"Okay," I whispered. "Everything's ready."
"Good. Can you see the window?"
"Yeah."
"And the dummy?"
"Yes."
I was still having a hard time believing it was, in fact, made of wax, probably because sometimes the real Sherlock goes still like that, too, and gets an eerily blank look in his eyes. Like he sees something no one else can. He would be talking a mile a minute, hardly pausing for breath, and then just…stop. It was those moments of realization, those brilliant flashes of inspiration, that he lived for. He had evidently had one a few hours previously while I was asleep. We had a plan. Anderson had followed through-Moran and his associates were planning Sherlock's assassination tonight. It would be a quick, clean affair, nothing showy, just a neat, lead-less homicide for the police and another life lost for the world.
I was crouched in the shadows of flat opposite us, scanning the street for the faintest signs of suspicious activity, ready to run. Every time a cab flew by my heart skipped a beat. I had my finger on the "call" button on my mobile, Lestrade's number already punched in. The flat was unoccupied, thankfully, and provided a perfect view of our flat's window across the street. We were keeping it illuminated-a target that was impossible to miss, a little pinprick of yellow contrasting the relative dark of the surrounding buildings. It was well past midnight. Everything was in place. I had taken my gun from the safe. Mycroft's agents had been courteous enough to provide me with a full clip-perhaps something of an ill omen for tonight.
Then, movement. A car pulled up on the street near 221B. Sherlock gave a little intake of breath to indicate that he had seen it as well. A man and a woman got out. The man was carrying a duffel bag.
For a moment nothing happened. We waited, straining to see which way they would go-and then they walked to the corner and crossed the street.
Wait, what? That wasn't supposed to happen!
"Don't," cautioned Sherlock, the tension in his voice seeping through the calm. "Shut up and stay absolutely still."
"But-"
"Your life could depend on it. Just trust me."
"Okay."
They opened the door to the building I was in. My heart was pounding. I could hear their footsteps on the stairs.
"I think I should-"
"No," he hissed. "Wait."
The door creaked open. The lady walked in-it was Monika. I tried to be as still as possible, acutely aware of how dusty the room was. My nose was itching.
I sneezed.
She whirled towards the sound, leveled her handgun at Sherlock's head, and pulled the trigger.