"Meditation" from Thaïs- 4:04
Jules Massenet (comp), Fritz Kreisler (violin)
Oh, no. No, no, no, no….
He was lying on the floor, convulsing, eyes rolling to the back of his head, curls flying and already streaked with sweat. I crossed the room in three quick strides, hand curling automatically around the mobile in my pocket. My knees bent mechanically to the floor as I felt at his neck active pulse, bullet wound to the chest.
Bullet wound to the chest.
My vision blurred and I saw, again, Sherlock's body as it had been that day, crumpled and bloodied on the pavement outside of St. Bart's. No.
And it was as it had been, for a moment, as the army doctor inside me took control- my index finger pressing 999 into the mobile, "Hello? Yes, I need an ambulance now. Bullet wound to the chest, maintaining pressure…" And this was true, as the phone had been lodged against my ear and shoulder and my hands had torn away at the cloth of Sherlock's shirt, compressed over the wound while the blood leaked from between my fingers. His mouth was moving soundlessly, everything twitching horribly.
"No, Sherlock, ssh, don't speak, you'll be ok, you'll be fine- " I told it to him firmly, as if there was no other choice.
"Mm..Mmaah…"
"Ssh, no, don't, don't speak, Sherlock, stay with me."