Late Nights

24 Bond Street

The door to 24 Bond Street was a rather big, old door made out of metal. Beside it there were tons of doorbells with tape beside them. The tape had the owner of the apartment's name written on it, all in different handwritings. Sherlock scanned it with his eyes until he found the name he was searching for. James North.
"John, I found him," Sherlock called, expecting John to be several feet away, jumping as he saw that John in fact was only a couple of inches from away. Usually things like this would make Sherlock tense, or get nervous, but he was too deep into his work mode to give it a second thought. Though if he did, he might've caught a glimpse of John's annoyance at the fact that Sherlock didn't pay him any attention. "Are we going to ring the bell?" John asked not really getting where Sherlock was going with this whole plan.
Sherlock looked at John with confuse. "And letting him know we're coming? Of course not!"
"I thought you said he wasn't home," the other man replied. Sherlock darted his eyes away from John to avoid his piercing look, but hid it by rolling his eyes. "I said I thought he wasn't home. You can never be to careful," he stated, regretting it the second it came out if his mouth. Since when did Sherlock Holmes care about being careful? Occupied by the same thought John swiftly followed Sherlock inside when he, at last, had gotten the door open.
The scent of alcohol and rot hit their noses, John holding his hand over it to stop the smell. They began to walk up the stairs, to steps at a time, heading for an apartment at the eighth floor. It made John uneasy being in such a tall building with Sherlock, looking back at their experiences with them.
When they got to James' flat, the door was already open with a crack. John had his gun out, as well did Sherlock. They opened the door and stepped inside, John making sure to go first. Sherlock went to the right and John to the left as they searched the apartment. It doesn't seem to be anybody here, John thought as he finished his round. "Uh, John?" Sherlock called from inside the kitchen. John turned, walking inside, still with great caution. Sherlock stood there in his black coat, that matched his hair perfectly, and pointed inside an open cabinet. John smelled what it was before he saw it.
Inside the cabinet was Hannah's dead body stuffed, flies swirling around her head.
"I'll go call Lestrade," John stated, turning around to walk away when Sherlock stopped him. "I've already sent him a text, he's on his way," Sherlock said, locking eyes with John. "But don't you get it? If Hannah is here.. The others must be in here somewhere."
With that both men headed out of the kitchen to look for the rest of the bodies. Sherlock was a few steps ahead of John, speeding towards the living room. "We came here for information, and what we find his dead bodies," John said his voice thick with something Sherlock thought was self pitying. "Story of our lives," Sherlock chuckled in return. But his laughter came up a halt when he heard a gun's safety being taken off, from the opposite side of the room.
Sherlock slowly turned around looking straight into the eyes of James North. He grinned at Sherlock showing of his teeth, almost as pale as his skin. His dark, brown hair was hanging down in his eyes.
"Drop the gun and surrender, and I will let the short one live," James said to Sherlock, nodding his head towards John. That's when Sherlock realized. The gun wasn't pointed at him, but at John.
"Sherlock, don't," John said penetrating and Sherlock moved his gaze to him. His brown, warm eyes and his messy hair. The longer Sherlock stared at John the more certain he became he could never let anyone harm him. Putting one hand up in surrender, he bent down to lay the gun on the floor. In the same second James hurriedly moved his gun from John to Sherlock about to shoot. John screamed and jolted forward to stop him, but then James moved his gun back to John before Sherlock could stop him, smiling a wicked smile.
Then he pulled the trigger.