Holmes counts his heartbeats too as he waits for Moran to pull the trigger. Seeing him here in person, in all his fierce excitement, in all his vigor and delight in killing Watson, chills Holmes. He'd been quivering in nervous anticipation, but the shudder that comes when Moran steps into the room is from something entirely different. He's grateful that Watson holds his hand like this, comforts Holmes back, for he could really use the reminder that he isn't alone just now.

When he hears the tinkle of glass across the street is when he makes his move.

Fighting is nothing new to Holmes, but it's nothing new to Moran either. Though he prefers long-range combat, he's definitely a skilled fighter, and he's fueled by rage and the leftover adrenaline from having (he thinks) just shot Watson. And Holmes... Holmes looks into Moran's fierce eyes and remembers the Falls, remembers dodging Moran's bullets, and his focus isn't as steady as it should be.

Moran overpowers him, knocks him to the ground, closes his hands around Holmes's throat and leans in close to hiss in his face.

"Today's the day, Mr. Holmes. So glad you didn't die in that den; this is far more satisfying."

His breath stinks, and Holmes claws at his hands, attempting to fight him off, and attempting desperately not to look beyond Moran to Watson.