Sophia was unexpectedly strong considering her size, and Sherlock realized quickly that he was struggling to get the upper hand over her. She thrust a knee into his ribs that left him breathless, and a second knee to his groin made him double over before he could control his body's instinctive reaction. She laughed after that, her voice shrill, and managed to get one finger around the trigger of the gun. Immediately, Sherlock twisted the barrel in her direction and watched as she gritted her teeth, her grip on the trigger going abruptly lax. No, she was not stupid enough to risk having the bullet go in her direction.

"I don't know why it has to matter so much!" she shouted hysterically, raking her nails across his cheek. It stung, but Sherlock ignored the pain, fighting to get his hands around her wrists. If he could just subdue her – "You people all walk around like you're so high and mighty just because you've got a soul mate. It shouldn't make a difference. We should be judged on our own merit, not on whether or not we were lucky enough to find the person who matches us!"

"You won't find me arguing," he snarled in her face, and she was so shocked by that that she stopped fighting. He seized the advantage, slinging a leg over her waist and pinning her effectively. Both of them were gasping for air, but he continued regardless. "I went for over thirty years without having a soul mate. It didn't make a difference to me whether I ever found my mate or not. But you, you who searched out your mate so determinedly, clearly it does matter to you. You can tell yourself all you like that you just wanted to eliminate the possibility of a connection forming, but really you're just holding a grudge against your mate for not having found you earlier."

Sophia stared up at him in stunned silence. Her eyes filled with miserable tears. "I could have shown him," she whimpered. "If I could've found my mate, I would have proved to him that it doesn't have to be about that. You can find happiness even when your mate is dead. I would have shown him!"

"Sherlock!" Lestrade rushed over to them before Sherlock could formulate a response, and it was just as well. He wasn't sure what he would have said to the weeping woman beneath him, but it probably wouldn't have been kind. "Alright, Mycroft's men have got you covered. Just get up slowly and you, Miss Smith, don't make any sudden movements, or they will shoot."

She nodded, sobbing freely now, and Sherlock slowly removed his hands from around her wrists. When she didn't move, he eased his weight back until he was kneeling on the ground beside her. Now that the fight was over, he could feel pain both phantom and real all over his body. He checked over his shoulder, searching instinctively for John, and that's what gave Sophia the opportunity. Before Lestrade could move in and arrest her, she seized the gun, put it to her head, and pulled the trigger.

The retort was deafening. Sherlock stared in shocked silence as blood and brain matter splattered his face and clothing. The body fell over slowly, most of the face gone, and hit the ground with a dull, mushy thud. He had seen many bodies in his line of work, but most of the time they were already dead. He had never seen anyone be killed before, nor a body quite as fresh as this one. He looked down at the corpse, which was no longer recognizable as Sophia Smith. Blood was oozing out from what remained of her head and forming a rich, dark red puddle that was beginning to soak into the knees of his trousers.

A hand on his shoulder startled him and he flinched away. Lestrade backed off quickly. He was speaking, his lips moving, but Sherlock realized he was unable to understand what Lestrade was trying to say. Somehow that didn't seem to matter. He watched the man in mute silence until Lestrade abruptly stopped, an expression of concern coming across his face. He turned away and then John was there, kneeling in front of Sherlock with his hands out in a placating gesture, obviously meant to show that he meant no harm – which was stupid, because of course John meant no harm, it was John.

"Shock, I think," John said quietly. There blood forming on his right side where the bullet had struck him. The thin line stood out starkly against the white of his shirt. The words reverberated around Sherlock's head and he realized that he wasn't sure whether he was hearing John inside or outside of his head.

"John," Sherlock said, or at least he tried to say, there was a possibility it came out oddly judging by the look on John's face. Slowly, John reached out and wrapped an arm around Sherlock's shoulders.

Come on, love, he said. Let's let the paramedics look us both over and then we'll go home, okay?

The case –

It's been solved, Sherlock, and there is no more for you to do here right now. We can go home. It's alright.

But our statements, Lestrade always wants them. Normally Sherlock wouldn't have cared about that in the least. It was very strange to realize that suddenly he did care, that he didn't want Lestrade to be angry at them. He tried to look around for the man but John stopped him with a hand to the side of Sherlock's head, forcing Sherlock to keep his eyes on John.

Don't worry, I assure you Lestrade won't be mad. You can talk to him later, John said softly. Come on, now. Can you walk? He stood up with remarkable ease considering that the wound on his side was beginning to hurt worse, and then he gently pulled Sherlock up and guided him away from the body without letting him once look away. They walked over to one of the ambulances, where several paramedics were waiting. John sat him down on the edge of the ambulance and then sat down beside him.

The paramedics worked swiftly, examining the both of them to make sure that there were no lasting injuries beyond bruising. Sherlock was sore, but it would fade in time: Sophia hadn't landed any blows hard enough to break bones, fortunately. He watched in a detached way as the paramedic decided John didn't require stitches and wrapped him up with gauze and bandages instead. John submitted to the treatment in silence, casting worried looks in Sherlock's direction. It was hard to say who was more relieved when the paramedic finally declared them both fit to return home.

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