A/N As much as I'd like to own these characters, they belong to Sir Arthur Conan Doyle.
Holmes did not react as I expected. In my years as an Army surgeon I saw many gunshot wounds, and I even received one of my own. Most men, including myself, shouted or at least reacted in some verbal way to the pain. Holmes made no sound whatsoever. He only grabbed his arm, and stumbled back a step or two, until he came to lean against the wall.
I was momentarily torn between lunging at Moriarty and tending to my friend's wound. But my sanity quickly returned, and I put down the lantern, reached for my medical kit and moved to Holmes' side. I expected Moriarty to oppose my actions, but he did not. For a reason unknown to me, he allowed me to tend to Holmes' wound.
I instructed Holmes to sit down, and when he did, I was able to get a better look at the injury. The bullet went entirely through his arm just above the elbow. It missed the bone, but did cause severe damage to the muscle and surrounding tissue. I cleaned the wound with some antiseptic from my kit, then wrapped his upper arm tightly so as to slow the bleeding.
It took all of me to hold back the anger I was feeling towards Moriarty and myself. I had been with Holmes on many adventures, and I had always been by his side or watching his back. I somehow felt that I was protecting him in some small way. He even once told me that he would not dream of stirring out without me if there was a prospect of danger (1). When I saw his wound, I felt as though I had let him down in some unforgivable manner.
After I finished, I told Holmes to remain seated. But he did not listen. He stood and vehemently addressed his shooter. "What do you hope to accomplish by killing me? Mycroft has his loyalties, and I know where they lie. He would see me die before he told you anything." His voice wavered slightly as he spoke, and I was unsure if it was due to the physical pain of his wound, or to the emotional pain of what he was saying.
Moriarty was enjoying the moment. "If it doesn't matter to him whether you live or die, what does it matter to me?" He raised the gun slowly, until it came to aim between Holmes' eyes.
I frantically looked to Mycroft. He was making eye contact with Holmes, and they were speaking volumes to each other while saying nothing. I could tell by the look in Mycroft's eye that his iron will was weakening. I felt that Holmes and I were close, but I knew that Mycroft and Holmes were closer, being brothers. Whatever mental anguish I was experiencing because of Holmes' situation, Mycroft was experiencing it ten times more.
I then looked to Holmes. His eyes had a glazed look to them due to the intense pain of his wound, but he seemed to be coherent. His eyes instructed Mycroft to remain silent, to share nothing. Holmes would rather die than see his country fall prey to an insidious evil. But I doubted that Mycroft could watch his brother die.
Moriarty, tired of waiting, cocked the pistol and prepared to pull the trigger. Holmes and Mycroft were still looking to each other for a solution until Mycroft broke Holmes' gaze and dropped his head, mumbling something unintelligible to Moriarty. "What was that Mycroft? I couldn't quite hear you."
Mycroft didn't move, but repeated what he had said, only slightly louder this time. His voice was saturated with defeat, his iron will shattered. "Queen Victoria is meeting with Lord Robert Cecil, President Loubet, and King Alfonso VIII in Saint-Lô, France, on August 19th at six o'clock."
"Mycroft, no…" Holmes collapsed against the wall, and slowly fell to the floor. His eyes had completely glazed over and he stared, looking at the wall, yet seeing nothing. Nothing mattered to him anymore. His world came crashing down as he realized that he had only been a pawn in Moriarty's master plan.
Moriarty laughed and lowered the weapon. "Now that wasn't so hard, was it? Don't we all feel better now? I have the information I need, Mycroft can go free, and Holmes gets to keep his life. But wait…" He placed his free hand on his chin as though he were seriously puzzled, when in fact, he was only mocking the three of us and our current situation. "Now that I think about it, none of you can go free. If I let you wander the streets without a care in the world, you have the opportunity to spoil my plans, and I don't want that."
As he spoke, he raised the loathsome weapon again, aiming it at Holmes. Within seconds, there was the metallic crack of a weapon being fired.
(1) The exact quote is, "No, my dear fellow, I don't think you can help me. There is no prospect of danger, or I should not dream of stirring out without you." This quote is found in The Adventure of the Norwood Builder.