Yaya! New story to work on :D

Do enjoy? Please?

AT-

The day his world ended, Sherlock Holmes was sprinting down a back London alley. The clattering sound of shoe-on-stone echoed in the small space, the only other sound was that of his best friend and associate, Doctor John H. Watson doing his best to keep up with the 32 year old detective. Holmes slid to a stop and peeked around a corner. As Watson caught up with him, his sore leg smarting something fierce, Sherlock had pressed himself against the brick wall, revolver loaded and ready. "Watson," Holmes whispered, "they are right around the corner. We've got them now, mother hen. Wait till The Yard gets wind of the news." He chuckled deviously, the thrill of the chase leaving a peculiar glint in his grey eyes. Watson only sighed, doing his best to hide a smile promising to tug at his lips. "Holmes, Kara wanted me home by six." Watson whispered in return, and Holmes wrinkled his nose. Karaliene, Watson's second wife after Mary Morstan, held a bit more favor, but any woman who would interfere with the cases was not held in Holmes' highest esteem. The Doctor only smirked in return, fingering the cool metal of his revolver.

With a last solemn nod, Sherlock dove around the corner, precariously dodging fists and cudgels. Watson only sighed and jumped into the fight after him, barely diving out of the way of a stray bullet. "Watson!" Holmes snapped as he was flung to the ground by a rather large German. The Doctor did his best to keep an eye on Holmes, while also trying to keep from getting hit by the lead chain now being swung by one of the thugs. "Holmes," Watson replied, punching a short man in the stomach and delivering a blow to the head, "A bit busy!" Holmes only shouted in reply as a giant barrel came smashing to the ground, missing his head by a fraction of a millimeter. After beating the large German down, and ensuring he would be unconscious for several hours, Holmes rejoined his friend. Watson was slowing down, obviously tired, and more and more of the men came after him. Sherlock did the best he could, and the duo fought back to back. When they thought they had everyone beaten and the Yard on the way, one man did a very shocking thing.

He surprised Sherlock Holmes.

Watson was too busy delivering the final blow to a stocky man to notice the cudgel swinging at his head.

Luckily, Holmes saw it.

The detective shoved Watson to the side, but he himself was not so lucky. Instead of smashing into Watson, the bat hit Holmes. As the detective fell to his knees, a slight groan of pain escaping, a shocking sound cracked through the air. Before Sherlock could comprehend what had happened, John Watson fell to the ground. Holmes struggled against the urge to close his eyes, which would result in unconsciousness most certainly, in order to help his best friend. The two men lay side by side, sprawled on the cold ground, and stared into each other's eyes. The last thing Sherlock Holmes saw before he blacked out was the icy blue stare of his best friend in the world, John Hamish Watson, sending him a final farewell.