Natasha's voice over the radio had just cut out and Sherlock was not happy with apparent the change in plan.
"Nat? Natasha?" He tapped his radio when there was no response. It took him all of a second to decide what to do, and he continued on his way, whatever he knew was happening would all be in vain if they didn't take out the complex. He steeled himself against the unknown and went to finish the job. Lengthening his stride, he made for the next detonation point. The one after that happened to be in what might be considered dormitories. He hesitated by the door once he was there, glancing in the window.
Two dozen or so beds were occupied, girls aged from about three or ten or eleven, if he had to guess. The problem was, he was quite sure any and all of them could and would kill him if given the opportunity. With a deep breath in, he pushed his way inside and started speaking quickly in Russian. He walked quickly through, using a universal key to unlock their handcuffs. "We've been compromised, everyone out. Return to the village, find shelter. Your time here is through, there will be no more training…."
Most of the girls were suspicious, but with a bit of prompting, soon they were shuffling out and helping each other get away. They were being trained as killers, they'd be fine in the Russian wilderness the miles it took to get to the nearby village. He hardly needed to babysit. He didn't have time to. A ten year old with a three year old in her arms were the last ones out, she looked like she was two steps away from finding a knife and stabbing him. But soon she joined the rest and Sherlock was alone.
He stepped to the corner to set the final charge, testing the radio link one more time. Natasha wasn't answering. There was no good scenario or eventuality in which that was the case. Dropping the empty bag next to the bomb, he pulled out his gun and went to find her.
Unfortunately, the mass exodus of girls caught the attention of one of the few armed guards still around, and the large burly man came running towards Sherlock from the other end of the hall. A bullet took care of that. He kept moving forward, following the trail of bodies just like she'd said.
Sherlock had no idea what he'd been expecting upon entering the room. But it certainly wasn't a small group of people watching Natasha stagger. He'd deduced enough to know that those people needed to die, and it looked like they hadn't been expecting him either. He deduced he should have been dead already in their minds. He'd think about that later. They were pulling out weapons, but Sherlock was faster.
Three bullets hit three foreheads in quick succession, even as Sherlock strode through the room towards Natasha, catching her as she fell.
He couldn't spend much time assessing her, but he knew it was not good. She was bleeding. Heavily. The dozen or so people on the observation deck reacted now, and they had weapons. So Sherlock didn't waste any time bolting towards the door. He snuck a peek at Natasha once it was closed behind them. Her red hair was messy, her skin pale, her eyes closed, and she was too still. "Nat?! Come on, wake up! We're getting out of here."
Natasha woke up with a sharp inhale and focused hazy green eyes on Sherlock's face. "I told you to leave me behind," she breathed out. "I told you to... Ah! Blow the place up."
"And I'm getting there, had to pick something up along the way." He quipped back, but his voice betrayed his concern. Long strides carried them as quickly as he could down the hall towards the exit. The door behind them flew open and the small group of armed individuals ran after them. "Actually…I think we should blow the place now, detonator is in my left shoulder pocket."
"Yes sir." Natasha fumbled for detonator with the hand that wasn't curved around her abdomen, and held it to her chest. "Ready?"
"Ready." Sherlock said just seconds before a bullet whizzed by. He swore in Russian, increasing his speed when a bullet clipped his upper arm. "Now!"
Natasha pressed the detonator without hesitation, curling further against Sherlock's chest when the force of the first blast made them stumble forward. Her body protested the movement but she grit her teeth instead of making a sound. She wasn't going to make it. She knew that much, but she wouldn't go out whining when there were still important things to say. She clutched the front of Sherlock's uniform with her now free hand and expelled a harsh breath. "Y'okay?"
"Fine, there's…" the second blast rocked the building again, a chain reaction from one to the next, they had less than a minute, "fourteen more of those." Sherlock said quickly, paying very little attention to the pain in his shoulder. His only goal was getting them the hell out of there. Logic ruled all else, but his heart was hurting right now, and it was his heart that was fueling his need to escape. To get her out safely. Still clutching her close to his chest, he burst through the door as the fifth explosion took down the hall they had just been in. The Red Room was gone.
Despite nearly falling, his feet kept moving forward, one in front of the other. Night covered the bleak Russian wilderness, but there was light enough to see coming off of the burning collapsed building behind him and the full moon overhead.
When he finally reached a safe distance away from the complex, Sherlock stopped. He sat down in the dirt, still holding her close, and switched the radio. "I need an extraction team now!" He called. "Location northeast, four hundred yards away from target. Widow is down. Repeat, Widow is down. Medical team needed STAT!" He heard the affirmative and an ETA, and then spoke to Natasha. "Still with me?"
"M'here." Natasha's breathing was ragged and her usually sharp senses were hazy, but she forced her eyes open. Two slits of bright green fixed on Sherlock's worried face, and pale pink lips lifted at the corner. "I think."
"They're on their way." Sherlock said quickly, adjusting her in such a way that he could press his hand into her abdomen to help slow the bleeding. He saw the damage, he knew it was bad, balance of probability suggested something he was in no way ready for. He met her eyes again, pleading with her. "You have to stay awake, I… just…stay with me, okay?"
"I want to..." Natasha placed a hand on top of the one he'd pressed to her abdomen and slick warmth immediately met her skin. "I didn't want to leave you... you know that... don't you?" She swallowed hard. "I wanted to stay, I…"
"Shh." Sherlock shushed her.
'Wanted.' Past tense. She knew she was going to die, and he wasn't ready for that. "I've got you, you're not going anywhere….you can't, please. I need you." He sniffed, his heart taking over his head in the sudden and undeniable fact that she was going to die in his arms. He needed her to know the truth, and then he uttered words he'd never expected to say.
"I love you, Natalia."
Natasha turned her face towards him. She'd been close to dying enough times that she knew the grogginess she was feeling was a bad sign. She couldn't open her eyes. She couldn't talk. She could barely focus, and even that was because, underneath everything else, her brain was registering something important she needed to address.
Sherlock loved her. Sherlock Holmes loved her. He loved her, and she loved him too, and she needed to tell him before it was too late, but her body wasn't cooperating.
The more she tried to focus on the words and push them past her lips, the more they felt like they were slipping away. I love you. I need you. I never wanted to let you go. All she managed was a shivering whimper.
She was fading too quickly, too suddenly, with too much left undone, and even more left unsaid.
I love you… Grasping at her last bit of consciousness, she squeezed his hand a little tighter until her body couldn't hold out any longer.
I need you… Her breathing slowed, her grip slackened, and she slumped, pale and unmoving, in his arms.
I never wanted to let you go...
"No, no, no, no, no…" Sherlock cried, shaking her slightly. "Wake up, please…did you hear me? I love you, you can't die. Don't leave me alone." He closed his eyes and pressed his forehead to hers and let out a stifled sob. "Please..."
The minutes felt like hours before the extraction team arrived. Just a distant sound, a dull throb in his ears in the wake of everything that had happened. Important, but he didn't have to register it.
Their helicopter landed nearby, the medics were already running towards them. The next few minutes were a blur for Sherlock. He was pulled away from the limp body of the woman he fell in love with, and manhandled to the helicopter by two of the agents. Illogically struggling to get back to her, he called in a strangled voice. "Nat!"
After being pushed inside and ordered to get out of the way, he collapsed into a seat. They brought Natasha in next on a board and took off. The helicopter ride to the nearest hospital was spent in a flurry of motion by the medics that contrasted the complete stillness of Sherlock. He didn't blink, he didn't move, he just fixed his eyes on Natasha as they struggled to keep her alive. They'd lost her twice, restarting her heart each time, in between hooking up intravenous lines for blood, intubating her, and injecting her with epinephrine. He knew the science, he'd studied what happens to the body in these precious moments before death. But it didn't matter, he was going to lose her and there was nothing he could do to stop it. No science, no logic, nothing. The great Sherlock Holmes was a broken man, a shell as he watched the woman he loved slip further and further away.
Natasha Romanoff, a dangerous woman with many names and many faces. He loved her, and he didn't even find that fact startling or unusual. Falling in love had been a slow process, but a sudden realization. He'd never done it before like this, so finding the words to describe it was difficult. Love was illogical, it would slow him down, distract him, compromise him. The crack in the lens, the fly in the ointment. But…maybe not. She was interesting, so he wasn't bored. She didn't steal him away from cases or missions, she joined him and helped him. She understood him. Perhaps this love was logical, to an extent.
He knew a few things, he cared deeply for her and would do whatever it took to make her happy. He would give whatever he had to in order to ensure she was safe and loved. She was indescribable and was a new puzzle every day. She was determined, and loyal, and strong, and intriguing, and cunning, and beautiful, and working to prove herself. She'd saved his life countless times.
He loved every part of her, every quality. From the way her eyes sparkled when she teased him, to the serious nature she applied to her work. From the horror of her history to the brightness of her life with him, Sherlock Holmes loved Natasha Romanoff with every fiber of his being.
And now he was watching her die on the floor of a helicopter.
Twenty long minutes later, they'd touched down at the hospital and Natasha was pulled away from him yet again. This time the doors closed and he was left standing alone. Her blood had stained his hands red.
For Sherlock, it would be a long two days. She disappeared into the operating room, and he'd been immediately grabbed by a nurse for his bleeding shoulder. He then spent almost thirty minutes answering questions for hospital paperwork. Name: Natasha Holmes, date of birth 22 Nov 1984… previous medical history, home address, known ailments, allergies, what had happened to leave her with three stab wounds in her abdomen? He'd given a generally vague story, to avoid any serious problems, and decided to forgo any discussion with the local police. Mycroft would cover it all up. He also changed her last name, just in case there were still people searching for her, seemed a good a decision as any. As her husband, he'd have better access to making medical decisions, if it came to that.
An hour later he'd been approached by another nurse and sent to clean himself off, he'd gotten a clean pair of scrubs to change into until other arrangements could be made. The hours dragged on while she was still in surgery, giving him time to contact Mycroft to explain the situation.
After she was out of surgery, he curled up in a chair beside her bed in the intensive care unit to keep watch. She was alive, and that's all that mattered, but she was still in critical condition. She wasn't stable enough to be in a private room just yet. Thankfully, the nurses decided to make an exception for him to stay with her, as opposed to kicking him out.
Two days of waiting passed far too slowly and gave him too much time to think. For if he had the courage to say those words to her, he was utterly terrified she'd never say them back.