Chapter 3
What color that was left in Sherlock's face, drained immediately and his eyes hardened. The gunman's face lit with a eerie smile. Sherlock's jaw locked he looked at John, trying to think of what to do.
John drew in a deep breath as the hammer clicked back on the gun and he gazed into Sherlock's eyes. Sherlock opened his mouth to say something and his eyes could not veil the distress and fear he felt. It was debilitating, and Sherlock had never had this sort of problem before. He couldn't function, and that scared him.
John did something that had never done before, he simply gave up. He smiled a little sad smile and closed his eyes, trying to mentally prepare himself for the wound. He knew that these men were ready and able to shoot either of them on the spot, and he would rather that he die than Sherlock, so he composed himself and gave up.
To John and Sherlock it felt like forever and yet like no time at all before the loud BANG of the gun firing echoed in their heads. John squished his eyes closed even tighter, trying his hardest to mentally abate the pain that he was sure would race up his leg any second. But it didn't, it never did. His eyes snapped open to see what was going on. Shouts flew past him and he tried to piece together what had occurred.
"Brother! Shoot him! JUST SHOOT HIM IN THE HEAD AND BE OVER WITH IT!" The eldest brother yelled. John focused on the bridge, and his breathing rate escalated when he saw that Sherlock and the gunman were engaged in a power struggle over the weapon. His mind finally comprehended what the man had said.
Cold gun metal found its way to John's temple and rested there while the brother tried to compose himself. John looked at him out of the corner of his eye.
"You've never shot anyone before." John stated while yells beat the air around him. He didn't let them distract him. "It changes everything. Really think about it. Do you really want to be responsible for my death?" He paused, mentally flinching as he heard Sherlock getting beat. "Would you be able to live with that?" John's voice had lowered to a whisper, and the gun pressed into the side of his head began to wobble uncertainly. The brother sniffed loudly and John realized that he was crying.
CRACK! John whipped his head around to look up to the bridge. Sherlock was falling, slumping against the side of the bridge. His eyes were wide with shock and there was small amount of blood seeping from his he disappeared from John's sight behind the concrete wall of the bridge. The older brother stood looking down, not at John, but the runner; He looked at him with a face full of disgust.
"If you won't shoot'em, I will." He spat and leveled his gun with John's head.