I see Killer Evans's gun a moment before he pulls the trigger, but I am too slow to reach him before he does. Too slow to knock Evans to the ground, too slow to step in the path of the bullet, too slow to stop it midflight on its way to my friend.

Too slow to stop the bleeding. I look over the wound with an experienced eye. Stay calm, think about this logically. Pulmonary laceration, respiratory compromise. Blood already flooding the punctured lung.

You can't save him.

Too slow.

Impossibly, Holmes tries to smile, to comfort me, as though it isn't my fault that he's lying here, choking on his own blood. I press his hand.

"Forgive me, please forgive me."

I feel it when he dies.