Guns, Games, and Mutual Appreciation ~ A BBC Sherlock Fanfiction {Book I}

Chapter 31- Pulse, Pressure, Ambulance

Millie's POV

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"Sherlock-" shouts John.

My eyes snap open.

Sherlock is still standing, looking fleetingly confused. He's still holding the gun to his head. But there's no blood. 

He hasn't pulled the trigger.

This doesn't make sense. I heard the gun. I heard the impact of bullet in flesh. How is Sherlock alive? 

And then I work it out.

I turn slowly, to Irene.

She's standing very still, one hand to her mouth, her eyes wide, pointing the silver gun at... Moriarty.

Moriarty isn't dead. In fact, he's sighing now, clearly irritated, rolling his eyes and turning on the spot to Irene. He says-

"You had to ruin the moment, didn't you?"

He then faces Sherlock, and says, with a slow grin spreading over his face-

"Irene's killed your friends, Sherlock Holmes."

I don't understand. My brain, drugged and dulled by adrenaline, slowly connects the dots. And then, I get it. My eyes search Moriarty's body, and stop at a point on his arm, just underneath his shoulder. The dark suit is darker there. Blood. Irene has shot Moriarty. We're going to die.

"Sherlock... I'm sorry- I didn't mean to- I..I" begins Irene, starting to shake.

Sherlock's face is a strange combination of horror and anger. I can't tell who he's angry at- Moriarty, or Irene. Our curious silence is broken by Moriarty, who, still not showing any signs of pain, or even discomfort, sinks to the ground, and lies there, looking bored but satisfied; he's won the game. 

"No... Sherlock! John- help me-" says Irene, snapping into action. She throws the gun into the pool, and rushes to Moriarty's side and looks at him, terrified. 

"Leave him." is Sherlock's curt reply.

"What-?! He'll die, Sherlock! Then so will John.. and Millie," she says.

"Leave him."

Moriarty laughs.

"I'm not going to be a murderer, Sherlock Holmes," she says, her voice thick with unreleased tears.

"You are, Irene. That is the burden you're going to have to carry, although I can say now that he deserves every ounce of pain you have inflicted on his person. John, Millie- let's go," says Sherlock, flatly, pocketing his gun, and briskly leaving the building through the fire exit.

Irene stares at Sherlock's retreating figure, shocked. She looks alarmed at the pool of blood at her knees, then whips round to face John.

"John, you're a doctor. Please, help me. He can't die. I didn't mean to.. to shoot him. I wasn't thinking- please John." 

John looks at Irene, then at Moriarty, then at the fire exit. He closes his eyes for a second, then, firming his resolve, looks steadily at Irene and says-

"I'm sorry, Irene. I don't want to help that man." 

But as he passes me, he whispers, so softly no-one else but me can hear him-

"Pulse, pressure, ambulance."

I blink, unsure if I heard him correctly. I turn to clarify, but he's gone, too. Irene is sobbing now. Moriarty is studying the ceiling, still, unbelievably, looking heartily disinterested.

"Millie? Please-"

I stand still for one, agonising minute.

Then, I make my decision. 

"Irene, give me your scarf."

"What-?!"

"Your scarf. Now."

She stares at me, but obliges, and passes me over the expensive white silk. Shame, I think, this is going to get messy. I go over John's words in my head. 

"Irene- ambulance. Call now." I order, and she nods, getting out her phone and dialing 999.

Pulse.

I don't want to touch him. It will bring back unwanted memories. Moriarty obviously senses this, and smiles at my hesitation, before saying-

"Well, since I'm dying, and Sherlock's not here, you might as well admit it."

"Admit what?" I say, reaching down tentatively and feeling his warm pulse tap against my finger. Slowing down. Rapidly. I've got to work fast.

"That-" he winces slightly, the first indication of the pain he is so obviously in, as I slide off his expensive suit jacket. "I'm a better kisser than Sherlock."

I stare at him. This man... I swear to god, I want him to die right now. But, instead, I grit my teeth, and growl-

"Shut up."

"Thought so."

I ignore him. 

Pressure.

I begin unbuttoning his shirt, so that I can get to his arm. He laughs at this-

"Look at you, Millie Shon, ripping the clothes off of me. I knew that I'd got to you."

I rip the shirt sleeve away from his arm with unnecessary force, so that it hurts him. The wound is very messy. The bullet went straight through, by the looks of things. Quite possibly severing an artery, judging by the quickly  pooling blood. I take the scarf, and begin making a make-shift tourniquet. I tie a knot, then pull the ends tightly-

"Be gentle."

"I told you, shut up."

There. I listen to Irene, who is talking on her phone, urgently, presumably to the emergency services. At least the blood volume around me hasn't increased. But he's lost a lot. I regard him silently for a minute, before taking his jacket and wrapping that around the tourniquet, to ensure that the pressure is tight enough to prevent further blood loss.

I then lean in, so that I can feel his shallow breath against my face, and so that Irene can't hear me, and I hiss at him-

"Are you listening to me, Jim Moriarty? I would have left you. I would have gone with Sherlock, and John, and left you here, to die in agony. He's right. You deserve this pain. I'm not saving you because I value my own life. I'm doing this for John, Sherlock and Irene Adler. If you get through this, I want you to return the favour. Do not hurt Irene. Do you understand-" I snap, shaking him roughly as his eyes start to close, "She isn't going to die for this. Am I clear, Jim Moriarty?"

He smiles lazily up at me, but doesn't say a word.

I let go of my dignity, and slap him, hard, round the face. He doesn't respond, of course, and the force I used was again, unnecessary, but it was satisfying all the same.

"Promise me this: you will not kill Irene Adler." I say, slowly, enunciating the letters clearly.

"I'm not a man for promises, Millie Shon," he says finally, his voice unnervingly sinister, looking at me with blank eyes.

"I don't care. You owe me this, Jim Moriarty."

He just gives me that shark-like smile, before closing his eyes and slipping into unconsciousness.

I pull away, and hear the noise of sirens fast approaching.

I get up, and take Irene by the arm-

"Come on. They'll take it from here. We need to get out of here- too many questions."

She nods slowly, torn, but follows me regardless.

We leave the building, me soaked in Moriarty's dark blood, and Irene ice cold and shaking, and watch the following events unfold from a distance.

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