I opened my eyes, finding myself in a carriage infront of Baker Street. Beth, I said to myself, don't ever let yourself fall for a nineteenth-century gentleman ever again.
The carriage stopped, and the driver helped me out. Fortunetly, Holmes had taught me about the Victorian currency, so I was able to pay the cabdriver without looking brain-dead.
I had no idea what I was doing, but I had a feeling I would find him here.
With one last look at myself, dressed in black, complete with veil, I hid my face and hands. Better not let him know who I am.
As I knocked on the door, I felt nervous.
"May I help you?" A stout women asked. She looked like the kind that woulld be a great grandmother.
"Yes," I took a long shot. "Does a Mr. Vernet live here?"
"Aye, that he does."
"I need to speak with him immediatly, please."
SHe showed me in, and up a flight of stairs. So this was what this place looked like then, not bad.
"Here you go, Mr. Vernet is still probably sleepin' like a baby." A far away look came into her eyes. "Just like another tenant here."
Sniffling, she left and I stared around the room. It gave off a Holmes-ish type of feeling. Something caught my attention at the window. A man, a very suspicious looking man, was standing on the street in a frumpy coat. Yard instincts told me this guy was no good.
"May I help you, madame?" A impatient voice said from behind.
It was Sherlock. Although he had put glasseson and died his hair brown, he was him.
"Oh, yes," I put on a slight Spanish accent,"my fiancee, Edmond Dantes, was a friend of yours."
"I'm sorry Miss, but I haven't the faintest clue of who you are talking about." He said even more impatiently.
"Oh, Vernet, I didn't know you had a guest, I'll-" a voice, much like Watson's, said from the door. When I turned I saw it looked like him.
"No, no, Watson,"he said, planting a hand on my shoulder, I was just showing this clearly mistaken women the door."
"No, Holmes!" I turned, him backing toward the window on surprise. "I won't leave, I-"
Somehow, I heard the man on the street place his gun into the position, it was a faint click, far away.
"You must cle-" Holmes never finished his sentence. I stepped infront of him, as a bullet shattered the glass and entered my back. I clung to him for support, the hat falling off and my face exposed.
It felt like fire going through every part of my body. I had never felt such a searing hot pain like that bullet. I couldn't stand, I sunk to the floor.
"Beth," he whispered. "Why did you try to find me?"
"Because," I grimaced. It was getting harder to breathe and talk at the same time, "I love you. I wanted to know why you left."
"I didn't want *this* to happen, that's why. Oh Beth I-"
"Shh, Sherlock, you did what you thought was right." We were silent. "Sherlock, this is rather funny, I don't see any light. I'm just going to close my eyes, alright?"
"No, Beth," I felt a tear on my face. He held my up to his face and kissed me tenderly. "Don't do this."
The last word I heard were "I love you."