Did I nearly get you? Thanks for the great response, here's chapter 35 - I think everything will make a bit more sense after this, so...

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Enjoy!

"What? No, I won't!" I nearly shout the words into the phone, but Scottson laughs again.

"You can choose. Either Mr Holmes or Miss Adler."

I know that I need to think. I need time, because I can't kill Sherlock and I can't let Irene die. If I don't kill Sherlock, Irene dies. If I kill Sherlock, well, then Sherlock dies.

But he didn't say anything about killing, did he? He said you were to shoot Sherlock, not to kill him, says a little voice in my head, and suddenly I know what I will do.

"Okay. Okay, I'll shoot Sherlock, and you will let Irene go." I whisper and try to ignore the guilt.

"She will be in the church. You have forty-eight hours." Scottson says and ends the call.

I lean against the wall and slide down until I sit on the ground. My phone says it's four pm. Today is Tuesday, so on Thursday, four pm, I will have shot Sherlock. I fight back the tears and start thinking.

I am home at eight o'clock. Sherlock doesn't really notice, he's on the couch and in his mind-palace. I am glad he is, otherwise he would have noticed something is wrong. I put the newspapers, sweets and games away and then leave to have a shower. The hot water touches my cold skin and I sigh when my cramped muscles relax.

My plan is risky. I need some knowledge from Sherlock for it, and it already feels like betrayal to ask him for something like this, for something so it will be easier to shoot him. And there are very many variables in my plan, things I cannot control. But I have to do this, to save Sherlock as well as Irene.

Two years ago I would have laughed at a person saying that I'd risk Irene's life for Sherlock's. My life for Sherlock's. But it's true, and he is one of the most important persons in my life now. It's not that I am in love with him, he is just one of my best friends. Weird, when I think of it, considering who Father was.

I turn the shower off, dry myself clean and put sleeping clothes on. They are nothing fancy, a purple tank-top and black bottoms, but for some reason I like them more than any of my others.

Sherlock is still in his mind-palace when I go into his room. I giggle when I see him like this because it is a rare sight to see him like this for so long. I wonder what he's thinking about. The time goes by as I get a book, sit down in a armchair and watch Sherlock.

It's dark when Sherlock breathes in sharply. I don't mind, I know it's the shock of being in the real world again, so I smile at him.

"Coffee?" I ask and he nods. We never drink tea. Sherlock doesn't because of Watson and I don't because of Sherlock.

While I'm waiting for the kettle to boil, I gather my thoughts and try to think of a good way to ask Sherlock. The best way would probably be the easiest, just asking him. He wouldn't mind, it wouldn't take more than two seconds to show me, and he knows my jumping train of thought. We're quite alike in that way. We'd be thinking of one thing in one second and of a completely different thing in another.

The coffee is ready, so I take the two mugs and put one on the small table next to Sherlock.

I ask him about organs in the human body, about arteries, trying to sound as I always do, curious, but not all too much bothered if I don't get an answer. It seems to work. The detective sits up and starts explaining, once even touching my stomach to make his point clear. I try to remember it all, as it certainly is a lot to take in, but in the end, I know pretty well what to do. He smiles and sits back, sipping his coffee.

I nod at him, and enjoy the rest of the evening with him. I know that whatever happens tomorrow, Sherlock's and my friendship might not recover. It would be hard for me, but I know that I deserve it. And so I enjoy these last hours, drinking in his presence, remembering his face, his deep voice, how he talks, how he moves... I'm trying to burn him into my brain, so that I will not forget him. And I won't.

I look around the small warehouse I chose to use as our 'meeting-place'. It is perfect, easily accessible and close to a hospital. My phone alarm tells me it's quarter to eight pm, and I call Sherlock. That's another good part, I know that Sherlock will need about ten minutes to get here, so I have time to organise everything.

"Kiara?" Sherlock asks annoyed, but I think I can also hear a tiny trace of worry there. He always says I shouldn't call him, it supposedly slowed down his thinking and was annoying, but he knows that I will only call him if something is wrong.

"Sh- Sherlock, please, we made a mistake." I cry and I don't even have to fake it all. My heart is breaking because of what I am going to do, and it helps and hurts at the same time to hear his voice.

"Kiara, what's wrong?" He asks, and now he's definitely worried.

"We forgot one big thread. I found him. Or rather, he found me. Please, Sherlock, hurry!" My voice breaks when I say his name, and I hope he misunderstands it as he is supposed to do.

"Kiara, where are you? Tell me where you are!" Sherlock says loudly and I stutter out the address. Sherlock doesn't say anything any more besides to "hold on", and disconnects.

After a glance at my watch I call Mycroft. It's five to eight, Sherlock will be here in about five minutes. Mycroft answers on the second ring, I called a number for emergencies that only Sherlock and I have.

"My, please, you need to come quickly!" I nearly shout into the phone, glad that the tears are still running.

"Kiara? What's going on?" Mycroft sound worried instantly.

"Sherlock, he's been shot, I don't know how long he can hold on, I-" I babble and I know it, but it is enough to convince Mycroft that I'm in shock, conclusion, what I said is true.

"Where are you?" He interrupts me sharply, but I don't mind. I quickly tell him the address and have to repeat it twice because I mumble and speak so quickly.

"Okay, Kiara, I'll be there in ten minutes. Keep calm, we'll be there soon."

"Please, Mycroft, hurry!" I cry and disconnect.

I have ten seconds to muse about the irony that I said nearly the same sentence to both of the Holmes, with one difference. One time to prepare for shooting Sherlock, one time to save him.

Do you know why that's Kiara's favourite pyjamas? Virtual cookies who gets it right...