Disclaimer: I do not own Sherlock Holmes, be it the movies or the books. I am merely an admirer.

Before either of them could say anything, however, a muffled bang from downstairs alerted the two to the fact that someone had just entered the warehouse.

The pair froze. Holmes put a finger to his lips, motioning Watson to stay quiet. The doctor nodded, and followed Holmes as he stood and quietly moved over to the office door. The detective began to silently descend the stairs, stopping halfway and crouching so he could peer into the ground floor of the warehouse.

Across the vast room, fifteen men were stood near the door, all carrying pistols. They were whispering to each other, and one of them, who seemed to be in charge, was gesturing at them, most likely telling them which way to go. Soon after, fourteen of them split up, spreading apart as they entered the maze created by the long containers and holding their weapons aloft. The fifteenth man stayed by the door, preventing anyone from coming in or getting out.

Holmes tugged on Watson's sleeve, and together they stole down the stairs, cautious not to make any noises. Once they'd reached the ground, Holmes turned to Watson and put his lips to his ear.

"Do you still have your revolver, old boy?" Watson nodded in confirmation, "Good. Stay by me and do not make a noise." Watson rolled his eyes but agreed all the same. The pair crept towards the entrance to the building, and Holmes drew Watson aside as they hid behind one of the containers. Holmes glanced around the corner and smiled when he saw he had a perfect shot of the man standing guard. He turned back to Watson.

"As soon as I fire," he whispered, "we run, and do not stop running. Understand?" Watson nodded and drew his revolver out of his pocket, preparing for what was to come. Holmes nodded back and turned again to face the man. Raising his gun, he focused it on the head and fired a single shot, the sound echoing off the walls. Instantly, the man dropped lifelessly to the ground, but at the same time, an uproar of voices was heard across the warehouse, shouting incoherently and giving orders. Holmes froze, trying to place the voices so he could find them. He realised suddenly that one of the voices was dangerously close, and had evidently spotted them due to the exclamation, but before he could do anything, Watson had grabbed his arm and was racing down one of the aisles. They turned every other corner; ensuring they shook off their pursuer, and briefly paused for breath against one of the containers. Holmes checked the corner, just in case, and turned back to Watson after he was sure there was no one there.

"Ready?" Again, Watson nodded, but there was a trace of a smile on his lips.

"I'm not sure Mycroft knows the meaning of the word 'safe house'." he said.

Holmes grinned in response as they warily made their way through the maze. Shouts were still being thrown from around the room, and Holmes could tell that these men were not experienced, which made them all the more dangerous.

Suddenly, a shot rang out from behind them, hitting the container in front of them. Watson immediately jumped forward and tackled Holmes to the ground. The doctor quickly twisted, and bringing his revolver round, he fired at the man a few feet in front of them and watched as blood poured from his chest and he fell to the ground. Watson spun back to face Holmes, but the detective was already up and running after another man. Cursing, he pushed himself to his feet and sprinted after him, revolver in hand. The dim lighting was preventing Watson from keeping his view on the distant figure in front of him, and soon he was on his own. He did not stop, but kept running, determined to find Holmes.

A shout from his left, however, halted him in his tracks, and he just had time to see a figure whip across the aisle. Watson soon gave chase, and ran around the corner where he had seen one of the attackers. The man was just about to run out of his sight, but Watson raised his gun and fired. He paused, and breathed a sigh of relief when he heard the confirming thud of someone falling to the ground. Quickly, he hurried over to the man and pressed his fingers to his neck. Breathing, but not for much longer. Watson found his bullet lodged in the man's neck. You're losing your touch, he thought to himself. Dismissing the man, he stepped over him and hurried along the aisles. He continued to do so for ten more minutes, coming across no one. Every time he heard a cry or a shot, his heart would jolt, but he would manage to convince himself it wasn't Holmes.

Not realising where he was going, he didn't notice as he turned around the corner the tall man stood opposite him about twenty metres away. That is, he didn't notice the man until he had fired a bullet that tore across his arm. Giving a sharp cry of pain and clutching his left arm, Watson flew to the side of the aisle to conceal himself more, and promptly shot at the man. Wordlessly, the man sank to the ground, blood flowing from the centre of his forehead. Watson gazed down at his arm, and calmed somewhat when he saw the bullet had not struck any bones or muscles. Merely a graze. Racing once more along the aisles, Watson soon found himself back at the entrance. He was about to head for the stairs when all of a sudden a hand grasped his shoulder. Crying out in surprise, he whirled and brandished his revolver, but paused when he saw Constable Clarke looking back at him.

"Clarky." Watson breathed, "Why is it you always appear just in the nick of time?"

Clarky shrugged, "I have my moments."

Watson smiled at him, "Are you armed?" he asked.

Clarky nodded, displaying his revolver from within his pocket.

"Good," Watson said. "Keep it out. You'll need it."

He led the constable towards the staircase and they climbed halfway up. Stopping there, Watson turned and scanned the warehouse for Holmes. So far he had seen eight other men, which meant there were three he had not spotted. Finally, he saw Holmes stalking around near the far right corner, and quickly turned back to Clarky.

"Stay near the entrance, and shoot anybody who comes in or out." he said, before turning to go.

"Wait!" Clarky grabbed his arm, but let go when Watson hissed. "I came here to tell you that Lord Silverstone has given a reward for yours and Mr. Holmes' capture, though I've heard that he's actually on his way here. Also... the police are going to arrest you, sir."

"What?" Watson whispered incredulously, "What for?"

"Silverstone has claimed that you murdered one of his men, and I wouldn't be surprised if he's bribed some of the officers down at the Yard."

"But he killed one of his men. Is Holmes going to be arrested, too?" he asked, fearing the worst.

"No, just you, sir. You would've thought he'd want the two of you."

"He thinks Holmes has the ring." Watson said.

"What? How do you know?"

"Because he's using me to get to him. Clarky, if you run into Holmes whilst we're still in the warehouse, you mustn't tell him any of this."

"Alright. Why?"

"It'll distract him, and he'll end up getting shot." he answered solemnly

"Fine." Clarky agreed, "But before you go sir, take this." He held in his hand a small object, and knowing what he was implying, Watson snatched it up before hurrying down the stairs.

xxx

Holmes sprinted around the corner, and dove to the floor as a shower of bullets pelted the container above him. Scrambling across the cold ground, he sat against the metal wall and counted his bullets. Two shots left. He'd already shot four men, including the guard at the door, and it was crucial he did not miss. Risking a glance around the corner, he saw another figure briskly making his way over. Before he could move back, however, the man noticed him and began running. Cursing, Holmes span back and fired at the same time his attacker did. The stranger screamed as the bullet hit his stomach, and he staggered to the floor. Holmes felt the oncoming bullet breeze past him, inches from his face, and lodge itself in the container behind him.

One bullet left, and he'd left his supply of bullets at home. Oh no, the voice in his head said sarcastically, we're only going to fight a very dangerous and highly malicious person who doesn't have a clue what he's doing which only makes him more hazardous. We haven't the faintest idea how this will turn out, nor for how long. No, six bullets will be more than enough to keep them alive.

Ignoring his thoughts, he peered once more around the container, and his eyes snagged on the handle of the large unit. Forgetting the situation he was in, he stood up and tested the metal lever. It gave way to his grip, but not before giving out a very loud groan. Well if they didn't know where I was before, they will now. As if the voice was making a point, he heard a quiet shuffling on a few rows down, and Holmes quickly abandoned the lever and resumed his position with his back against the container. Out of the corner of his eye, he noticed movement, and he turned his gaze straight ahead to find a shadowed figure quietly making his way along the aisles. The first of the pursuers with common sense, Holmes thought to himself. He noticed the man limped slightly as he walked, and Holmes put his revolver back in his pocket, deciding not to waste his last shot on this man. Silently, he stalked up to the figure, who had now stopped and was most probably straining for any noises from him. There was no light to give this man an identity, but the moonlight revealed his silhouette, and Holmes thought out his method of attack as he reached him.

Stopping a foot away, Holmes leapt into action. A quick blow to the weaker leg caused his knee to buckle. He cried out and tried to spin, but Holmes clamped a firm hand around his mouth and threw them both to the floor. Using his legs, he roughly pinned the man's arms down, ignoring the muffled hiss, and placed his hands around his throat. Unexpectedly, however, the attacker sharply kneed him in the small of his back, causing Holmes to arch and fall forward. The figure swiftly moved out from underneath Holmes, and had soon swapped positions with Holmes, straddling him and leaving him immobile with his face pressed against the cool concrete. It wasn't a surprise when he felt the cool metal of a revolver being pressed against the back of his head.

"Say your goodbyes, you bastard." the voice said, and Holmes froze. The next thing he knew, he was chuckling into the ground. He felt the man on top of him also momentarily freeze, stunned at what Holmes was doing.

"Care to enlighten me on the joke?" the voice asked.

Holmes continued to laugh, "I don't think you'd find it very amusing," he said, and he felt the figure relax, "You've never really understood any of my jokes, Watson."

The doctor clambered off Holmes' back and onto his own back, also chuckling. "You idiot," Watson smiled "I could have killed you."

"Well then the world would have lost its inspiration." Holmes said regally. Watson rolled his eyes and lightly elbowed Holmes on the arm. When Holmes returned the gesture, he noticed the small wince that Watson gave, though to his credit the doctor covered it up pretty well.

"Let me see." Holmes said softly, still face down on the floor.

Watson turned his head to look at him. Knowing that an argument would be pointless, he quietly shrugged off his jacket (for there were still eight men trying to find them) and rolled up his sleeve. A long gash decorated his tanned arm just above the elbow, and dried blood was caked around it.

"Quite superficial. Just a scratch." Watson assured him.

"Hmph. Remember what happened last time you said that?"

Watson smiled again. "How many more have you shot?"

"Four. You?"

"Three."

"Seven left, then."

"Clarky's here." Watson said abruptly.

"He is? Whereabouts?"

"Near the entrance."

Holmes seemed satisfied with this answer. "The more the merrier...Well, I guess I'd better be off." he said as he got to his feet. "Lovely seeing you, Watson. We should really do this again some time."

Watson quickly stood up, a look of confusion on his face. "We can't split up again." he said.

Holmes turned to face him, "I hate this just as much as you do, but we'll get the job done a lot quicker if we're not constantly looking out for each other. Do you have your pocket watch on you? Good. Meet back at the entrance in twenty minutes."

"If I can find the entrance." Watson muttered, "How many bullets do you have left?"

"One." Watson rolled his eyes, before unloading his gun and handing one of his bullets to Holmes. "There," he said, "Now we both have two."

Holmes shot a grateful look at his friend before scurrying into the shadows. He heard Watson behind head in the opposite direction, and prayed the two of them would meet in twenty minute's time.

A flicker of movement ahead of him caught his attention, and he abruptly fired his revolver at the figure. Moving over, he confirmed that it was indeed another attacker. One bullet left again, the voice chirped. The bullet had to go somewhere! he argued back, leaving a satisfying silence in his head. Smirking to himself, he continued through the maze, and surprisingly found himself at the front wall. Walking alongside it, he began to see the entrance door in the distance. He stopped, however, when he saw the distinctive figure of Clarky being roughly pushed against the wall by a much bigger man. Creeping closer, Holmes crouched behind a container, making sure he was within earshot of the 'conversation'.

"Who has it?" the attacker growled. Clarky was practically on tip-toe as he struggled against the firm grip.

"I told you, I don't know!" he shouted. As a response, the thug roughly backhanded him across the face. "Tell me!" he cried.

"I can't!" This time, the attacker drew back his fist and violently punched the constable across the face.

"You gonna listen to that detective bloke? He ain't nofink to yer. He thinks you're worfless."He continued to hit him, again and again, until finally Clarky reluctantly caved.

"Alright," he gasped, blood spouting from his cheek and forehead, "You're right. It's the doctor. Doctor Watson has it."

Grinning, the thug threw Clarky to the ground and sauntered off to find his partners.

Holmes could only stay where he was, frozen in place by the betrayal.

A/N: What was the small object Clarky gave Watson? Do you believe Clarky would betray them. Or did you see this coming, knowing how predictable I can be? Reviews and thoughts are much appreciated, and I shall try to update soon :)