"RUN!"
Holmes grabs my hand and pulls me forward.
"RUN!"
A shot rings out above us.
"Watson, listen to me! He has a gun! He'll kill you! RUN!"
I can't keep running. Holmes curses and, wildeyed, drags me into the next alley way we barrel past. Our pursuers dash on.
I fall back against the wall. And then he doesn't say a word, merely takes my hand and presses it to his face. He is horribly striking, street lamp light outlining the vigorous cheekbones.
"We said we'd rid ourselves of that morbid business."
"That's only another kind of running away."