"Freak?" Sally said distastefully as she rounded the corner into the darkened alley-way. "John's leaving the clinic. He said he'll meet you here soon." She spat. "And I'm not your fucking lackey. If you can text me you can call John. Just be thankful Lestrade takes pity on you." A small voice answered from the dark, "Thank you Sally." Sherlock's voice was tight and forced. Sally took a few steps forward, finally able to see in the dim light from a streetlamp.

"Christ Sherlock!" She exclaimed, using his name for the first time she could remember. Sherlock lay crumpled on the floor, face white and strained, body trembling softly as a pool of blood began to collect from underneath his midsection. The shirt he was wearing was covered with it. "What happened?" She unwrapped Sherlock's scarf from his neck and peeled his shirt from his chest, exposing alabaster skin and gaping stab wound, just under the left side ribs.

"Don't be an idiot… Sally." Sherlock wheezed, wetting his lips with his tongue, "Even you can...see what happ…ened." His breath came in quick, pained gasps. Punctured lung then. Sally pressed the scarf to the wound and winced as Sherlock's body spasmed and he writhed beneath her hand. "Shit I'm sorry." She hissed and pulled her phone from her pocket, dialling the number on speed dial. "Boss. Call an ambulance, alley-way behind the pool on Jefferson street. It's Sherlock. He's been stabbed, loosing blood fast… Shit. Sherlock, Sherlock stay with me, open your eyes, there you go. " She mumbled soothingly. "Lestrade hurry." She hung up.

Lestrade quickly changed his course, running down the streets he knew well. His phone was pressed to his ear, "Police. Detective Inspector Greg Lestrade. Ambulance as quick as possible, Jefferson street, alley –way. Come within five minutes and I may not fire you." He clicked disconnect as he raced towards the street. He knew full well that Mycroft Holmes could put them out of a job within a minute if something were to happen to his brother. He rounded the corner, his heart thudding uncomfortably. He dropped beside his co-worker and his…friend? Yes. His friend. Sally was whispering softly to Sherlock, lips pressed to his ear. He couldn't make out the words but Sherlock's face looked calm despite the pained set of his brow.

Lestrade pulled off his own scarf and quickly pulled Sally's hand of, replacing it with his own, pressing hard against the wound. Sherlock's answering cry was pitiful and one look at his face had him sure the consulting detective was going into shock. Footfalls fell behind them, "Sir.." Anderson said nervously. "Call John. Tell him." Lestrade ordered, turning back to Sherlock. "I'm sorry mate but I have to stop this bleeding, I'm going to press harder and I want you to squeeze Sally's hand as hard as you can okay?" Sherlock answered with a pained grunt. That was worse than anything, no witty comment, not sharp response. "Suppose… You… Are.. .Happy… Yes?" Sherlock wheezed and Sally's face dropped further, eyes wide and tearful ."I would never be happy to see you hurt Sherlock. You're not my favourite person in the world, you insult me but don't ever think I like to see you hurt."

Sally nodded and entwined her fingers into Sherlock's. "Three, two, one." Sherlock let out a strangled cry and a sob, pain flared up Sally's arm as she heard a brief crack. She winced but ignored the fire burning up her wrist. "That's it Sherlock. As hard as you like." Then the tight grip was gone and his hand was limp. "Sherlock!" she shouted at him, "Don't you dare. You know how John will murder me if you die." Sally looked at Lestrade panic stricken. She fumbled at Sherlock's neck for a pulse and sighed in relief when she found one. Albeit it was weak and erratic but it was a pulse nonetheless. "I'll go and wait for the ambulance Sir." Anderson was back and had gone before Lestrade could say anything else.

"Sal keep'im awake. The bleedings slowing." He didn't know if that was good or bad. Had he lost so much that there wasn't that much blood left? Was that possible? Sally murmured quietly to Sherlock, his eyes fluttering were the only sign that he wasn't completely unconscious. "You're doing great. Ambulance will be here soon." Sally soothed quietly against Sherlock's ear. "Just great." She tentatively brushed back a few fallen curls from his forehead. "John is going to be so angry about this you know." Sally laughed weakly, continuing to stroke his hair absent-mindedly. At John's name, Sherlock's eyes opened a crack. "John." He rasped though it was barely audible. He coughed at the effort it took to say that simple word. He could taste iron; blood on his lips as he struggled for breath. "Tell'im M'sorry." His eyelids fluttered shut and the fight seemed to go from the detectives body. His head fell to the side, blood trickling from his the corner of his mouth. He was barely breathing now, just slow, shallow gasps.

"Sherlock don't you dare!" Sally cupped his face, slapping a pale cheek gently. "Sherlock Holmes you listen to me and wake up right this instant!" She screamed, one hand one his forehead, the other on his chest. As if she could will his heart to keep going. To just hold on.

And then it stopped. His chest fell and twitched, not rising. He looked dead already, grey skin and blue lips, blood surrounding the three of them. It looked like a massacre. Sally screamed and was pulled back. Paramedics? When had they got there. She turned and burrowed her face against Lestrade's coat. Lestrade didn't seem to mind and he put his hand on her back. "You did good Sal. He's going to be just fine now." And they turned to watch the now breathing consulting detective being loaded into the back of the ambulance, speeding off. As the sirens died down, Lestrade pulled Sally to a police car and pushed her into the passenger seat. She flexed her broken fingers numbly as Lestrade patted her knee. "Good job Sal."