.

... In an instant he had whisked out a revolver from his breast and fired two shots. The wind knocked out of me, I doubled over, grabbing my stomach. There was a crash as Holmes pistol came down upon the man's head. As I sank to the floor, I had a vision of him collapsing with blood running down his face, while Holmes rummaged him for weapons.

Next I knew, I heard a sound, a whistle from far away. I saw light and a blur of colors.

"Watson!! Wake up! Oh God, WAKE UP! HELP! Someone help!"

A searing pain brought me to my senses. Holmes was tying his shirt around my waist. His hands were covered in blood.

Turning my head, I saw Evans still lying on the floor. I tried to speak, each intake of breath like a stab.

"The gun…"

I looked up into his eyes. His face had lost all color, and his voice quivered,

"It's alright…don't talk." His grey eyes flooded with tears. It was worth a wound, even fatal, to know the depth of loyalty and love that lay behind that cold mask.

"Oh Watson, I'm so sorry. I should have never let you come." He blew his police whistle again, and cursed. "Why don't they come?

Slowly lifting my head, he slid his jacket underneath. He glanced uneasily at Evans and picked up the guns.

"I have to leave you, just for a moment. I need to find help. I'll be back. Stay awake…"

As Holmes ran outside the door, I heard a noise across the room. Evans had gotten up and with a yell, rushed out as well. I heard a scuffle, and shot, and then nothing. Nothing!

The silence was maddening. A horrible possibility flooded my mind. Was Holmes lying shot out in the hallway? Holmes had checked Evans for weapons. What happened?

Thinking I might be able to pull myself out there, I struggled to sit up. I saw the shirt was strained crimson. Just as I was getting upright, my head swam, and I fainted once again.