SHERLOCK I, II, III & IV • #wattys2016

A Fallen Friend

“Doctor, if you don’t shut your mouth, we’ll kill you!” shouted an angered American as he pinned John on his seat in the back of a van.

The driver waved his hands in command for them to both stop. “Foster, pull off the road and let’s just pop his—,”

“We’re doing nothing until we know for sure the detective didn’t die in that explosion. I haven’t gotten word from Pratt, and he was the one driving.” Foster said, turning into a London alleyway. “It’s getting dark, we might as well find a place for the night.”

“There’s no way the detective survived, come on, it’s not like no one will miss him!” the American’s hand fondled his holstered handgun.

Foster scoffed and rolled his eyes. “Doesn’t matter who will miss him, you idiot, he’s a friend with peeps at the Scotland Yard! What we are going to do is wait for The Axis to call.” Foster parked the car beside a garbage disposal and pulled out his cellphone. “I’m going to give her a call—why don’t you and the doctor stretch your legs. Not you, Billy, Tatum will take him.” Foster corrected, pointing to the person who was riding shotgun with him.

Tatum stepped out from the passenger seat, his burly shoulders avoiding collision with the ceiling, and seized John by the back of the neck. He weaved them both out of the van and onto the pavement. “We’ll be back in an hour.”

“Wait,” Foster called out, his hand grappling to catch his colleague. “The Axis has location on the detective. He is alive.”

“And where would that be?” Tatum asked.

“Well, five miles from the police department,” Foster said, hanging up.

At that, John pulled out from underneath Tatum and sprinted out of the alley.

“Damn it, shoot him!” Billy hollered from the van before leaping out with a loaded weapon.

Foster stopped all of them from firing. “Don’t worry, he won’t go far.” He redialed the number he had just called. “Hello? Yes…he got away…you’ve got someone in London on him, right? Yeah, we’ll go after him, too.” Foster motioned his men to climb back into the van and they set their target on the doctor.

It was quickly getting dark, and John could hardly tell the difference between the few people wandering and the lamp posts. “Oh, God, please, dear God don’t let Sherlock die again. I must go to Baker Street—no, that’s where they’ll suspect I’ll go first.” As he crossed the street, he felt the warmth of bright headlights flooding onto him. Ducking into the darkness, he ran to the most secluded area he knew—the woods.

It wasn’t long before John was stumbling and bumbling through brambles and thorns. The cold air bit at his face and drew tears from his eyes. His heart pounded so hard, John feared that that would give himself away. As he tripped through a particularly twisted patch of vines, he heard scuffling up on the hill just a few yards away from him.

Dropping to the ground and keeping his arms underneath his chest like he would when he would crawl through a trench or ditch, John kept his breath steady and his eyes on where he believed the motion was. As he lay still, he heard another sound behind him. Looking over his shoulder, he met eyes with Tatum.

“Get up, or I’ll shoot you,” Tatum hissed.

John glanced back up to the hill and saw a shadow pass over the ground. Knowing it was probably his only chance of being rescued, John cried out, “Help!”

Tatum jumped him from behind, a hand clasped over his mouth, and the two fell to the ground.

The shadow returned and stood still—the moonlight positioned behind him. John wriggled free and delivered a solid punch at Tatum’s mouth. He wrestled Tatum’s handgun from his fingers and made for the shadow. He didn’t know who it was, but he didn’t care. As he closed in on the shadow on the hill, he heard the whistling of a bullet skim his leg.