𝐓𝐫𝐢𝐚𝐥 𝐚𝐧𝐝 𝐄𝐫𝐫𝐨𝐫 || 𝐁𝐁𝐂 𝐒𝐡𝐞𝐫𝐥𝐨𝐜𝐤

20: Shoot To Kill

The window exploded, a hail of shattered glass filling the room. Sherlock staggered back in shock, the pill falling from his hand, forgotten. He looked at the taxi driver with wide eyes. The taxi driver was clutching at his chest, blood spurting from the wound.

Sherlock ran to the window, looking around frantically for the gunman.

But the gunman was nowhere to be found.

***

I felt a sense of grim satisfaction as well as a voice In my head saying, Yeah look who's awesome. I am. A clean shot to the heart. Oh yeah!

I hurried to exit the building. No need for anybody to know that I was ever there, I thought to myself. I ran from the crime scene to the main road, where I hailed a cab. I looked carefully at the cab driver before getting in. This is going to haunt me for the rest of my life. Cab Drivers.

I got back to Baker Street in record time. Throwing open the door, I dashed up the stairs, ignoring Mrs Hudson's surprised expression.

I hid the gun under my mattress and washed my hands until they were scrubbed raw to get rid of the gunpowder residue.

That was when I got a phone call I was expecting. I took another cab back to the crime scene, just in time to see that the area had been cordoned off, police vehicles everywhere. I see Inspector Lestrade with Sherlock and John, who is still groggy from the drug. Sherlock was sitting on the back steps of an ambulance with a blanket around his shoulders, with a coffee.

"Why do I have this blanket? They keep putting a blanket on me," said Sherlock, sounding irritated. I stood in the distance, chuckling at the look of discomfort on his face.

"It's for shock," insisted Lestrade.

"I'm not in shock!" said Sherlock,

"Yeah, but some of the guys want to take photographs," said Lestrade, grinning as some people took snaps of Sherlock in the shock blanket. Sherlock shot him a look, then looks back up at the opened window in the college building.

"So, the shooter. No sign of them?" Sherlock asked. I stiffened and looked up, monitoring their conversation carefully.

"Cleared off by the time we got here. A guy like that would've had enemies, I suppose. One of them could've been following him. But we've got nothing to go on," Lestrade sighed.

"Oh, I wouldn't say that ..." said Sherlock. I begin to panic. Lestrade looked at him wearily.

"Okay, gimme!" He said. He pulled out his notebook.

"The bullet they just dug out the wall was from a handgun. A kill shot over that distance from that kind of weapon - that's a crack shot you're looking for. But not just a killer, a fighter, an assassin. Their hand couldn't have shaken at all, so clearly they are acclimatized to violence. You're looking for someone with a history of crime and nerves of steel," said Sherlock in his fast voice. He broke off and met my gaze. Sherlock just stares for a moment. Oh my God, I'm so dead, I thought.

"Actually, you know what - ignore me," he said suddenly.

"I'm sorry," said Lestrade in disbelief.

"Ignore all that. It's the shock talking!" he said. He started to make his way over to me, leaving John in the back of the ambulance. I was doing my best to look nonchalant.

"Where are you going?" Lestrade called after him in exasperation.

"Just need to ... discuss the rent," Sherlock replied.

"Still got questions for you," Lestrade said.

"What, now? I'm in shock. Look, I've got a blanket," Sherlock said, lifting the blanket and waving it in Lestrade's face. "Sherlock ...," Lestrade groaned.