Salt in the Wound Chapter 8: Picking Up the Pieces, a sherlock fanfic

Well... hi for the final time!
The following is just a lot of emotional gushing, feel free to skip.

So... I've been reading fanfiction for years, and I'd often come across author notes that said something along the line of "Reviews are love!" I never fully apprieciated this until I began writing myself. Seriously, every single person who's reviewed, or even simply alerted me, you've made so much difference. Several times throughout writing there were moments when, without your praise and advise, I would have bottled and never finished this story. I'm sure you all remember writing your first fics, and it's a difficult and quite daunting process. So, I wanna thank everyone who supported me, and gave me helpful advice; really, this story just wouldn't have happened without you.

Okay, here we go!
WARNINGS- Character death, Swearing, Lots of bullets getting shot around (mind your head).
End of the chapter is Sherlock/John friendship, nothing more :)

Previously:

Sherlock and John sprang forward and grabbed Harry, trying to pull her back. Clara launched herself in front of her as Moriarty, the triumph gone from his face, leapt forward to meet Harry's attack. Commotion ensued, everyone yelling and struggling against each other. Blows were thrown, grunts of pain, curses shot like daggers.

And among the chaos, from somewhere hidden, cutting through air and voices alike, a single shot was fired...

Salt in the Wound

Chapter 7

Silence. Deathly stillness that stretched out for one horrible, soul-shattering, eternal second. Then it was broken by a single cry:

"CLARA!" Harry's scream shattered the silence into a million shards and pierced the heart of everyone present. The first to move, she leapt forward as Clara staggered back, hand clasped over her chest, all ready bright red with the blood running from the vivid, gaping wound directly over her heart.

She fell, making it halfway to the ground before Harry caught her, easing her down. Breath escaping in broken gasps, tears struggling down her deathly-pale face, her flitting, desperate eyes found Harry, whose own face was ghostly-white with shock.

"Harry..." her voice was broken and strained; it was clearly an effort to speak.

"I'm here. Stay with me, Clara. Stay with me, please!"

"Still here... all ways been here, really." her left hand drifted to her shoulder, and the light caught on a single gold band on her ring-finger. Her wedding ring.

At the sight of it the breath caught in Harry's throat, escaping as a harsh sob, "No! Don't leave me Clara, come on, you'll be fine, Clara!"

"All ways were so stubborn..." Clara's voice was barely more than a whisper, the focus slipping out of her expression. Harry took her hand in hers, holding it close to her chest, bringing into her eye-line her own wedding ring that she, too, was still wearing.

A distant smile struggled onto Clara's face, locking eyes with Harry for a split-second. Then the little that was left of her breath hitched, her eyes screwed up in pain, before the tension in her whole body released, her eyes slipped out of focus, and Clara Watson knew no more.

Tears streaming down her cheeks, Harry lay Clara on the ground and planted a kiss on her forehead with a tenderness she'd never shown before; a tenderness that was gone the moment she raised her head: through the tears, her eyes were burning with a ferocious anger and a fiery hatred that radiated off her in scorching waves. When she spoke her voice was more of a snarl-

"You." her rage was like a poison dart straight at Moriarty, "You did this. It's your fault." In an instant she was up, a hand flying to her waistband and returning, releasing the safety catch on her handgun. Moriarty merely raised an eyebrow, calling back the tiny red laser sights that had momentarily vanished. The moment they came to rest on Harry, the remaining fragments of her composure snapped- she whirled on the spot, screaming out at the empty air, "Fine! Do it! Kill me! Take me down, you can't scare me any more!". Defiance was clear on her face, it was an open challenge. A second passed, the fear and anticipation palpable on all sides. Then one of the sights flickered out. Followed by another. Suddenly every beam of light was blinking out of existence, retreating as swiftly as they had come. Harry stood in surprise for a fraction longer, then she turned once again on Moriarty, who all of a sudden didn't look quite so sure of himself.

"Not so cocky now, tough guy." her voice returned to it's low, menacing snarl. She raised the handgun once again, and fired.

The force knocked Moriarty back against the wall, his eyes wide with shock, and - it was definitely there - barely masked fear. Blood pooled though his shirt, starkly visible against the crisp, shiny white.

The instant he hit the wall a bullet shot passed Harry, missing her by a millimetre, and thudding into the opposite wall. Everyone whirled around as the side door crashed open once more, revealing the guard who had been holding Clara less than five minutes previously, forgotten in the struggle.

Shit.

He fired two more shots in quick succession; shots that would have hit Harry square in the head had John not leapt forward, dragging her out of the way at the last minute. She struggled against him, shrieking curses and threats.

What happened next no one expected.

Steely determination hard in the guards eyes, the gun flew up again, now only a foot or two away from the pair. John braced himself, ready to throw them both out of the way or get in between the gun and Harry or something... when out of nowhere the red laser sights were flashing back into existence, and all pointing directly at the guard. A voice followed them: "I'd drop that weapon if I were you, Mr. Hathaway."

Confusion clouded the guards - Mr. Hathaway's – face, with more than a hint of anxiety. He was however, alone in his confusion. Every other person in the room was frozen in disbelief. All in joint recognition of the clipped, upper-crust tones of that invisible voice.

A second later their astonishment and incredulity was confirmed as the voice was followed by the heavy umbrella and carefully refined appearance of Mycroft Holmes.

He continued to address the burly Mr. Hathaway, who was still clutching the gun as if it were a lifeline.

"Mr. Hathaway, I strongly advice you do as I say. Continue to be uncooperative and the results could be... messy."

As if to emphasise this point, one of the renewed laser sights flickered upwards, settling between Mr. Hathaway's close-set eyes. He blanched, the last of his uncertainty replaced by fear, and his gun clattered to the ground.

"Thank you." Mycroft's gratitude was empty, and once Mr. Hathaway was no longer a danger he dismissed him, turning to the rest of the party. "John. You look well."

"Mycroft?" There were a hundred questions behind John's utterance. Mycroft chuckled quietly, "Well you know I like to keep an eye on my little brother."

Sherlock muttered something that sounded like "interfering prick" and Mycroft shot him a disparaging look: "Prove you can keep your nose out of trouble and I will stop. Had one of my men not taken down the hit-man who made an attempt on you two nights ago you would be very soundly dead. Once I received intelligence that Harriet had contacted Sherlock, I knew it was only a matter of time before you made an attempt on Moriarty. I was not, however able to stop him finding out."

"So who took down the snipers?" asked John, still looking slightly bewildered by the whole turn of events.

"I am not without my own... workforce." he replied, a slight smirk playing across the corners of his mouth. "I imagine they are at this very moment chasing after Moriarty."

Ah. Of course. It dawned on everyone that in the kerfuffle, Moriarty (even with a bullet in his chest) had managed to slip noiselessly away, back into the maze of corridors.

"I'm going after him!" Harry had made it halfway across the room before John caught her, "Let me go!" she yelled, trying to shake him off.

"He's not worth it, Harry. And even if he was you wouldn't stand a chance, Harry!" She carried on struggling: "I'm gunna kill him! Him and then it's you!" She shot the last at Mr. Hathaway, still lurking in the corner, who suddenly seemed more afraid of her than Mycroft.

"No! Harry... this isn't what Clara would have wanted. Don't tarnish her memory like this." This finally seemed to get through to Harry, and she went limp in John's arms. He held for a moment longer, then turned his attention to a blossoming bruise on her head, growing from her earlier collision with a wall.

"She needs attention," he spoke up quietly, "lets get her out of here." He placed an arm around her and began to lead her towards the door. She paused as she reached Mycroft: "Five minutes." Her voice was hollow, the last of her rage entirely dissipated. "Not just... five minutes earlier?"

Mycroft looked down at her, his expression softening. "I am only capable of so much, miss Watson. By the time he realised your treachery it was probably all ready too late. I am very sorry." and for once, he really sounded it, too.

Baker street was quiet in the early hours of the morning. Tests had been run, check-ups made, statements taken, and Sherlock and John had finally been allowed to return home. Now John sat in his chair next to the fire Mrs. Hudson had made in time for there arrival, flicking distractedly though pages on his laptop. Sherlock stood by the window, his mind working furiously – he had things to sort in his head. No news of Moriarty had been brought to them as of yet. The events that unfolded in the past weeks had force him to re-evaluate the threat Moriarty posed. He had known, before Sherlock even, how inseparable in each others lives Sherlock and John were. He had sworn to burn the heart out of Sherlock, and he had damn near managed it. Why had it taken Sherlock the death of his flat-mate to realise his importance? But what mattered now was that Moriarty was clever – very clever, almost as clever as Sherlock himself – and he knew him. Knew where to strike in order to hurt him most. Knew the things even Sherlock didn't know. And, now that he did know it, they were going to have to very careful for a while. Sherlock hated emotional revelations, they were so distracting.

John spoke up suddenly, dragging him back to the real world: "Do you think he's dead?" he was quiet, almost sounding afraid to ask.

"Hmm?" Sherlock turned from the window.

"Moriarty." John still hadn't looked up from his laptop, but he spoke directly to Sherlock.

Sherlock turned back to the window, "I don't know. He has access to good care; he patched you up very efficiently. Maybe if he reached one of his guards in time..." he trailed off, his mind whirring. "How's Harry?" he asked suddenly, still managing to sound far away. John looked slightly startled at the question (it surprised Sherlock himself, actually), then he sighed. "She's as good as she's gunna be right now: pretty damn awful. Poor girl never was any good at knowing what she wanted."

Well, Sherlock could relate to that, at least.

John sighed again, and stood up. "I'm going to bed. Don't stay up all night, you need to sleep, no matter how much you deny it." he turned and began to make is way to the stairs.

"John." Sherlock call stopped him, and he turned back again,

"Yes?"

"I... I'm glad your... okay." there were a thousand meanings beneath his statement, everything he couldn't find the ability to put into words. He could tell by John's small smile he understood every one of them.

"Glad your all right too." he turned and left the room.

Moriarty was out there somewhere. Out there with who knew what dangerous knowledge of both Sherlock and John. The game was far from over, and it was about to get insurmountably more dangerous. His stomach twisted with a mix of apprehension and - yes, all right – excitement. The world was now a more dangerous place, and he and John would have to watch their backs for a long while. But tonight, Sherlock could lay back in a house that was home once more, his best friend snoring upstairs, and know that, for the time being, it was all fine.

Well... the end
Final reviews and comments would be greatly appreciated :)

*No longer has anything to get pissed at in the middle of the night when she's supposed to be asleep*
*Stands around looking lost*

Bye, I guess :)