Here's chapter 36! Again, I'm not sure whether this is actually possible, but for the sake of the story, let's just pretend that it is :D

Enjoy!

The bell of the church chimes eight times and I wipe my face. I'm pretty sure my face looks normal enough, if everything goes like in my plan, Sherlock won't have enough time to notice anything. Then the front-door slams and I lift my gun, the gun I stole from Sherlock nearly two years ago.

Sherlock's eyes widen with surprise when he sees me, pointing a gun at him, with no big thread anywhere threatening me.

"Kiara, what...?" He starts to ask, but I pull the trigger. The bullet that I dipped in a sedative tears through his side, hopefully not damaging anything too serious. Sherlock gasps and fall to his knees first, then on his side. The sedative seems to help. It's not enough to knock him out, just to blur his senses and make him stagger a bit. His eyes widen even more for a moment, then he squeezes them shut. He is in much pain, and it breaks my heart all over again. I walk over to him and force my voice into a sneer, "Well... The great Sherlock Holmes, at the ground at last."

"Kiara, what...? Why?" Sherlock gasps, and it hurts to see him on the floor like that, completely vulnerable. I want to cry, to fall down to my knees and put pressure on his wound, to tell him everything will be okay, but I mustn't. So I laugh cruelly and answer him in a way that will definitely hurt him.

"It was about time. Did you really think I have forgiven you for what you did to Father? No, I did not. You were very helpful in destroying Moran, but I think I can do the rest without you." I use my foot to turn him from his side to his back. Sherlock only groans because of the pain.

"Great Sherlock Holmes does have feelings after all! Maybe not really feelings, more like the ability to bleed and die, but still, close enough. Anyway, Johnny-boy will be very sad when I tell him you were alive. But he won't be for long, don't worry..." The words nearly get stuck in my throat, but Sherlock doesn't notice. I somehow wish he would.

"No! Not... Not John, please..." He begs, and again, I want to cry. But it is worse this time. Because he looks scared. Genuinely scared of me, not for himself, even though his blood is pooling around him and threatening to ruin my shoes, but for John. I don't know how many times a heart can break, but it seems I am learning it right now, as I just laugh. It is so hard, but when I remember Irene, I know that this was necessary.

"I'll see you around, Sherlock Holmes... or not." I say and start walking towards the door, but stop there.

"Kiara... Please..." Sherlock whispers and I don't answer. It is clear that he thinks I'm not there any more, and it is painful to see him like this. Broken, destroyed, vulnerable, begging, dying. Where the heck is Mycroft? Blood is all around Sherlock, soaking through his coat and his suit underneath, and there comes more and more.

I take a picture of him to send to Scottson, and leave when I hear the sirens in the distance. Only when I am a few hundred meters away, I remember one vital thing. Sherlock hadn't done anything. He hadn't put pressure on his wound, probably thinking that he would die anyway. Hold on, you fool! I think and start walking towards the church again.

Tears are streaming down my face while I change the picture with my phone, just a tiny bit. I want to make it worse, so I make Sherlock a little bit paler and the puddle of blood he's lying in a bit bigger. I don't need to do much, because both are already really bad. Shuddering, I send the changed picture and delete it afterwards, but I keep the original picture as a reminder of what I had done.

Sherlock's POV:

Sherlock's vision is already dark and blurry when it happens, so he isn't sure whether it is an hallucination or not. The sirens have stopped, and there are three man, loading him onto a stretcher, hurting him, tying him down... It takes a bit until he realises who they are and what they are doing.

He tries to say Mycroft's name, to test whether the paramedics are from him, but out comes only a mumble. The paramedics seem to understand though, because only minutes later, Mycroft is there. And for that moment, Sherlock isn't a grown man any more. He is Lock, the little seven-year-old boy who holds his brother Myco's hand while they are giving Sherlock an injection.

"Myco... Stay – Please..." He begs and takes his brother's hand before he falls unconscious.

Kiara's POV:

Irene and I stand hand in hand in a small alleyway. It is slimy and disgusting, but I don't care at all, even though Irene does a bit. But she doesn't say anything, and I am grateful for that, because we are watching Sherlock. When I arrived at the church, she was there, shaken but okay, with a little message for me. 'Well done' it said on the piece of paper. I didn't destroy it, even though I want to, but it is a clue. Sherlock might be able to use it. If he survives, says the little voice, and I try to ignore it. The voice is right, even though I didn't hurt his main artery, he still lost a lot of blood.

Irene and I watch as the paramedics carry Sherlock out of the warehouse. He looks even worse now, and the paramedics are worried. They say something, but I don't hear it. Then one of them leaves Sherlock's side, and I want to kill him for it, but he only goes to Mycroft and leads him to Sherlock. By the look of Mycroft's face, Sherlock says something really bad, and when I see him taking Mycroft's hand, I understand. Sherlock, who always says he doesn't like his brother, is the young boy again, whose best friend was the older brother Mycroft.

Someone turns me around and hugs me, and it takes a few seconds to realise that it is Irene, and even more to notice the tears soaking her top.