"What are you doing, Carlyle?" I asked.
"I'm pointing a gun at you, what does it look like you idiot? I want you to get your hands up and stand. Don't try anything funny. Remember, I am the one holding a gun to your head. " I slowly stood up, turning to face Carlyle, with my hands behind my head. "Good, now I want you to take that chair of yours and put it back where it belongs before sitting in it."
I picked the chair up and put it back across from Sherlock's chair. When I sat down in my chair, I saw that Carlyle had placed a gun besides Sherlock.
"What are you doing?" I asked again with my hands behind my head.
"I'm going to kill you and blame it on him. Maybe, I'll even kill the notorious Sherlock Holmes. The police will believe the murder-suicide. They'll believe anything with enough evidence, even if its wrong."
"Carlyle, you and I, we went through hell together and we came out of it. We helped each other through everything. Why now?" I questioned, being utterly confused by the current situation.
"He's still alive, so you have to die." Carlyle said, motioning and pointing his gun at the unconscious Sherlock.
"What does he have to do with this?"
"He should be dead. He's not, so you have to pay for him being alive, with your life."
"But why? Why should I be dead if he's alive?" I asked, exasperated.
"Isn't it obvious, John?" A voice echoed through the room as a long beep filled the room.
I looked toward the couch, fearing that Sherlock was dying. He was not laying on the couch though. I was behind in every aspect of this situation. I turned toward the source of the voice and saw Sherlock standing there. He was sweating profusely and his knees were very shaky, both caused by the infection that was raging war on his body. Even though Sherlock's knees were shaky, his arm was steady as he pointed a gun at Carlyle.
"Isn't what obvious, Sherlock?" I questioned back as Carlyle turned his gun on Sherlock.
Now both men were pointing guns at each other. Sherlock broke eye contact with Carlyle to answer my question.
"He is one of Moriarty's snipers."
"Ah, the brilliant Mr. Holmes. I heard you were quick, but I think you are getting slow." Carlyle jabbed.
"As you can see, I'm obviously not at my best right now."
"True, you are not at your best; however, you are correct."
"And I would say that you were assigned to kill John had I not jumped that day?"
"Of course."
"What are you talking about?" I questioned.
"Remember how I told you that Moriarty had snipers to kill people if I had not jumped off the building. Finding the first sniper was not that hard. Not top soldier in the least. I almost got bored tracking him. I thought Moran was going to be the hard one, but I was wrong there. It turned out to be you, the one I couldn't track. I noticed that involuntary twitch of your trigger finger when you first spotted me. I figured that Moriarty would have put Moran on John, the amazing sniper that he was. That's where I was wrong, but now I know." Sherlock said, taking a couple deep breaths before continuing.
"What are you going to do now?" He was no addressing Carlyle. "You've given me a gun, which is know being pointed at you. It seems we are at a stalemate."
"I would not say that, Mr. Holmes. I would actually hazard a guess to say that I have the upper hand."
Carlyle paused to see if Sherlock would speak. When neither of them spoke, Carlyle continued.
"I know how to burn you, Mr. Holmes. If this were a game of chess, I would say that you have destroyed my game. However, the best player is always thinking multiple moves ahead of his opponent. I did see this move coming." Carlyle turned the gun on me. "Drop your gun, or I will kill Doctor Watson right before your eyes." Carlyle threatened.
I watched Sherlock's face turn, for just a fraction of a second, into fear.
"Check." Carlyle said, pulling the hammer back and shoving the barrel against my temple.
Sherlock held the gun for a few more seconds, his hand beginning to shake slightly, before it clattered to the floor.
"You're a smart player. Now, kick it here." Carlyle ordered.
Sherlock kicked the gun toward Carlyle, who bent down and grabbed it. What happened next was something that I would never be able to predict. The first bullet hit Sherlock in the right knee. I could almost hear the bone, tendons, and ligaments being destroyed. Sherlock hit the ground like a bag of bricks, giving out a cry of pain.
The cry of pain showed how much the infection was taking out of Sherlock. I know that Sherlock would not have allowed that cry of pain to escape his lips if he was 100%. I believe that he wouldn't have done it at 50%. He was so very weak after everything that happened. Sherlock rolled around on the floor in pain.
He cried in pain again as Carlyle shot him once in the stomach and one in the shoulder. I was scared that the bullet had hit Sherlock's heart when he didn't speak, move, or breath for a few seconds. Then Carlyle turned the gun back on me.
"Mr. Holmes." He called as he heard Sherlock moan in pain. "I would like you to watch as I kill Doctor Watson. Don't worry, this won't take long. Then I might put you out of your misery."
"Why don't you just kill me now?" Sherlock questioned as blood trickled out of his mouth.
"I don't want to kill you now. No, I want to watch you burn and make you beg for death."
"As I am sure that you are aware, I have never begged in my life. I don't plan on starting now." Sherlock argued as he tried to sit up, unsuccessfully.
"I know that you have begged before and I know who you have begged to. Isn't that right, John?" He asked me.
"He's never begged to me!" I shouted, protecting Sherlock.
"Please, will you do this for me? This phone call, it's my note. That doesn't ring a bell, John?" Carlyle mocked.
"How do you...?"
"The how doesn't matter any more. Nothing matters anymore because you.." He said, pushing the barrel of the gun harder against my temple. "Are going to die." He pulled the hammer back on the gun before turning to Sherlock. "This game has been fun, Mr. Holmes, but it's time for the final move."
"Can I have a moment...to say goodbye?" Sherlock questioned softly.
"May as well, even though you will be seeing him soon enough." Carlyle stated matter of factly, leaving the gun at my head.
"John, I'm sorry." Sherlock said, pushing himself up onto his forearms, even though it pained him to do so.
"Its alright. There's nothing to be sorry about, SHerlock. I was the one who decided to trust this traitor."
"I'm sorry for all of the pain that I have caused you."
"You're not going to apologize for that. Stop apologizing, just stop it." I argued.
"Oh, just hurry up already." Carlyle interjected.
"I love you, John." Sherlock said.
I watched a stray tear escape Sherlock's eye.
"I love you too, Sherlock." I responded softly.
"Are you ready to die, Doctor Watson?" Carlyle asked, shoving the barrel of the gun deeper into my skin.
I closed my eyes, not wanting to see the pain on Sherlock's face.
"Check." I heard Carlyle say again to Sherlock.
Behind my closed eyelids, I remembered seeing Sherlock laughing wearing nothing but a bed sheet, inside Buckingham Palace. This is how I wanted to remember Sherlock because he was the man that I was in love with. That was the only image I could see of Sherlock before I heard the gun go off.