My Dearest Friend

Streets of London
1:15am

I run down the dark, empty streets of London alongside Holmes. We're chasing after Jason Marlo. A murderous, vicious man who had murdered 5 people in one week.

  Breathing heavily as our feet hit the cobblestone street, and the cold, early morning wind hits our faces. Holmes is just a few feet ahead of me.

  As we start to gain on Marlo, he takes a sharp left turn down an alleyway. As we go further into the alley, we meet a dead end. Just a wall and doors or windows. Marlo looks around for an escape. "Your finished Marlo. No way out." I say as I get my revolver out from my trousers.

  He gives me a grin then in a split second, pulls out a gun, aims at me and fires. The shot echoes through the alleyway. I close my eyes, expecting the impact and pain from the bullet, but . . . nothing. I look and see Marlo still standing there and about ready to shoot again. I quickly aim my own gun at him and shoot hitting him in his upper chest near his neck. He emediately falls to the ground, and he gun clattering to the stone ground.

  I look to my right, expecting to see Holmes, but he's not there. I furrow my eyebrows in confusion when I hear a whimper. I look down and see Holmes lying just two feet in front of my, on the ground, as a pool of dark crimson gathers underneath him.

  "Holmes!" I emediately kneel down beside him and inspect the injury. He was shot to the upper left side of his chest. It looks like it might be close to his heart. Bloody hell! I take off my jacket and press it against the wound, trying to stop the flow of blood, causing Holmes to yelp in pain. "Sorry Holmes." I apologise, sympathetically and gently lift his head into my lap, and cradle him.

  "Wats . . . on." He rasps. "I'm right here. It's alright." I assure him. He's then thrown into a coughing fit. He lurches forward and winces in pain as the coughs wrack his body. I hold him tighter, keeping him from falling or rolling. "I've got you. It's okay." I soothe. After a minute, the coughs subside. "Are you okay?" He asks, looking at me with concern. I nod my head. "Thanks to you." I give him a small smile of appropriation.

   "Homes. Why did you do that? Why did you save my life?" I already know the answer. He looks up at me through pained and fevered eyes. "That's what . . . brothers are . . are for, . . . dear Watson." I smile at that. We may not be brothers by blood, but we are by bond. I have always considered him as a brother to me. He may be a pain in the ass and ignorant to others feelings but he's a great person and . . . my dearest and closest friend.

  I look up and through the alley, trying to decide what to do next. I have to get him to a hospital or at least the Flatt. I can't lose him and I can't let him die in a cold, dark alley. I would carry him, but my leg is too messed up. "Hello! Someone, help! I need help, please!" I yell, hoping someone will hear my cries for help and come assist us. "Please help us! Anyone! Help!" No response. I sigh, disappointedly and make a decision.

  I reposition myself and put an arm under one of his and wrap the other around his waist. "Holmes. Can you sit up for me?" I ask, softly. He groans in response. I take that as a maybe, and carefully get him into a sitting position.

  He rests his head against my shoulder as I have a good of him. "It's alright. Can you stand up, Holmes?" He breaths heavily against my neck and mumbles something, incoherent. I'll have to take that as a yes. I stand up and gingerly pull him up, inlisting a yelp and whimper from him. "I'm so sorry, Holmes." I say, softly, wrapping his arms around my shoulders. "There we are." I say, grunt from pulling his weight.

  The moment we stand, Holmes's legs buckle and he begins to drop to the ground. I catch him and hold him tighter to me. "It's alright, I've got you." I assure. "Here, can you walk?" He sighs, exhaustedly. "Wat . . . Wats . . on." He says, with a hint of exasperation. "Im sorry I know your in pain. Don't worry, it'll be alright. Come on, try to walk with me." I gently, encourage as we begin to hobble out of the alley. When we're out, we stop as I look around and think. There is absolutely no one out here. The streets and buildings are all, empty. 221b is a block away and the hospital is about two and a half blocks away. Damn it!

  Holmes is thrown into another coughing fit and as I feared, blood spatters from his mouth, drilling down his chin. He winces and leans forward from the force of the coughs. I hold him up, tightly. He holds a hand to the wound in his chest, as blood seeps through his fingers and drips to the ground. I notice I have blood all down the side of me. He's lost WAY too much blood. I have to hurry.

  "Come on. We have to keep going. We'll find someone or some place to help us." I encourage, optimistically even though, in the back of my head, I know . . . . Holmes is going to die.

  He shakes his head. "Can't . . . Watson , I *Cough!*. . . I can't ." He states, just above a whisper  Just then, his legs give out and he falls to the ground, pulling me along with him. "Holmes!" I catch him from hitting his head on the ground and settle back to sitting down and cradling him in my arms. He head rests near my chest, in the crook of my neck.

  "I'm *Cough!Cough!* sor . . . sorry, wat . . . Watson." I shake my head brush the damp bangs from his forehead. "Don't be. It's okay." I say, trying to hold back tears.

  He looks at me through half lidded eyes. "Don't worry . . . Watson. You . . you'll be all . . .  alright." He rasps, gasping for each breath, and each time there a wet, scratchy rattle from his chest.  "You have *Cough!* Mary now." I shake my head.  "Holmes, she's my wife. But you're my best friend. There's a difference."

  I take a deep breath and look around the empty streets once more, (Again, finding no one) before looking back at Holmes. His eyes are closed. "Holmes." I gently shake his shoulder. His eyes crack open as they try to focus on me. "Come on, ol'boy. Stay with me." A tear escapes my eyes and fall to his lapel.

  "Thank you . . . Watson." I furrow my eyebrows at that statement. "What for, Holmes?" "Every *Cough!* thing.. for being my fre . . . friend and always . . . Being *Cough!Cough!* there." He finishes, exhaustedly. "Of course, Holmes. Always." He gives me a small smile. His eyebrows then furrow, and closes his eyes, wincing in pain. "Hurts  . . . Watson, it *Cough!Cough!Cough!* It hurts." He moans.
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  "I know. I know, I'm so sorry. I wish there was something I could do." "You've done enough . . . Watson" I sniff, fighting off a sob. "Watson?" "Yes Holmes?" I can't handle seeing him like this. "You've always been like a . . . Brother to me. I love you John." I swallow and smile as best I can, at him. "You've always been a brother to me too, you know. I love you too, Sherlock." I reply, truthfully and full heartedly. "And please -" he continues "don't . . . forget me." "I could never forget you, Sherlock. Never."

  He gives me the best smile he can, before he takes a few gasps of breaths and breathes out a final, long breath of air. His chest stills as his eyes are still open but empty. The spark, intelligence and kindness is no longer there in his brown eyes and glazed over, staring off, far away.

  "Holmes?" I shake my head and give him a hard shake. "Holmes. Answer me!" I order, agressively. "Holmes, don't do this!" I cup his face and face him towards me. "Damn it! Don't you do this! You can't leave me you . . . Can't!!" I yell, letting out a loud sob and bowing my head to his chest. I raise a fist, about to pound angrily on his bloody chest, but falter and let it fall to his chest as sobs wrack my body.

  I lift my head up and look at his eyes, once more. His eyes void of life and soul. I let out a small cry before taking my hand and slowly and gently close his eyes. I let my hand linger on his face before removing it and sobbing once more. I sit, still cradling him, tightly in my arms.

  After another minute or so, I very gently and carefully stand up and lay his body to the ground. I put a hand under his head and gently lower it to the cold ground. "Goodbye my dear Holmes. I will NEVER forget you." I say, softly, leaning down and placing a kiss on his forehead, before standing up and walking away toward Scotland Yard to inform them of the demise of the great Detective. My dearest friend.

- Fin