Well, this is it folks. Thank you all SO MUCH for the amazing reviews you all gave me. Thanks to those who said they loved it, and to those who were honest enough to tell me they thought Sherlock was a bit OOC. I tried my best, but your opinions are very valuable to me. I honestly feel guilty for not updating sooner or making the story longer, but this is where it was headed the whole time. Please, if you feel so kind leave me a final review to say goodbye and let me know if I wrapped it up OK.
Thank you all! I love you guys!
The hotel room into which Ron Hudson stumbled was filled with his heavy breathing. He stood panting, gasping for breath, his side in stiches from running far more than his body was used to. He had to get out, now.
Tripping forward into the room, he stopped short, white as a sheet as he saw a man laying face down on his floor. The detective's warning about an assassin came back to him, but after spending several long moments in frozen terror, he realized that the man was out cold, maybe dead. Able to move once again, he rushed around the room, gathering his things in a whirlwind of confusion.
He hadn't been at his task very long when a shadow in the corner moved. Frozen once again, his heart palpitating painfully, his eyes stared wide into the shadows, thoughts of another assassin rushing through his terrorized mind.
"Good guess. But no."
Sherlock stepped forward out of the shadows, hands in his pockets, the frayed parts of his shirt from the bullet hole standing out in the light cast by the moon as it glanced through the window.
Ron gaped, his breathing becoming more and more labored.
"Ever think about what meeting the dead might be like, Ron Hudson?" Sherlock asked him, head cocked slightly to the side. "What your fate might be like?"
"Y-you- I s-shot you!"
"Yes, very astute observation. Right in the heart as well. Or you would have, if I had any. According to general consensus I don't. Which is why I didn't hesitate to turn you in. The police are on their way Mr Hudson, and with a homicide, multiple accounts of smuggling, and an attempted homicide on your record, I imagine quite soon you will find out what it is like to meet the dead. Florida has a very good system on death row. Do take a moment to come back and tell me, if you aren't too busy screaming, will you? I've never believed in an afterlife, but who can be sure, without data." Sherlock's eyes narrowed to silvery slits on the last word, his voice soft and mocking.
Mr Hudson trembled violently, his hand fumbling for his gun, pointing it at Sherlock.
Sherlock clucked his tongue and looked at him with mock sympathy. "Do you really think that will work, after it failed so miserably last time?"
"You could have been wearin a vest, or something of the like." Ron said, straightening up, his nerves steeling as he talked himself out of the superstitious fright Sherlock had induced. "Shooting you in the head would have a much different outcome."
"For me, yes. For you, no." Sherlock said, still unconcerned. Backing his words, the police sirens came into earshot and blue and red lights started flashing in, disrupting the moonlight. "Kill me now, and you will have a very thorough execution after endless court battles, my brother will see to that. He's too cold to let you die quickly. Right now it's not personal for him, I wouldn't advise making it so."
Sweat trickled down Ron's face, exhaustion taking him over. He lowered the gun.
"I told you if you ran I would make things worse. You should have listened." Sherlock said, as footsteps came pounding up the stairs, the clinking sounds of guns and flashlights and metal filling the hall leading to the room.
"I understand boredom, Mr. Hudson. But it takes a tiny mind indeed to find solace from that boredom in attacking someone who has absolutely nothing she can do against you. Maybe on death row you'll figure out that your life could have been better spent elsewhere."
Sherlock didn't move as the police broke into the room, holding Ron at gunpoint and bringing out their cuffs. In the other room, a few policemen were already cuffing and escorting the just now conscious assassin from the room. He would be a valuable asset in tracking down the rest of the gang. So would Mr. Hudson, if he lived long enough.
"Are you all right sir? We have a medical team on hand, in case you need attention." One of the police men said, noticing the tell tale signs of a severely bruised chest that Sherlock couldn't help but exhibit. His breathing was purposely shallow. Sherlock waved a hand. "I'm fine. See you at the court date." He said dismissively, turning and moving out of the room and past the police, breaking away from the clamor that he so disliked. His part was done, as far as he was concerned. He would only stay long enough to testify at court to ensure Mr. Hudson would get the sentence Sherlock had promised him.
I told you you'd need it. Thank you for saving me the paperwork.-MH
Sherlock snorted at the text even as Mycroft's contact pulled up. The chauffeur glanced into the mirror as Sherlock got in, beginning to unbutton his shirt. "Everything all right sir?" The driver asked. Sherlock shrugged out of his shirt more gingerly than he'd like to admit.
"I'm fine." He said again, unstrapping the vest that had protected his torso from the bullet that was now lodged in it. "We may need to stop by the station though. I imagine this will be wanted for evidence." There was an impressive bruise starting to form from his breastbone out, but other than that he was mostly uninjured.
If you don't get that checked out, I will have you sedated. There may be heart damage or cracks in your ribs. -MH
Sherlock scowled at his phone, and then at the small lens in the back of the car.
Why do you care? -SH
Paperwork. Keeping you healthy is the only way to ensure I put it off as long as possible.-MH
You know, it would be much easier if you just disowned me. I think we would all feel more relaxed if you did.-SH
Nice try, but you are far too nosy for me to not watch, what with my governmental hobbies and all.-MH
It was worth a try.-SH
Get checked out.-MH
Your care is touching. Mother would be proud.-SH
Oh leave off.-MH
Sherlock smirked openly.
Back in London, England. 221B Baker St. Several months later.
Mrs. Hudson was back home, but it had been several months of healing and therapy before she was ready to be completely on her own. One of her children had been living with her during the period, but near the end Sherlock got a call. Mrs. Hudson wanted to see him. Puzzled, he showed up none the less.
"Sherlock!" Mrs. Hudson said happily, embracing him as he entered the flat. Sherlock had grown accustomed to Mrs. Hudson's habits and stopped himself from tensing completely at her touch. He even hugged her back.
"How are you feeling?" He asked awkwardly, trying to lead into why she'd summoned him there in the first place.
"Much better, thank you. I just wanted you to stop by because I realize I never properly thanked you."
Sherlock squirmed internally. He hadn't told Mrs. Hudson the extent of what had happened, but she was intelligent. She figured out what Sherlock had done. While the news of her husband's practices and following execution did shock her, there was still an undeniable aura of relief that surrounded her afterwards. She hid it well from her children, but Sherlock knew that they understood at least part of what had happened. The abuse however, only ever stayed between him and Mrs. Hudson.
"I know this makes you uncomfortable, so I'll make it quick. What you did for me, no one has ever bothered to do before. No one ever cared that much. Thank you for what you did. And if I can ever help you in any way, don't hesitate to ask." She shrugged, sighing as she looked around the flat, a small smile on her face.
"Who knows, I'll need to support myself, perhaps I'll rent out the top part of the flat in a year or two." She smiled teasingly. "Sherlock Holmes at 221B Baker Street. It has a nice ring to it, don't you think?"
Thanks guys! See ya!