THANKS to all the reviewers! You guys are awesome! And a shout out to MistroStrings – thanks for the great advice!

MWAHAHA. This is the scene you've all been waiting for... WAIT! It's starts at the forest then leads to the train scene because before I wrote this I figured it would be too short to write JUST the train scene... Yeah, turned out I was wrong ;) anywho... ENJOY! TELL ME WHAT YOU WANT!

Rescue Part III

WATSON.

The darkened sky was lit enough to light their path through the rough terrain. They were struggling, to say the least, at keeping up with what chaos embedded itself around them. Bullets were fired, all only narrowly missing their intended targets and splintering the old dim bark of the surrounding trees. The loud zooming ammunition did not stop, not for a moment. They continued to run, as fast as they could manage, just to get to the end, just to find a way out. Their legs threatened to collapse under them at any given moment even as they travelled the quickest they had ever.

Watson could hear both Sherlock's and Sizma's ragged and laboured breaths syncing with his own tired long gasps. He could tell that none of them could go on much longer, for their feet were pained, bruised and splintered. Their stamina was faltering immensely also, keeping their chances of escape no higher than the minimum.

More ammunition was flared, and this time Watson could say for certain that death may just be the easier option. Ducking twice and zooming to the left, he only just missed a bullet which could have created an indeed very fatal wound.

Would fly all over the place, landing a fair sized piece to scratch his leg rather painfully. He turned lightly only to see Holmes in a similar condition to him, only worst. He could tell his friend was faltering, as he was sure the large blood loss had taken effect. He watched as Holmes clutched his chest, almost tripped but never the less kept running. More explosions rocked and shook the ground hard, sending even some of the attackers to pause for a moment themselves.

John continued to run, faster and faster by the minute but saw an obstacle in his way. The quite large trunk of an old tree stuck out on an awkward position, forcing him to take a leap of the mangled heap of nature. Just as he did so, however, a bullet zoomed right past his size, grazing it deeply but not too seriously. He let out a breath he hadn't noticed he was holding and sustained the scamper to safety on the other side.

He tripped over another large branch but managed to revive his balance and kept his footing. He noticed that his side burned but didn't dare look at what he was sure was blood. He watched as Holmes himself fought to regain his stability over the uneven withering grounds. More explosions went off as more ammo was released from the enemy, however the others fought back.

Several pulled their pistols and other guns and fought of the enemy, bringing more than just a few crumbling to ground in agony.

Damn!

Watson cursed as another one of their men was brought down by an incoming bullet from the opposing attackers. He watched as Sizma look back in sadness and pain yet did not stop but rather kept up her pace with the others as they continued to flee the war like zone.

The bullets took a halt, even if only for a moment, but it was at that particular moment, that John Watson knew something was up. And something dangerous.

More explosives?

But none came. The ache in his side had begun to numb slightly which was lucky and not surprising. At the side of his head a light warm sticky trail of crimson blood stained his cheek to his chin. He did his best to ignore it all, dumping the sick feeling down to the bottom of his stomach.

They would not just give up...

All that could be heard was the undeniable jagged, rough and harsh breathing of his companions and himself as well as their loud rapid and large steps which echoed through the forest, until-

One of the loudest bangs he'd ever heard rang through the large field. He didn't even have to turn to tell that it had already taken down a few over-sized trees by quickly raging through them.

It imploded.

All he could feel was an unnerving sense of pain and danger, whilst all he could see was pitch-black darkness. He felt his body being hit by an invisible force stronger than any he had ever felt before. He was pushed down into the ground hurtfully, his face and the rest of him meeting the cold unwelcoming, craggy dirty and soiled ground of the huge field. His breath escaped him as darkness enveloped him...

HOLMES.

They had sent out a missile, and an immensely strong and powerful one- that much he could tell easily as he watched the enemy fall back one by one, attempting to take the best and closest cover. They didn't have that alternative. None of them did. He could feel the hard, cold pain of his wound taking its toll stronger than it ever had before. His breaths were now emitting in diminutive, rutted intakes of oxygen as he tried his best to fill his lungs with a much air as possible. He knew they didn't have much time before the missile would reach them, in fact...

They would barely have any time at all.

In those very and entirely short, suffering filled seconds which seem rather like hours, he felt the full extent of his injuries. The deep dark crimson slash was throbbing painfully and agonizingly whilst his head felt like it had been split open by a jack-hammer. Cherry red blood slid down the side of his forehead, oozing out at an increasing rate from the top of his deep brow, gliding past his cheek and dripping down his chin. He collected his thought whilst he could in the very and extremely limited time given to do so;

What about Watson? Or Miss Sizma? Or the others...

Holmes felt something he had not in a very long time. That strong pang of guilt. It erupted through him like a volcano...

He could feel his sense leaving him altogether as he felt an enormously tough force pushing him to the side and rendering him unconscious- but only for a moment.

He was sure he had blacked out, because when his eyes fluttered open he was lying with his back to the tremendously uncomfortable rocky ground which had been under his feet only a matter of seconds ago. His head pounded and his vision slurred but he knew he had to get up- this was their last chance.

He pulled himself up with as much force as he could muster, but wavered when he got to his feet. His eyes trailed around him where he saw Watson and the other fighting off some of the enemy with a bit of a hard time considering what they all just went through. Holmes was trying his best to keep his thought calm and collected but he was interrupted as a nearby attacker attempting to hit him with his gun. With one swift move followed by another and another, the attacker fell to the dirt clutching a bruised and probably broken knee-cap, a dislocated shoulder, and a twisted nose whilst bearing a concussion.

All by himself, Holmes managed to take down a few of their close pursuers. He paused for a moment, his world fluttering to complete empty blackness until he forced his eyes open again. He was thankful to find that he had not fallen- because in all honesty- if he had he doubted he would be able to force himself to get up again. If he by any chance thought that his wound burned before, then it definitely was absolutely nothing compared to what he felt at the very moment. His head spun quickly, making him feel woozy and dizzy whilst it throbbed so painfully, even a sledge-hammer would definitely pale greatly in comparison. He strained himself to push a nauseas feeling, one of the highest degree, down to the pit of his stomach. As he did so, he did not mind chopping or slicing his entire shoulder off if it would wipe out the pain the dangerous slash wound was giving him.

However with much effort and pure will, he pushed all thoughts of simply giving up aside, pounding them down to darkness where he was almost certain they wouldn't dare to rise up again.

An explosion cleared all his thoughts and pushed him to his side slightly, yet it wavered him greatly. He almost fell- if it were not for the thick tree nearby. He could down the thoughts of giving up but he could not ignore the pain. With one hand holding him up against the tree and the other at his shoulder he continued to deliver short, pathetic sharp wheezes and rasps of air to keep himself if even only slightly stable.

He turned when he heard a charge, and felt and undying stabbing pain flare through his chest when an oncoming opponent jabbed his large light machine gun excruciatingly into his ribs. He did the first thing that came to his mind;

Fisting his arm he delivered a well placed blow to the other's ribs, causing him to lose concentration and close his eyes in pain momentarily. With that advantage, Holmes emptied the bullet that was to be fired into his chest and grabbed that gun. Turning it around, he launched ammo into the adversary's own uniform coated torso. Hurriedly he handed the gun to Watson who expertly shot none other than Professor Moriarty himself.

It was then that they heard the familiar rawr of the steam train just a few feet away.

And with that they ran.

GENERAL

The travelled as fast as their feet would take them. Step after step of seemingly never concluded nature. Tons of thin uneven branches broke below their ferocious steps as they hoped they would live to see another sunrise.

The carriage door of the train swung open with high force. Sizma and the other aid jumped on, whilst Watson, Sherlock and another collaborator rushed to get on. Sherlock's arm hung over Watson's shoulder as he helped push him onto the train with enough strength.

"Come on!" he yelled to Michael, who was only lightly lagging behind.

Watson made it with the help of the others, tumbling in an unceremonious manner. A sudden shot was fired and the only person whom was not lucky enough to make it, crumbled upon his painful wound and eventually fell behind;

"MICHAEL! MICHAEL!" The call however went unanswered as the ride continued to leave to now dead form of a great aide and an even better friend behind to the clutches of death.

The train continued to zoom across the area, with everybody huddled inside, safe from the dangers outside. It had been a short while since the very narrow and fortunate escape...

Sizma's good friend lay with his back to the back of the carriage, leaning and staring to the dusty terrain outside in deep thought. Sizma held Sherlock's head in her lap whilst singing an old gypsy tuned song, as Watson completed his attempted at bandaged the bloodied wound on his side after finishing Holme's own.

It all happened in a very fast motion, but one moment, Sherlock Holme's eyes were opened...

And the next...

They weren't.

Sizma looked down expected to e greeted by the brilliant detective's large, chocolate eyes and a soft smirk at his lips, however she stopped her song when she found that they were closed, and his mouth slightly ajar yet in a firm line. Her eyes widened in fear as her hand immediately flew to his neck to check for pulse.

There was none.

She placed her hand over his mouth hoping and pleading to feel warm breath on her fingers, yet it was to no avail.

"He's not breathing!" she said, her tone panicky and feverish.

Watson's own pair of pupils met hers as he heard those greatly feared words. His mouth hung wide for a moment, before rushing over to Holmes and hurriedly kneeling beside him. He placed two shaky fingers at his neck and took a deep horrified intake of breath when all he felt was cold, motionless skin beneath his nails.

"Cradle his head!" He yelled not too loudly towards her and rushed back to where he was first for a moment, "raise his legs!" he instructed the other man in more of a rushed and panicked tone.

Watson's gaze was desperate and more afraid as he spoke again, this time Holmes more than anyone,

"Bloody hell, you will not die on me!" he tried to keep his voice calm but he could not. His palms were fisted and on Holme's heart. He began to pound. One. Nothing. Two. Nothing. Three. Nothing.

BREATHE HOLMES!

He checked his pulse again quickly, please, please, please. Yet still nothing. No... NO!

"I'm not gonna make this easy on you!" he began to pulsate his chest again and again. "Come on!" his breaths were uneven now and the worry and fright was clear and evident in his voice. "Come on!" he kept on going. Tears were forming at the corners of his eyes, threatening to spill at any second. "Come on!" he whispered more to Sherlock himself.

NO. NO! You do not get to go that easy you self-centred scoundrel!

He checked his pulse again.

Nothing...

Watson brought his fist down on Holmes chest and continued pounding,

"COME ON!"

NO! DAMN IT HOLMES! WAKE UP!

His tears were more than clear as they shone through his bright orbs, his clenched teeth and desperate look.

"I know you can hear me you selfish bastard!" the thumps on the dead man's body continued from his best friend. From someone who was practically his brother, through something thicker than blood itself. "COME ON!"

His fist came down in a punch on Holme's heart with as much strength as he could.

"I KNOW YOU CAN HEAR ME YOU BASTARD!" He yelled his voice breaking. He could feel Sizma's arms around him, telling him to stop, telling him it was okay.

It's not okay. It's not okay... please Sherlock...

A tear escaped his eyes, and he let it fall. Part of his heart shattered and he could not find the will to speak. He closed his eyes as more crystal drops broke free. His face scrunched up in complete desperation and devastation whilst a croaked sort of broken sound erupted from his throat. Sizma hugged him tightly, her own tears spilling as the other aid placed a hand on his shoulder. He let out a choked sob as he was released, still unable to find his voice. He had just lost one of the most important things in his life. The desolation hit him like a tornado as he was unable to tear his eyes away from his true friend, from his brother.

If I can't save you Holmes, maybe you can find a way in that genius mind of yours to save yourself...

It took him a moment, then in one splendid motion,

"His wedding gift!" opening his jacket he pulled out the case. Ripping it open his pulled out a syringe with a strange toned liquid in it and without a second thought plunged it into his heart. He pulled it out, his heart breaking once more as Sherlock had still not moved...

He's gone... he's really g-

His thoughts were cuts short as a sharp gulp or oxygen was pulled from his best friend. Sherlock lifted up his head in one swift motion, let out a strangled yell, sat up and suddenly charged toward the end of the small area, hitting his head even harder, yet keeping his footing.

They could only watch in happiness and pure joy as he turned to them before mumbling something unintelligible and speaking,

"You and Mary and Gladstone and I'm at the restaurant." He spoke feverishly, then continued to mumble all too quick for anyone to catch, however they did make out 'tiny pony was very swell! A master fork and his hoof and he turned on me!' they let out breaths that none knew were being drawn. Watson walked over to him and carefully took his wrist, pulling down for he had been making drastic movement with it. "What have you missed?" he asked questioningly.

Watson held up the syringe he had stab Holmes at the heart with,

"You're wedding present" he simply spoke, letting go of Sherlock's wrist which flew to grasp the skin upon his heart and felt a light, steady yet fast and painful rhythm of thumps.

"Well whose been DANCING ON MY CHEST!" He yelled at no one in particular as Watson walked behind him,

"Me" he moved to place the syringe down.

"Why is my ankle so itchy?" Holmes wandered aloud, grasping everyone's attention. Nevertheless, it was the doctor, whom answered simply,

"Because you have a large piece of woof sticking out of it" he said as if it were no big deal at all. He met Holme's confused eyes for a moment before turning and pointing to his ankle. Sherlock managed to calm down slightly and attempted to stabilise his breath for a second or two before giving up once more.

"Good lord..." he shook his head, "You Thomas" Sherlock said, pointing at Sizma's friend and helper, "I have an important job to discuss with you." He cleared his throat, "Remind me of it later" he said.

"Sit down" the doctor instructed.

Yep, he's still confused Watson thought light-heartedly whilst ushering him back to the opposing side to sit. He walked along with him and made sure that Holmes would stay seated before he himself took a seat near his feet.

"Drink this" he gave him some liquefied medicine to help with clearing his throat and relaxing him from the pain, even if only slightly. "Have to get that out before it turn septic" he told himself more than anyone else then began to lay Holme's feet out straight and still.

Once Watson was seated comfortable at Sherlock's feet, Holme's pointed and accusing finger at him-

"Did you call me a selfish bastard!" he gave him a hard glare that would have surely scared anyone if it weren't John Watson himself.

"Probably" he answered simply, placed his friend's feet on his lap and positioning his fingers at the tip of the piece of wood lodged at his ankle.

"Oh..." Holmes replied wearily. His tired eyes gazing at what Watson was doing until he fully registered what was happening. "Just leave it in!" he yelled, but nothing happened. All he felt was an impossible pain at his ankle, "leave it in!" but it too late. The piece was freed from his flesh and it hurt. Badly, if Holmes were to say so himself.

He watched at Watson held the piece in front of his eyes before placing it done again. Holmes let out a pain and uncomfortable moan before relaxing again.

"Oh you are a scoundrel" he spoke whilst collecting his breaths,

"Be nice" Watson offered him a look before beginning to stitch it. There were a few minutes of an entirely needed and comfortable silence between the four of them until,

"Sorry you didn't go to Brighton." Holmes said quietly to Watson, whom knew that Sherlock had meant every single word he had just spoken. It meant a lot to Watson that Sherlock actually apologised but also took him by surprised. It was only rare that Holmes make such an effort.

Watson looked into the distance, before the bandaging his ankle lightly then tightening only slightly, and then he turned his watch to Holmes.

"Me too"

The odd silence continued yet it spoke many levelled volumes between them.

"I think we should go home" Watson spoke quickly. He's definitely going to argue that... well it's worth a shot...

"I conquer" now that he was not expecting. He quickly fixated his eyes on the detective's own before; "Let's go home... via Switzerland"

I knew it was too good to be true.

Watson just smiled to himself as Holmes continued,

"What better way to start a war at a peace summit?" Holme's eyes were closed now and he was ready for some peace, whilst Watson just smirked to himself, "We'll drop in and see my brother"

"I'm sure he's missed you"

NEXT CHAPTER WILL BE UP SOON! TELL ME WHAT YOU WANT IN THE FOLLOWING ONES! :D