Irene tensed. "Alright, alright. I'll talk. Just, lower the gun." She whispered.
Moran pointed it down, slowly. "So, tell me then, why him?"
"How can you explain love?" She asked, smiling ironically at how cheesy her words sounded. "It wasn't exactly a choice. It was just...him. It was always him." She glanced at him out of the corner of her eye.
"Dear Lord, I think I'm going to vomit." Moran replied. "Besides, I thought he was asexual, or gay, or whatever?"
"Well, he obviously isn't. Not a hard deduction to make, Moran." She rolled her eyes at him.
"But you, you definitely were gay. I know that. Change you did he?" He grinned.
"I was never 'gay.' I never really had a preference." She shrugged. "Gender is irrelevant. I'm attracted to intelligence and for a large portion of my wife, woman were the only ones that could give me that."
"Oh my, how progressive of you, Miss Adler" Moran sneered.
She rolled her eyes at him. "Makes my job easier." She hissed.
Moran smiled at her again, "Alright, Miss Adler, enough of the small talk. One final goodbye then it's lights out for our dear Sherlock Holmes."
Irene bent down in front of Sherlock and cupped his face in her hands. "You better survive this, Mr Holmes." She whispered before pressing her lips to his and closing her eyes. After a moment, she pulled back, tears in her eyes and stepped to the side. That was when she noticed it. His feet. They were still tied to the chair. Her eyes widened in fear as ice ran through her veins, stabbing her heart.
"Shame, you two would have had beautiful children." Moran sighed, aiming his gun at Sherlock's head, unlocking the safety on final time.
"Please, I'm begging you. I'll do anything. Just. Don't!" She cried out, her heart splintering as she knew Sherlock would not be able to get out of the way in time.
Moran smiled evilly, "Too late for that Miss Adler, you should have realised your feelings sooner. His death will forever stain your hands, not to mention your heart." He chuckled lowly.
Moran closed an eye, aimed, and fired.
"No!" Irene screamed, her throat hitching. Without thinking about it for a moment and in the blink of an eye, she ran to Sherlock, knocked his chair to the floor and took the bullet in the abdomen, feeling the bullet tear through her as she slumped to the floor.
Sherlock scrambled to untie his feet as an intense fear and anguish seizing his chest. What the bloody hell had she done that for!? He thought, terror and fury bubbling inside of him. Sherlock turned to Moran, who appeared to be stunned, he ran and tackled him, wrestling with him a moment before grabbing his gun. He shot him in the temple quickly and efficiently, blind mad with livid fury and fie. He then ran over to Irene, scooping her up in his arms, cradling her against him, his eyes welling with tears.
"Darling, Oh my God...My darling? Can you hear me?" He asked, desperate, his voice shaking as were his arms.
Irene heard his voice from a muffled distance, feeling as though she was underwater. She fought to keep her eyes open. But she needed to see his face. Needed to know he was safe.
"Sherlock?" She murmured before gasping at the pain. She clutched her stomach with her hand. It was covered in spilling blood.
Sherlock grabbed his phone and called for ambulance. He then pushed her hand away from her wound, lightly, taking off his beloved scarf and pressing it to her wound. He held her to him, brushing away her hair with his other hand.
"You stupid, stupid woman. Why did you do that!?" He cried, tears flowing down his cheeks.
She hated the way his voice sounded, it sounded so... pained. "I...I wasn't...I wasn't going to let him kill you, was I?" She breathed, her voice stiff; talking was painful. She fought against the darkness that threatened to envelop her. She couldn't give in. She couldn't do that to Sherlock.
"Well you shouldn't have!" He spat, unable to hold back his sobs. "Oh, God...I'm sorry. For everything. I forgive you, I do. How the bloody hell could I not, my love. I've been such an idiot, letting my pride trump my heart. Such an utter, bloody fool. I love you, Irene Adler." He brought his lips to hers, kissing her as softly as he could. "Stay with me." He whispered. "You'll be alright. You have to. I'll die without you."
Irene gave him a small smile as she gazed into his eyes. "Don't apologise, my love. This is my fault. It's my fault that you were even here in the first place." She murmured in between winces. The darkness was getting heavier and she didn't know how long she could keep it at bay. "I'm trying, Sherlock. I really am. But...I don't know if I can." She sobbed. "But I don't regret it. Any of it. If I die now, I'll die happy, knowing that you're safe and that you forgive me and love me." She could feel her eyelids drift closed slowly as she fought with all her might to keep them open. "Just...don't forget me...please." She whispered.
He cracked an ironic smile at the thought of him ever forgetting her, how could she be so silly to think that would ever be possible.
"You really are stupid sometimes, you that? " He cried, "There's no need to worry about that because you aren't going anywhere, do you understand? The ambulance is on its way. You'll be fine. We'll be fine. Better than fine." He kissed her again. "God, I love you, you difficult, difficult woman!",
She laughed a little before it turned into a cough, wincing at the pain it caused. "I love you too, Mr Sherlock Holmes." She whispered, forcing her eyelids open wide. She reached up a hand, forgetting how bloodstained it was and placed it on his cheek. "I'll try and stay. For you. I promise to...I promise to try." Her eyelids fluttered closed and her hand dropped from his face as the darkness smothered her.
He held her hand to his cheek, pulling back to kiss her palm as he heard the ambulance in the distance. He pulled out his phone and dialed Mycroft. He sighed, as the tears continued to roll down his face. This was going to be an annoying and hard conversation. But he had no choice.
"Hello?"
"Mycroft." Sherlock said stiffly.
"Sh-Sherlock?"
"Yes, it's me." He answered.
"So, you faked your death did you? Bravo, you had even me convinced."
"I don't have time for compliments, I need your help NOW." He spat quickly.
Mycroft paused, surprised at his intense and immediate tone. "What have you gotten yourself involved with this time?"
"It's Irene-Irene Adler." He began, his voice hitching. "She's-she's been shot. I need you get her the best medical care in the country." Sherlock replied, his voice shaking.
"So now Irene Adler is alive as well? Looks like you've got yourself a little reunion. why do you care what happens to her? And more to the point, why should I?"
"MYCROFT!I don't have for this! She doesn't have time for this, she is dying, for God's sake will you help the woman I love or not!?" He screamed into his phone.
"You... love her?" He paused. "Alright, pass me over to the paramedics when they get there and I'll meet you at the hospital. We will talk about this."
Sherlock released a sigh of relief, "Thank you, brother. Truly."
Just then then the ambulance pulled up, Sherlock got ready to explain what had happened.
The paramedics rushed in at that moment and saw the two bodies on the floor. They rushed over to the both of them. One alive. One dead. "What happened here?!" One of the men directed to Sherlock as they strapped the woman onto a stretcher.
"That man shot my girlfriend. Business disagreements. I shot him in self-defense. Is she going to live?" He answered quickly and asked desperately.
The man nodded at his explanation, ignoring his question for the time being, not wanting to give him false hope. The police would deal with this. "So, she's your girlfriend? If we get her to the hospital now there's a good chance she'll survive, but I can't promise anything." He told Sherlock, taking Irene out of his arms and getting another paramedic to help him load her into the ambulance. "Are you riding with us?"
"Obviously!" Sherlock hissed, getting up into the vehicle. He held out his phone to the man, "Here, talk to him."
The paramedic looked at the phone a little confused. "Hello?" He talked to Mycroft a few moments, nodding here and there at what he was saying before passing the phone back to Sherlock. "She must be important." He murmured before directing the drivers.
"You have no idea." Sherlock muttered back.
Sherlock swallowed and held her hand as they rode. His mind of was spinning. So much had happened and occurred in the last hour, he couldn't keep up. The one thing he knew for certain was that Irene must live. She had to. He wouldn't be able to go on without her. In fact, he would insure it. For the first time in his life he prayed. Not to some 'God' above, but to the universe, to this strange thing called life with all of it's sorrows and joys. He prayed that she would live, survive, prevail. She was the best thing to ever happen to his life. She had taught him to not only how accept love from another, but more importantly, she had taught him how to love another. He, his ego, his brilliance, was no longer the most important thing in his life. Now it was her. It was all for her. He made a vow to himself then and there, that he intended to uphold should and when she made it through. He pressed a kiss to the back of her hand and closed his eyes.