The Game is On

Gas and Gunshots

As they entered the flat, Sherlock immediately noticed a difference in smell. It smelled more rotten, more used than ever before.

That wasn't right.

"John, does it smell odd to you?" Sherlock whispered.

"Probably just needs a cleaning."

"No, Mrs. Hudson's been here today," Sherlock picked up a feather, "This is from a feather duster."

"But she knows you hate her dusting."

"That won't stop her."

"Well what do you deduce it as?"

Sherlock inhaled deeply, "Gas."

John hurried over, following the tall man, to the bookcase on the far wall. Sherlock stepped on piles of clutter to reach the ceiling, where he hacked off a bit to reveal a pipe.

"Yes, definitely gas."

"Where's it coming from?"

"Probably a small gas bomb stuck in the pipe somewhere. It's lethal, don't breathe it in."

John stepped back.

"Can we stop it?"

"Of course we can," Sherlock turned a small knob on the side of the pipe, "Just cut off the airflow. Follow me outside so we can call someone to remove the bomb."

Sherlock practically leaped down the stairwell, followed quickly by John.

As the two crashed out the door to 221B, the doctor's eyes began to feel heavy.

"She...Sherlock...I...I feel..."

John collapsed to his knees, coughing madly.

"John!" Sherlock held his doctor, trying to help him breathe.

"Sher--" John coughed, "Call..."

Sherlock turned to a passerby and yelled "Call 911!"

The passerby jumped, and immediately noticed the danger. She dialed 9-1-1 and threw the phone to Sherlock.

"-911, what can we do?-"

"Ambulance! Fast!"

Dial tone, then a hospital receptionist picked up.

"Hello?"

"My name is Sherlock Holmes, my husband John has breathed a lethal nerve agent and is on the ground."

"We'll be right there Sherlock."

He hung up and threw the phone back, immediately attempting to hold John up.

"John, stay with me! Talk to me! Keep your eyes fixed on me!"

"Sherlock..."

"John!" Sherlock shook him vigorously as John's eyelids fluttered, closing.

"John speak to me," Sherlock's voice wavered, "Speak. To. Me."

As John lost consciousness, sirens wailed and ambulances pulled up.

Paramedics jumped an ran out, two grabbing a stretcher and three running to the pair.

"Name?"

"Sherlock Holmes."

"No his name."

"John Holmes."

"Emergency?"

"Breathed in a nerve agent."

The two with the stretcher rushed up, and two others hauled John onto it, giving him a breathing mask, while one stayed with Sherlock to calm him and get more information.