The Other Side - BBC Sherlock Fanfiction

Chapter 25 - Good Intentions

Chapter 25 and I'm almost at 1000 reads YAY! In honour of that I've made a new cover and updated the summary.

Toni
The sound of gunshot rings in my ears, my sadistic mind relishes in it for just a second. I practically breathe it in before checking that my bullet has made its mark on the man holding Angel. There is blood on his chest. I step forward, unhindered by the other two people in the room. They appear to be in a state of mild shock. Upon closer inspection I notice that the blood does not belong to the attacker.

There lies a wound on Angel's exposed shoulder, blood running from it like a river. I hear a whimper, it takes me a moment to realise that it comes from myself. It seems that I can do nothing right - I try to avenge my brother but in doing so attempt to murder a good woman, when I try to repay the debt I owe to that same woman I shoot her. 

I know that this is no reason to abandon my pursuit of forgiveness. I know by now who it would be right to call and who would be wrong. I use my phone to bring up the website of Sherlock Holmes which I know holds his phone number. His friend John will know what to do. Moriarty would be of no helps as he isn't supposed to have any idea that Angel is here, although judging by the camera in the corner I have little doubt that he does know.

Having found the number, I dial it.

John
Sherlock's examining a body at a crime scene, a peculiar and particularly gruesome case involving large amounts of sand paper. Suddenly his phone rings, it's probably Mycroft. 
"John," Sherlock says, "Phone please. It's in my pocket." I sigh, but gets it nonetheless. I peer at the number.
"It's an unknown number, I don't recognise it." I explains. "Probably a client." I add as an afterthought. He ponders for a moment, maybe it's worth it. 
"Eh, answer it anyway." He tells me. 

"Hello? Sherlock Holmes' phone."
"John! Oh thank God, I need your help." A distressed voice answers.
"What is it? Wait, is that Toni?" 
"Yeah but I need your help, it's-"
"You're supposed to be in prison!" I exclaim.
"Shut up, shut up, shut up! Angel's been shot, I need your help." At these words my heart fills with unadulterated dread. 
"Where are you?"

She explains the situation concisely. She escaped from prison, found out that Angel was in danger and went to save her. By the time she'd arrived someone had shot Angel, she didn't know who. I tell Sherlock we need to go, both him and Lestrade object.
"GODDAMN IT YOU TWO, ANGEL'S BEEN SHOT!" I yell, the two men visibly flinching. The phone is still in my hand, I raise it back to my ear to see if Toni's still there. Before I get the chance the phone its whipped out of my hand by Lestrade. 
"Hello? This is Scotland Yard, can you hear me?" He asks urgently. "Hello? Shit, she's gone. Sherlock, let's go."

Toni
My phone is batted out of my hand and swiftly thrown out of the open window by someone, clearly not happy with the thought of the police arriving. My single bullet gun is now useless, but it seems that they aren't too concerned by me. They file out of the room, presumably on the demand of Moriarty or one of his minions. 

Angel is unconscious but still breathing, from what I can tell. I'm no medical expert but I've seen my fair share of movies, you have to apply pressure to the wound to prevent blood loss. I take my jumper off and hold it against the bullet-hole. A tear escapes my eye, this has not been a good day. If Angel dies I'll never be able to forgive myself. I sit there for a while. Seconds fade to minutes, until time seems endless. 

John
The taxi seems to be moving at a snail's pace, no one speaks - not even Sherlock who would usuallly be talking to himself about something or other. My hands fidget nervously because, although I've not known Angel for a short while, I know that she is irreplaceable.

Finally, we draw up. Lestrade taking the lead.
"Scotland Yard, we've had reports of a shooting." He informs the guards standing at the entrance, flashing his police ID. They look confused.
"We've heard no such thing." One insists. Sherlock furrows his eyebrows in thought.
"Mycroft'll know." He says. "John, phone please." I hand him the phone and wordlessly follow Lestrade into the Houses of Parliament. Under any other circumstances I know that I'd be in awe, never having been there before, but now all I can think of is Angel.

We walk for about thirty seconds before . Sherlock gets off the phone with Mycroft. 
"This way," he says, breaking into a run. "She's still alive." I breathe a sigh of utter relief before breaking into a run too. Angel, I will save you.