Chapter Text
"Sherlock, are you gonna stand there and watch them shoot a defenceless man?"
Sherlock hesitated. Would he? Could he? Don't murder people was kind of his number one principal. Could he really stand by and just let it happen?
"Is that who you are? Hmm?" Silas asked. His entire shirt was read now. Sherlock's own recent bullet wound ached in sympathy. Or maybe he just toar his stitches riding here.
He covered the space between them in a few short strides. He positioned his body between Silas and the two young women.
"Sherlock."
No. No. He shook his head. "Not in cold blood.
"You made a promise." She reminded him.
Again, he shook his head. He had promised, if that was what it took to find Bea. And it wasn't. It wasn't. How could he just stand by? "He answers for his crimes, and he faces justice."
"You don’t get to decide that, Sherlock. Get out the way." Beatrice said. It was disturbing, really, how cold she sounded. She was nothing like she used to be. I guess that was expected, considering the fact that she was no longer a toddler.
"I’m not moving, Beatrice."
"If I have no compunction shooting my own father, you think I won’t shoot you too?"
Then he felt hands, bloody hands grip his shirt collar and pull him closer, to shield him better and there was a split second when he regretted his choice. Would he really take another blet for this man?
"I’m not moving."
It happened so fast. Too fast. His father's arms rapped around him, and they were dragging him, pulling him towards the cliff edge. He didn't have time to fully process what was happening.
"What are you doing? No, no, no, stop this! Get off me!" He yelled. He had never before heard his voice so desperate. So full of fear.
"Stop it! Let go of me! Let go!"
God, he didn't want to die. But his father's grip was iron.
"I always knew you loved me, my boy."
"No, don’t. Don’t."
It was one last desperate plea, and then they were tumbling from the sky.
Sherlock's back slammed against rock, and his father lost his grip on him. Somehow, somehow, Sherlock managed to find purchase on the rock, and with what could only be from the adrenalin of almost dying, drag himself up onto a ledge.
He glanced behind him. His father was gone. He had tried to kill him, and now he was gone.
"Sherlock!" He looked up. Xiao Wei, perched at the edge of the cliff looking at him.
"I'm alright. I'm alive."
Was he alright?
The fall hadn't been that far. Far enough to break bones, but all things considered...
He was in shock so it was hard to tell the extent of his injuries. If he hadn't already toar his stitches then he had to now.
He tried to push up onto his elbows and pain shot through him, although he struggled to locate the source.
His father was dead
"You're going to be fine! We're going to come down to you!" He heard Xiao Wei yell. As far as he knew, they didn't have a rope, so they would probably be a while.
Had he hit his head? No idea. Again, hard to tell with the shock and adrenalin.
He pressed his hand against his old bullet wound. He was pretty sure it felt bloody. He didn't want to look down at it.
His father was dead
As the adrenalin and shock began to fade, and the pain kicked in Sherlock found himself making a low, rather undignified noise.
By the time they threw a rope down, Sherlock was struggling with consciousness.
He was vaugly aware of the fact that the figure descending was neither Xiao Wei or Beatrice but he was still rather surprised when James appeared beside him.
"Oh. James. Hello."
His father was dead
"Your grand Shirly. Your grand. Just... keep pressure on your wound. I'm gonna get you up." His voice was unbearably worried, shakey.
"What's wrong James?" He managed. His words sounded rather odd in his ears. He sounded almost drunk.
"Nothing. Nothin's wrong." He muttered. "Right. Right, I'm gonna tie the rope round you, and Mycroft's up there to haul you up."
Sherlock tried to sit up, to find James strong hand firmly against his chest. "Woah there. Just... lay still for a minute now so I can get ya tied up right."
When they had hauled him up and thrown back down the rope for Moriarty, Mycroft, Beatrice, his mother and Xiao Wei were all fussing over him.
Mycroft seemed rather insistent on pressing into Sherlock's bullet wound, which only made it hurt more but when he tried to pry him away he found his arms quiet weak and useless.
"Sherlock. Sherlock, look at me. We're helping you. I know it hurts but we're helping you." Bea said.
"Stop it Mycroft." He said, or more accurately whined.
"I am quiet sorry, brother dear but it seems to be necessary."
When did James get here?
"Help me get him up on a horse. Get him to the nearest town." He said.
Mycroft nodded.
"You will be fine."