Holmes and Watson... They had been together for so many years that now, unless someone was addressing him directly Holmes seldom heard his own name without it being linked with his friend's; as if they were one person instead of two. He had always considered himself a creature of solitude but somehow without his realizing it, he had become half of a whole. Now the other half was lying in his arms, covered with blood.

Each breath came more slowly than the one before it. The once bright and active hazel eyes were now dim and unfocused. There was a violent lurch as the cab rounded a corner. "Easy, Watson, hold on." Charning Cross Hospital was closer than Baker Street, and Watson's injuries were too severe to take him home anyway.

"Why did you do that Watson? That bullet was meant for me, not you!" Though Watson was too far gone to answer, Holmes could almost hear him say, I could not survive your death a second time! Just then Watson choked, then ceased to breathe all together. "No..." Holmes whispered, tears streaming down his face. "Please... Watson?" There was nothing, no life. "JOHN!" The anguished scream was ripped from his lungs. "Please," Holmes cried. He buried his face in Watson's shoulder. "I am lost without my Boswell."