Chapter 9

"I'm coming with you."

John was standing in the living room doorway, his posture trepidatious, uncertain of Sherlock's reaction, but determined.

Sherlock swung around in surprise, "I…no John. I think you should stay here. You will be safer."

"I…want to come with you Sherlock. I'll be fine."

"But a murderer wants you dead, John."

"I'm not afraid, Sherlock."

Sherlock seemed about to argue but after giving John a searching look, nodded his head abruptly. He turned to the cupboard and reached for the winter jacket that he had purchased for John and assisted him into it, lifting its thick collar up around John's neck. He then pressed a pair of gloves into John's hand before pulling on his own overcoat and wrapping a scarf around his neck.

They exited the flat together, emerging onto a still and silent Baker Street and set off in the direction of the cathedral. Unusual for London, the night was clear and a distant moon was visible. Their breath formed silver clouds in the darkness, matching the ghostly rime of frost clinging to the iron railings that lined the pavement.

Once on the main road, despite the late hour, Sherlock was able to hail a cab to carry them the remaining distance to the cathedral. In the back seat of the cab, they didn't speak. Twice, Sherlock cast a quick look at John but John looked ahead or out the window, his expression unreadable.

The cab took them down Victoria Street where, across Cathedral Piazza, the massive church dominated the square. Its walls were deep in shadow but its looming 210 foot bell tower and the upper reaches of its Byzantine brick and stonework were illuminated, adding to its imposing presence. Sherlock waited until they were past the square before instructing the cabbie to let them off at Ashley Place. Well out of sight of the church, concealed in a stand of Plane trees−stark in mid-winter; they set off back toward the church, their shadows indistinguishable from those cast by the branches above.

They were close to the cathedral's great west entrance when a dark shape detached itself from the wall and Lestrade joined them. Upon seeing John he aimed a frown of concern at Sherlock, who ignored it. Instead, Sherlock raised a questioning eyebrow at Lestrade and a silent conversation of hand gestures ensued.

Lestrade seemed to be indicating that they should enter the cathedral through the sacristy door on its east side, so they proceeded, sliding along the exterior of the church's south wall. The door to the sacristy was unlocked and gave way when pushed to reveal a large, dim room. Ecclesiastical artifacts, relics and chalices gleamed dully in display cases and clerical vestments lined the walls; their gold and white trim glowing faintly in the dark. The scent of incense was discernible and the temperature of the air was as cold inside the church as it was outside.

From the sacristy the three passed through the Lady Chapel, under an archway, and into the immense interior of the cathedral. Lit by weak moonlight and the ambient light of the city, the massive nave, at over 300 feet in length, was awe-inspiring. Not least due to the 30 foot crucifix floating in the gloom above them, vaguely luminous in the light from the distant windows circling the upper reaches of the nave.

Sherlock was unmoved. He gave the interior of the cathedral an assessing glance and indicated to Lestrade that he thought they should split up. He then motioned that he intended to reach the Chapel of Holy Souls by the more exposed north side of the nave while Lestrade and John should stay to the south side. He then confirmed that Lestrade was armed before nodding his head firmly at John in an indication that John should stay with Lestrade. John lowered his head in acquiescence but his gaze didn't leave Sherlock. He watched him until he could be seen no more in the darkness.

Lestrade touched John's arm and reluctantly, John turned to follow him. The two kept out of direct view from the nave; separated from it by a multitude of arches and dividers as they made their way along the south wall of the church. It was when, cautiously, they were crossing the main west entrance of the cathedral, and were directly under the clock and the pipe organ, that they were attacked.

At least Lestrade was; he gave a sharp exclamation of surprise as he was grappled from behind and John could hear scuffling as the combatants sought for solid purchase on the church's marble floor. John heard grunts of exertion from the figures and he strained to see into the darkness. At last he was able to make out the outline of Lestrade struggling to loosen the choke-hold that his assailant had around his neck. As John focused, he saw Lestrade succeed in breaking his attacker's grip and draw his weapon from his holster to defend himself. As bad luck would have it though, his assailant, flailing in rage and panic, knocked the gun from his hand and it fell to the floor with a clatter.

Both Lestrade and his attacker dived to retrieve the gun. The two landed on it at the same time and in the ensuing struggle, the gun discharged with an echoing crack and Lestrade gave a sickening gasp as he was struck in the arm by the bullet. He fought on though, continuing to try to subdue the suspect.

It was at this point that John moved. He stepped forward from the shadows to assist Lestrade, disregarding that he was revealing himself in the moonlight. The man struggling with Lestrade, for it was now clear that it was a man, just then succeeded in getting the gun. When he saw John, he raised it with deadly purpose and prepared to fire it.

But before the murderer could pull the trigger, Sherlock flew from behind the nearest marble pillar, launching himself at the gunman with a shout for John to run. Taken by surprise and knocked off balance, the suspect lost his grip on the gun and it once again clattered onto the floor, this time skidding to a stop near John. Sherlock and the suspect struggled fiercely; a desperate murderer with nothing to lose, knowing that he had been set-up for arrest and Sherlock, whose only concern was for John's safety. Sherlock shouted again for John to run, his voice a hoarse gasp from the floor as the suspect, having gained a firm hold on his scarf, began to viciously choke him.

But John had not run. Instead he had bent and grasped around for Lestrade's dropped weapon, and when he found it, he straightened, took careful aim and fired at the man who was trying to strangle Sherlock. The murderous curate was dead before he hit the ground; John's bullet, perfectly centred, passed through his heart and out again to lodge in a shimmering patch of mosaic on the far wall of the Chapel of Holy Souls.

For a moment Sherlock was unsure of what had taken place but then, as his vision cleared, he saw John bend, place the gun carefully on the floor again and stand motionless, his arms at his sides, his head bowed and his eyes fixed on the floor.

"My God! John! Are you alright? Don't be afraid. It's alright; I'll take care of you!" Sherlock was staggering up in his hurry to reach John.

John looked up at Sherlock; his eyes were afraid but his expression resigned. Then Sherlock's arms went around him and he was holding and patting John and murmuring tenderly, "It's alright now. I'm here. You saved my life, it's alright now. Don't be afraid, you won't be arrested, I'll fix this for you."

Then Sherlock reached for the gun.

"Give me my bloody pistol Sherlock, don't be an idiot!"

The order came from Lestrade, gasping on the floor several feet away. And when Sherlock turned and stared at him blankly, Lestrade barked louder, "Give it the hell here! Now, Sherlock!"

This time Sherlock obeyed the command; giving the gun a slight push with his foot to where Lestrade could reach it with his good arm. Lestrade grasped it firmly and replaced it in his holster.

"Well, don't just stare at me, call a bloody ambulance! I'm shot for Christ's sake, Sherlock!"