Painting Murders - (A Sherlock fanfic)

It's a wrap up

My first reaction was to duck, even though I was already on the ground. I drew my knees in tight and listened to the shot echo around the building, ringing clearly and loudly until it died away into a whisper.

I looked up, expecting another shot, just in time to see Leigh Kavon pitch forward and hit the ground face first, stiff and ridged.

Sherlock stood stunned for a moment, his starkly coloured eyes wide with every emotion simultaniously, then ran towards where the gun shot had sounded to come from but was back a moment later. He then walked one complete circle around Leigh's body, before stumbling over to John and myself.

He crouched down and began tearing the tape from around John's wrists.

"Is he dead?" John asked in a disbelieving voice.

Sherlock snorted, "He's been shot in the back of the head, John. I think it's a sound analysis when I say he won't be getting up ever again." The words sounded bitter and cold.

Finally he yanked the last bit of tape free and John was able to flex his wrists and begin removing the tape on his legs.

Sherlock took my hands and began pickling the tape off with steady hands.

"Oh God . . .," I muttered putting my head back against the wall behind me and fighting off the urge to be sick. I wasn't sure if it was just me but the world seemed to be spinning below me and above me in two different directions, twisting me up.

"Are you okay?" He asked then added, "You're going to be fine, don't worry."

I looked up at him and nodded, I trusted his judgement, everything was probably going to be fine . . . to some extent.

We walked out of the building as the police moved in. They'd managed to release the captured man, whom was so shaken up that they had to rush him off to hospital fearing he was suffering from post-traumatic stress. I knew the feeling.

Sherlock had mumbled something about giving him a shock blanket - but the comment was lost under the noise of the sirens and buzzing radios.

I tried to walk in a straight line, the bruise on the back of my head throbbing as I moved but I managed to plaster a smile on my face when Lestrade ran over and hugged me tightly.

"Bloody hell, Everly," He said into my shoulder, "You've scared us all half to death! Your poor dad has been worried sick! What was I supposed to tell him?" He pulled back to look at me.

I thought then shrugged, "I didn't purposely get kidnapped." I said making light of it, "And let's face it, if me and John hadn't, you'd maybe all be running around and clearing up a dead loans adviser."

Lestrade shook his head in disbelief.

"There's an unknown shooter somewhere," Sherlock interrupted.

"Yeah, we heard the shot. I've got guys searching the buildings where we suspected it came from." Lestrade said, switching back into his Detective Inspector mode.

Sherlocke nodded in approval.

"I'll get statements from you all tomorrow, you'll probably want to go home." Lestrade added with an affirmative nod before wandering off towards the crime scene which had been quickly corned off.

"Home," I laughed then paused, "Seems ages since I was there to rest."

John laughed and gripped my shoulder, "I was the same when I was dragged on my first case with Sherlock."

I laughed again, "Ah, but for all the trouble, I'd like to do it again."

"What?" Sherlock scoffed, "Hack Mycroft again?"

I froze, "Ah, I'd forgotten about that." I moaned, then could have run for my life when I noticed the Jaguar parked near us and Mycroft climbing out before shutting the door firmly.

As he walked over and I found myself drawing closer and closer to Sherlock and John.

Mycroft's face was set, his expression dangerously blank and his body language authoritative and powerful as usual.

"Mycroft," John said formally.

Mycroft nodded to him, "Doctor Watson, an eventful evening I'm assured."

John nodded, "I guess you could say that."

Mycroft hummed slightly. "Yes, I found myself picking up my brother and driving down to Mister Kavon's house with him." Mycroft explained.

"Yes, how did you find us?" John asked looking at Sherlock who frowned.

"Your lack of faith in me is hurtful," He said sounding not at all hurt in anyway. "I got a call from Everly, so we drove to Kavon's house where me met a very helpful old woman who recounted meeting a gentleman and his daughter also looking for Mr Kavon," Sherlock smirked as me and John looked at each other and laughed.

"She mentioned the studio, so, knowing you were in imminent danger, we went there. I remembered the crime photos which showed the bodies down the road from banks, and Mycroft here, although most of the time useless, proved himself when saying a man had been kidnapped who worked at Natwest on Westminster Bridge. It was easy to locate you from then on." Sherlock recounted.

"Ah," John said, "Here's me thinking you were late on purpose."

Sherlock scowled at him, "Late?"

"We could have died!" John snapped and Sherlock rolled his eyes.

"Slightly over dramatic, John. Do get a grip." He scoffed.

"Thank you!" I said, everyone looking at me. "Thank you for rescuing us, if you want to call it a rescue mission. Thanks Sherlock for your brilliance in locating us and thank you Mycroft," I paused not believing what I was saying, "Thank you for your involvement in helping Sherlock."

Mycroft nodded and Sherlock glared at his brother, "Helping me?"

"Deal with it Sherlock," I said to him.

"He only drove me around. I could have got a cab." He sulked.

"By the way," Mycroft said, leaning against his umbrella like it was a walking stick, "I would like a word with you, Miss Sapphire." and he began to walk in the direction of the Jaguar, insisting firmly that I followed.