Grace's POV

"DAMN MY HANDS AND SHOULDERS!" I yelled. My hands stung from the metal, and I just spent an excruciating moment popping my shoulders back in from dislocating them. I know I hate cussing, but I had to say it. I didn't care about the hundreds of people looking at me.

Sucker. Like I'd really love him. That did shock me, though.

However, what surprised me more is that when I got down to the ground, the person waiting for me…that shocked me the most. Harriet was waiting. Harriet Watson. My sister. And she looked god-awful.

"Harriet!" I yelled. Her black hair was matted, her face was bruised, and had a cut; her wrists were bloody, and her arms were bruised. She was limping and crying.

"Grace," she whimpered. She limped over to me and hugged me. I forgot about my pain and wanted to help her. But instead of asking her what I could do to help her, or asking her if she wanted to catch up with me, my mind wandered over and wondering how she got her…everything.

"Harriet!" I said, trying to be happy. I looked up and down at her body, smiling that fake smile that had been applied to my face since I saw Harriet. "I would love to catch up, but…how did this happen?"

She looked…hesitant, more than anything else. I was suspicious. "I—I just tripped on some stairs. Fell down a flight of stairs." She cried more.

I didn't hug her because I knew she was lying. I hugged her because she was my sister. "It's okay. Let's go get lunch. You look starved." Harriet nodded. "Haven't eaten for three days," she replied. Her eyes got wide. I knew then that she wasn't supposed to say that.

She looked extremely depressed, but I didn't ask her about it. I figured she'd want to tell me when the time came.

Later that night, while Harriet was sleeping on the couch, I thought about the fall. I looked at Harriet, and the thought of sleeping carried me off.

I was falling. My heart, pounding faster than an airplane flew through the air.

'Come on, Moriarty. Drop the cable. Come on.' Finally. Thank God forevermore.

150 feet above the ground, he drops it.

100 feet. Almost there. 'Come one, please, please, please.'

50 feet. I catch it.

"HELL MY ARMS!" My shoulders pop out of their sockets. I scream, and bawl. But I slide down. I can hear my shoulders rubbing together. My hands are bleeding. I can see blood running down the cable. I scream and cry even more.

I drop because I can't take it—my bleeding hands and my dislocated shoulders. Moriarty also starts to pull the cable up.

I pop my shoulders back into place, and I cuss even more.

Then I see bloodied and bruised Harriet.

I woke up. That's the closest thing I've had to the worst nightmare I've ever had. I tried going back to sleep, but I was afraid of more nightmares. I just kept my eyes on Harriet when I couldn't go back to sleep, and that kept me going through the night.

I was snapped back into reality when Harriet screamed.

"Harriet, after an experience like yours, a traumatic one, then you scream."

She stopped crying and screaming. "I only—only fell down the stairs." She got up, and sat at the table.

"Right," I said quiet enough so she wouldn't hear me. I got up. "Harriet, are you sure you—"

"Like, really, I mean, really. I'm your sister. Believe me."

"Well, I don't." I crossed my arms. Harriet started at me. "A fight for another day," she said.

We walked out into the hallway, and down to the lobby. After getting some tea and biscotti and the local café that everyone in the building loves so much, we walked down the street. The black cobblestone was beautifully lit up against the early morning sunlight. We walked down to Mrs. Hudson's.

Walking into the room (after she let us in so nicely and was so glad to see Harriet and that she should start making food for us all), I went over to the escape. Climbing out, onto the escape, I went over to the window. John and Sherlock weren't there.

"Why are they gone?" I asked myself. I looked inside, showing my full body in the window. I saw the door opening. Maybe they were just gone. Harriet and Mrs. Hudson called my name, all of a sudden.

"You're on the news!" Mrs. Hudson called out. I climbed in through the window. While Harriet was stopping whisking the eggs, Mrs. Hudson walked to me.

"Were they not there today?" she asked me, noting the concerned look on my face. She started to look concerned as well when I told her they weren't. They were always there on mornings between eight and nine. Always.

"I'm not on the news in a good way," I said. I grabbed the remote and turned up the news.

"News, just coming in this morning, shows the dead window washer's scaffolding falling apart, when a woman jumped on it. This video shows her handing from 250 feet from the newly built luxury condominium building near London's Harbor. A man pulled her in, but later that day, the same woman is shown, falling 350 feet before she caught the same exact cable that held the scaffolding, and that she was holding on to. Our detectives say she most likely hurt both her shoulders and hands, sliding down the cable. No one is for sure, but theories are circulation, that this might have something to do with the window cleaner's death only hours before. Nothing is for certain, but the video looks like the woman is trying to escape. We will update you as soon as—" I turned the TV off, and saw the food on the table.

"Let's eat."

After eating, I heard something in the flat next door. It was very sudden, very startling, and very concerning. I got up, wiped my mouth, and polished off my last biscuit and jam. I looked out the peephole at the front door, and then slowly opened it. There was someone in the hallway. They didn't seem to notice me, so I studied them for a minute. They seemed…they seemed like they were up to something. And then when his hand went into his black-as-midnight trench coat, and his hand brought out an oily pistol, I knew what he was up to (obviously). I didn't think about myself, though. I didn't think about Harriet who was beaten up by a stupid staircase (so she said), I didn't think about Mrs. Hudson who was probably scared to death; all I thought about was my brother and Sherlock.

What made it worse is that the shooter was one of Moriarty's.

"SHOOTER!" I yelled, which wasn't the brightest thing to yell when there's a shooter trying to kill you, your sister, and your brother, but I had to alert people. I had to be good for something. I slammed the door and locked it shut. Mrs. Hudson and Harriet already ran to hide after they saw my face. I heard a door open, in the hallway. I looked through the peephole on the white wooden door. It was someone across the hall. I wasn't crying, or so I thought, but a tear escaped my eye from me being caught in a moment like this. You see shootings in movies, you hear about them at schools, and you hear about them everywhere else, but you can never imagine them in real life. When they are actually happening to you; your mind doesn't process, you start to hyperventilate, and thanks to the way your goddamn bodies work, you immediately think you're about to die. I turned my thoughts back on the person across the hallway, with the gun barrel pointed at her head.

"No, please! No!" she screamed. I wanted to run out, and help her, but I forced myself to not watch. I turned around and closed my eyes. I knew what was coming next, and even thought I knew what was coming; the gunshot startled and scared me so much more. I started crying, and shaking, and slid down the door, my hands over my head. I cried and cried and cried, and let everything that had ever happened to me out. Maybe even too much.

The bullet reminded me of Moriarty. Moriarty was talking in the hallway, and I was even more scared.

"Is that Moriarty?" I heard Harriet call out.

"Yeah," I said, trying to reply casually and not to sound scared. Harriet walked out.

"It was Moriarty," Harriet started. "He—"

But I shook my head. I put my hand up to her, and she stopped talking. My look told her to stop, too. I started shaking even harder, and I got angry. I was furious. I was screaming and crying my head off, and then I stopped. I stopped and stared at her in disbelief. I couldn't wrap my head around what happened…and it actually did.

"Oh god, oh god, oh god." I kept saying.

"Grace—" Harriet made an attempt to calm me down.

"Oh god, HE DID THIS TO YOU! HE did this to us!" I was crying and shaking, and hyperventilating. "HE DID THIS TO US!" I grabbed the nearest knife.

"Gracie!" Harriet ran and grabbed the knife from me. I tried grabbing it back from her, but that didn't work. I ran towards the kitchen and grabbed another knife from the rack, and ran away before Harriet could catch me again.

I jumped outside, the other knife with me. I wanted pain other than what happened over the last thirty hours. I wanted to die. I knew I had something from that time period, I knew my mind developed something. I just didn't know what.

I climbed onto the escape. The only one on the building, nine stories up. Moriarty was standing right next to me, climbing back into Sherlock's apartment. My face was pale, and my head felt like it would burst.

"Good luck." He started to get further in, and then he uttered words I never thought I would hear again. That I never wanted to hear again. The thing that I desperately hoped wasn't true, and that I told myself it wasn't; "I love you."

The escape fell, and the scenes of Moriarty saying, "I love you" to me, replayed in my head as I fell ninety feet onto the ground.

The End

Please comment and tell me what you think. As i announced on my other story's The Grace Chronicles Book 2 shall premiere on July 19! I love all my fans and I just want to thank you and i know my friend who wrote this story does too. I shall pressure him to write more and hopefully i will post updates soon!