Welcome to Baker Street

72. One last favour

Sherlock collapses to the ground, howling. Giulia witnesses the shooting and drops the wooden table that crash loudly on the floor. Yet, not a sound seems to reach her: a furious ringing is attacking her ears, and she cannot perceive anything else in that instant. She is in utter shock.

When the bullet from the following shot misses her by inches, she is forcefully awakened from her trance and brought back to that frightful reality. In a moment of lucidity, she runs by Sherlock's side, slides her hands under his armpits, and heaves his torso up, struggling to drag him across the threshold of the rear door. She stares, horrified, at the crimson stain spreading across his chest.

"Oh God, I didn't see it coming," she whines as fear and horror get hold of her, causing an unbearable tingling in her extremities. It feels as if she was detached from her own body; her hands are still gripping at Sherlock's clothes, but she has no perception of it. She has the impression that the whole world is spinning around her. Is she about to faint again?

"Neither did I," he grunts more annoyed than worried; he is not referring to him being shot, though, but what he has just discovered about her past.

She takes his left arm and passes it over her shoulders, helping him stand up and walk unsteadily away from the house as fast as possible. They stumble while crawling on the cobbled path in the garden.

"Don't worry. We'll get to the hospital. You'll be fine," she says, panicking once they reach Mrs Hudson's car in the driveway. They take cover behind the car as Fred comes out of the front door and keeps shooting at them, chipping off the car paint from one of the rear-view mirrors.

"Take these." He throws the car keys at her, and she catches them mid-air, too stunned to protest. Then she lowers her eyes to the foreign object in her hand and gives him a confused look.

"You want to take me to the hospital, don't you?" He implicitly points out the obvious: he is in no state to drive.

Giulia nods rapidly, realising suddenly what that means: driving on the left side of the road, something that she is not used to doing. She told him earlier; she joked about running into a tree, but not entirely.

She helps Sherlock climb in the passenger seat, then slides in the driver's place and starts the engine of the sports car, mumbling under her breath, "I can't do that. This is the wrong side of the car and the road."

At that moment, a bullet shatters the back window; she screams at the top of her lungs, pushing her foot down on the gas pedal and making the car jerk in reverse out of the driveway in a cloud of gravel.

"Yes, you can. I'll lead you. Now breathe, put in the gear, and drive as you would normally do. Just try to do everything the other way around," Sherlock encourages her as the car stops in the middle of the main road.

She exhales and does as instructed: she peels out and springs forward towards the highway. She is holding so tight onto the steering wheel that her knuckles turn white.

"It's complicated. And the road sign we've just passed indicated that the nearest hospital is 30 miles away. I'm not sure I can go on for that long."

"Oh no," Sherlock exclaims.

She turns towards him, alarmed. "What?"

He pokes his finger into the hole pierced by the bullet in his clothes.

"This was my favourite coat," he whimpers.

She rolls her eyes. "You're so dramatic. If we both survive, I'll buy you another one."

He gives her a condescending look. "Do you have the slightest idea how much it costs?"

"You know, I'm not a doctor, but I think you should save your breath at the moment," she snarls at him.