When a vacancy opens for a decent flat in central London, and for such a good price, who are you to decline it?
While expecting a peaceful living arrangement to develop paintings for the gallery you work for, instead you're dragged into unexpected...
"Out!" fist against each door, soon everyone was rushing to the hall, confusion plastered on post-sleep faces. You were grabbing the nearest coats for everyone, rushing them to the window which you pry open after some difficulty.
"Shit-" Sebastian grabbed his jacket and rifle.
"I got them!" Sherlock yells to the man, knowing he was going after Moriarty and Anna.
"Sherlock!" You yell, attempting to go after him but John had started to drag you away. "Let go, John!"
"Y/n- we need to go now!" John refuses to let you go, pulling you away from the flames. "He'll be okay-" smoke started to cloud everyone's lungs.
Hesitant, you eventually climb out, sliding against the roof tiles onto the mound of shrubbery in the garden. While the fire roared, everyone started to collate near the front of the house, the door burning away.
Mrs Holmes sobbed into her husband's shoulder as he shielded her away. His aged hands wiping her salty tears, "it's okay... it's alright," he whispers into her ear soothingly, "he'll be fine... we'll be fine,"
"Come on, Sherlock, please," you watched the house for any signs, worry etching further into your features until there was two pairs of footsteps from behind the group.
"What the hell??" Anna gapes at the house ablaze, Jim by her side in a blank shock.
"Oh no..." not a second guess to your actions was given. In you went, barging through the wood as the others yelled for you to come back. "Sherlock!" Rubble and ash fell from the ceiling and walls, like peeling paint in hued orange and red. Fire snapped at your skin and clothes, looking to engulf you, but you sped through it all to wherever he could be.
Sherlock was your priority. Not you. Not the things you held dear. Not what was around you. Just Sherlock.
"Enjoying the show?"
~~~
"Y/n?!" Sherlock came into view, running from the back garden with a small bag of photos and memories he knew meant the world to his parents. "Where-" it didn't take him long to realise. "No- no, no, no!"
"Sherlock, don't you dare!" Mrs Holmes held onto his son like her life depended on it. "Please-"
"She went in there to try and save me, I sure as hell will return the favour-" suddenly the front portion of the house collapsed, nothing but wood hissing against the slightly damp grass and scorching stone path left. "Y/N!"
"Try the back," Sebastian advises Sherlock, running around again with the detective.
~~~
"My brother's death will not be in vain." Ah, the younger spitting image of Andre, your former boss. A devil child by the name of Louis. Of course he, of all people, was the one behind this act.
"You sick little shit," with an enraged glare burying into him, you grab the nearest object, a pillow half-burned and do your best to throw it against him. Your arms... they suddenly felt weak, turning numb like someone had impaled you with three tranquilisers.
~~~
"Here-" suddenly Sherlock fell to the ground before he could bust down the back door.
"Sherlock??" Mrs Holmes rushes to him.
"I'm- fine..." he felt dizzy suddenly, his words getting caught at the back of his throat.
"No, you're not," John catches his friend before he fully hit the ground. "What the hell??"
It clicked in Sherlocks head after this time, any inhalation of that green smoke was starting to take effect. "Gas... sleep-"
By this point his slurred words were becoming worse. His safety wasn't of worry right now, because you had taken such a large dose of the gas, he had no idea if you had passed out in the flames or not. Was it too late?
~~~
"My brother took no liking to traitors but he was merciful,"
Dropping to the ground, the smoke was starting to cloud your lungs, the gas from earlier fogging your brain. "Merciful my ass-"
"Now, don't be like that," Louis takes out a gun. "A shame, really, this house was up for a heft price on the market... luckily the one on your head was higher,"
As you sat on your knees to regain balance, the warming metal was now against your skin. "You were always the weaker brother," you spit out, groaning when he knees you in the jaw.
"Keep quiet if you want a little less excruciatingly-painful death," he watches the blood dribble from your lips onto the ashy carpets. "Goodbye, Y/n L/n,"
Laughing softly, gaining a more hysterical volume eventually, you tilt your head at him, "I don't think so," grabbing a gun stationed under one of the fallen and burnt bits of furniture, despite the searing pain, you aim the gun up at him, a bullet speeding but just missing his head.
"Ha! You stupid bitch! You missed!" Louis scoffs, lifting his own gun again.
"Did I?" Leaning back, a large wooden plank holding a partial part of the second floor up swings down to trap him under a large amount of burning debris. "Call me as merciful as your brother,"
Just as you spit on the half-dead man's grave, you found it difficult to stay upright. Your head spun, the smoke filling your lungs. It was no use as that last plank kept half the house standing. Section upon section started to crumble, your eyes teary from smoke.
As a final word of mercy. Real mercy. You call out for the one person you wished to hold one last time. "Sherlock..."
~~~
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