and demanding several things from police officers could be heard. His voice was loud, deeper than usual. When he entered the shed, it bellowed, filling the entire room. Sherlock took several steps closer to me, until my hand could reach his.
"Sebastian Moran, of course. The man following in the footsteps of a criminal."
As each word was spoken, a single police officer would retrace Lestrade's steps until they reached the shed. It was comforting to know I had back up, people willing to help me, but it also made me uneasy thinking about how unprepared they were. They were just standing there, guns in hand, all waiting for Lestrade's order. It was like Gregory was the shepherd, and the officers were sheep. The officers who were the last to enter just stood there meekly, hands in pockets & eyes wandering, like this wasn't a case of life or death for one John Watson.
"Why hello, Lestrade isn't it? Ah, I've heard plenty about you and your little team."
"Let John go, Moran, your time's up. You've been caught."
Moran began to laugh- not a small chuckle, but a belly aching laugh, as if this amused him greatly. I looked puzzled and wriggled around a little. Sherlock grabbed my hand and held it tight, perhaps to comfort me, perhaps to stop me unsuccessfully moving around. He didn't look down at me, he didn't mutter a single word- for a moment I found it hard to believe he was breathing, he stood so still & calm.
"You think you can catch me? I've killed people and your little friend Watson may be the next in line. A long, long line. You've come the closest to me, I'll give you credit where credit is due. There is something you seem to be forgetting, though, and for a man of your logic and intelligence, you would've thought it would be the first thing that popped up in your tiny brain when you thought about how to catch me. I've been taught by the greatest. I know every trick in the book. Moriarty gave me his knowledge and let me see the world from his perspective. I was given the chance to complete his work, finish what he left behind, and I knew exactly how to do it."
Suddenly, I felt the end of a gun touch my head lightly.
"He will die." Moran whispered, so that only me and Sherlock could hear his cold words.
I squeezed Sherlock's hand to show I was scared. I was terrified. I didn't want to die. Sherlock looked at me with tears in his eyes as Lestrade walked closer towards Moran.
"We can sort this out. Let's just leave John out of it, he's innocent, he hasn't done anything wrong."
"It's not about him doing anything wrong. He just happened to be in the wrong place at the wrong time."
"Sherlock, go to Lestrade, go now!" I loosened my hand and allowed him to move. Instead, he grabbed it with both of his hands, tears beginning to stream down his cheeks.
"John, I can't leave you, I can't lose you, I just can't." You could hear there was a lump in his throat that stopped him from saying anything else.
"You have to, Sherlock, for me. For everyone. Go." It took every shred of courage I had left in me to say that. Of course I wanted Sherlock to remain by my side, keep me safe, but in my eyes, Sherlock came first. His safety was my main priority. For a split second, I had forgotten about Moran and his little monologue and his gun that was aimed at my head. It was all about Sherlock. I loved him. I loved him with every bone in my body, with all of my heart.
Lestrade continued to walk over slowly with his hands held up, almost as if he was surrendering. He reached Sherlock, whose hands were still tightly clasped around mine, whose eyes were filled with tears. Sherlock pleaded with Lestrade who pulled him away from me. I turned away- it was unbearable to see him cry. I shut my eyes tightly, trying to prevent myself from crying and preparing myself for the inevitable. I felt his hands slip away. I heard his frail voice call my name. He fought back tears with every last ounce of strength that he had just to say 4 little words that made my life complete.
"I love you, John."
The rest was a bit of a blur. There was crying, shouting, distress in one corner of the room; tension, suspense and a little bit of fear lurking in the opposite direction. My eyes were closing, my breathing slowed. It was like my body was shutting down, as if it knew what was going to happen to me. And with that, screaming, footsteps, and a gunshot.
Yet I felt no pain. My body restarted itself almost instantly, searching for a little piece of searing pain that the gunshot would've caused. I tried to make sense of it all, and before I could realise, I had been released from the chair Moran had placed me in.
"Sherlock? Sherlock, where are you?"
I panicked a little, then I remembered that I hadn't heard his voice until the gunshot.
"SHERLOCK!"
"It's okay, John, I'm here." His arms wrapped around me and held me close to his chest.
"I'm so sorry, Sherlock, I'm so sorry."
"Mycroft?" Sherlock whispered. I pulled away from him and looked up at him, confused as to why he said his brother's name at this moment in time. His eyes were fixed on a man coming closer towards him. His footsteps became louder and louder, until I could clearly see, even with blurred vision, that it was Sherlock's elder brother. Despite the current situation, he remained elegant in his movement, holding the handle of his umbrella and allowing the body to balance on his shoulder. He stopped a few steps away from us, took his umbrella from his shoulder and clutched the handle tight.
"Little brother. John."
"Was that you?" Sherlock asked, unsure what Mycroft's reply would consist of.
"Was what me?"
"The shooting. Moran, he's been shot dead! None of us did it."
"Oh, that."
I looked at Sherlock with confusion, practically mirroring the expression on his face. He removed his hands from where they had remained since I had found him, around my waist.
"We'll never speak of this, yes?" Mycroft whispered. Was this some sort of out of body experience for him? I would never have even considered Mycroft being a suspect, never mind the culprit.
"You did this, Mycroft?" I whispered back. He could sense the shock I had, and simply shook hands with Sherlock and me, and walked away elegantly. I could see Anthea waiting for him to be close enough for her to say something without the entire room being able to hear her.
Sherlock called Lestrade's name and rushed over to him, busying himself with this crime. Some part of me also think that he was trying to protect his brother, the man he had once called his enemy. They were still enemies, never quite seeing eye to eye, but this was just one of those once-in-a-lifetime moments where they did what they felt was right for each other.
I kept my eyes fixed on Mycroft and Anthea. They were obviously immersed in conversation, but every so often he'd point behind him, back to me, back to where I sat in that chair, back to where I stood with Sherlock. I caught him turn his head around and look at me, but I looked somewhere else so that it wouldn't be too obvious that I was staring. With Mycroft knowing everything about everyone, I wouldn't be surprised if he found a way to blame someone else for the killing of Moran, or if the inquest suddenly hit a dead end. Maybe the world would never know of Moran's name. The man who killed our beloved Molly, simply to live up to Moriarty's name.
I checked to see if Mycroft was still watching me, until Sherlock grabbed his hands around my waist from behind me and fixed his head comfortably on my shoulder- one of the circumstances in which him being much taller than me came in handy.
"Ready to go, soldier?" Sherlock asked quietly. He was so close that I could hear every breath he took clearly.
"I haven't been to war since I returned & first met you. Why did you call me a soldier?" I replied, confused.
"There are many reasons for many things, John. You ensured it was me who survived if Moran pulled the trigger. You were brave."
"You were brave, too. I mean, I would never have had the courage to barge in here and try and save someone who was trapped in a chair and being held at gunpoint by a psychopath."
"I had to try it. I couldn't lose you."
I turned my head a little to see him and looked straight into his eyes.
"I love you, Sherlock Holmes."
"I love you too, John Hamish Watson."
"Just promise me something?"
"Anything for you. What would you like me to promise?"
"Don't fake your death and hide away for a year again."
He chuckled a little, removed his arms from my waist and grabbed my hand.
"I promise. Now let's go, it's going to take a while to get home, and you're driving me home, remember?"