Sherlock Holmes- A Study in Blood

Chapter 28

"Maybe happy endings were real, as long as you understood that they weren't endings, but steps on the road." ~ Katharine McGee

No one could ever know whether it was coincidence or providence that led Simza to the window at the precise moment Sebastian Moran exited his carriage. Her blood ran cold and she flew to alert Mrs. Hudson to stay with Mary and Tommy in the kitchen no matter what happened. She had enough time to draw her knives and steel herself before he broke in.

A smile that turned her stomach and fueled her rage spread across his face. "Well, well. If it ain't the grand Madame. What a nice surprise," he cooed, his voice dripping with a sickening sweetness. "Look how nice and done up you are, living 'ere on Baker Street. You should thank me. If not for me, you'd still be living in filth with those gypsy animals."

With a dagger in each hand and a cry on her lips, she rushed him. She plunged her blade into his shoulder, then spun around and swiped the other dagger across his face, giving him a scar to match hers. He howled in pain, and with his good arm, threw her back against the stairs. She scrambled up them, thinking only to keep him away from Mrs. Hudson and the children. Moran recovered more quickly than she would have liked, and gave chase, catching her ankle and pulling her down back toward him. She cursed him in French and kicked her other foot, bloodying his nose with a satisfying crunch.

Simza didn't wait to hear the slew of names he called her, but pulled herself up and ran for the flat. Slamming the door behind her, she hurried to where she knew Watson kept a pistol in his desk. With a steady hand, she loaded the weapon, Moran's heavy footfalls echoing up the last few steps. Her own heartbeat echoed in her ears as she raised the gun, aiming it at the door. She would have one chance. And, for all the people she had loved and lost, she was determined to make it count.

The door opened, and Simza waited until he stepped fully into the room before she fired, the sound reverberating up and down Baker Street as the bullet found its mark in the center of Sebastian Moran's chest. He fell, never to rise again.

Simza let out a breath she didn't know she had been holding and sank down into Watson's chair. It was finished.

~*~*~

To say the scene they came upon was alarming would be a grotesque understatement. The door to 221B was ajar. Watson, Holmes, and Irene stepped inside to find Simza's daggers tossed haphazardly on the floor. "Simza! Mrs. Hudson!" Holmes shouted as best he was able, constables standing behind him and awaiting further instruction.

"We're here! We're alright," Mrs. Hudson answered, coming out of the kitchen and into the hall.

Watson immediately took Mary from her arms and held her close, burying his nose in her sweet curls. "Papa, where'd you go? Where's Sim?"

Before he could answer her, Holmes called to him. "Watson."

For the second time in his life, his own name struck an ice cold fear into his heart. He set Mary on her feet, who immediately moved into Irene's embrace, and looked to where his friend had indicated and he too, saw the trail of blood starting at the bottom of the stairs and continuing all the way up to the flat.

Simza.

No. God, no. He couldn't do it again. Surely fate would not be so cruel.

Together, they raced up the stairs. His scarred lungs protested each breath that dragged along his throat, but still he called for her. "Sim! Simza!"

The door to the flat was open, Moran's body sprawled out before it just inside. Beyond that, bruised and exhausted, yet standing tall, was Simza.

For both men, their relief was immediate and overwhelming. "See there, Watson," Holmes gave an airy chuckle that belied his earlier panic, "I told you we had nothing to fear. Our dear Simza can handle herself, I dare say."

Watson said nothing, but moved to take her in his arms and press a searing kiss to her lips. Her hands came up to grip the scorched lapels of his vest and her sparkling dark eyes sought his once they parted. "Marry me."

Watson laughed and cupped her dear face in his hands, kissing her again. "Yes, you wonderful woman. Of course."

Behind them, Holmes clapped his hands and beamed. "Ah, a wedding! What a lovely ending. Lestrade," he called out to below, waving his hand in the direction of the floor, "send your men to take care of this, we have a celebration to plan! Mrs. Hudson, we must discuss a menu, and you, Mary darling, are going to make the most excellent flower girl, won't she, my dear? Oh, yes, and we must begin planning your stag party at once, Watson!"

A resounding "No!" was heard from the newly engaged couple by every inhabitant of 221B Baker Street.

Holmes grinned.

~*~*~

That night, Holmes excused himself from the company of Mrs. Hudson, Simza, and Irene to seek out Watson who was putting Mary to bed. Violin in hand, he entered the bedroom just as her dear little eyes were falling closed. Tucking the instrument under his chin, he accompanied Watson's lullaby.

"Sleep my baby, on my bosom, warm and cozy will it prove. Round thee Father's arms are folding, in my heart a father's everlasting love abides. There shall no one come to harm thee, naught shall ever break thy rest. Sleep my darling babe in quiet, sleep on Father's gentle chest."

The familiar song, sung by such a dear voice, and the ever present sound of her uncle's violin soon lead dear Mary into the land of fairies and the sweetest dreams. Holmes smiled and gripped Watson's shoulder. "She is safe, Mother Hen. As are we all. It is well and truly over."

Watson smiled at his dearest friend. "Merely one chapter. I'm sure another is only just beginning."