The Flatmate (SHERLOCK fanfiction/nanowrimo2013 winner)

unraveling plans

The officer’s mouth moved to say something before the sound of gunshot woke up the night. John took cover behind a statue and quickly loaded his firearm.  Simon opened his coat, pulled out two handguns, and tossed one to Sherlock before running across the street to join Charlie.

“Can’t see anyone,” Charlie mumbled as Simon stopped beside him. “I don’t know where it came from.”

Sherlock stood over the officer. The bullet had struck the back of the head and exited through the screaming mouth, leaving an awful crime scene. The detective’s eyes followed the path of the bullet and, from exactly where the shot had come from, he spotted a dark figure walking towards them.

“Everyone back in their houses!” sung a voice colder than the air. The houses and shops around them obediently turned off their lights, darkening the streets. The moonlight filtered down on the approaching person, revealing the structured face Sherlock had been waiting to see. “Mr. Holmes, I would suggest you turn back, unless you give us the code.”

Sherlock, in unhurried steps, walked towards the man and the rifle. “Mr. Brooklyn, we know very well the code cannot be accessed by one person, but by two.”

“And I’m guessing the other half of the code is with Ms. Marinca?”

“You’re getting warmer,” Sherlock teased, stopping in front of Andrew Brooklyn. They were eye to eye; their bodies in line with another, ready to shift in either direction in case the other made an aggressive move. “Where’s Elise and Mrs. Hudson?”

“Give me the code, and I’ll tell.”

Sherlock smirked, “Oh, we’re playing on the see-saw, very childish, Brooklyn, don’t you have a better plan?”

It was Andrew’s turn to simper. “I always do.” With that, he made a sharp whistle.

The detective reached inside his coat, taking out the gun Simon had given him. He fired once, killing one of the men pouring out of the alleyways of the shops. The man fell dead before he could fire a shot at Charlie. Sherlock turned to Andrew, but he had joined the fray.

At least a dozen of Andrew’s men attacked the four, shooting and beating with every object built to kill. Andrew slipped out of the crowd and made his way to the canal to board a boat in his name. John, who had been firing from entrance of the canal, noticed Andrew run by him. Understanding what the fiend was up to, John stepped out of his hiding place, checked his surroundings, and fired at Andrew. The bullets struck the ground right behind the villain’s heels. Andrew turned around and riddled John’s area with bullets. John took cover, escaping the bullets.

Simon and Charlie took on five of the men in hand-to-hand combat. Charlie wasn’t experienced in fighting with just his hands, but Simon wasn’t too far behind him if he needed help. Two men pinned Charlie to the ground while another man struck him with iron chains. Simon, hearing Charlie’s cries, sent a final blow into the man he was fighting and raced to aid his friend. With careful precision, he used the back of the two men’s shoulder that held Charlie as stair steps to kick the beater in the face. His tactic worked and the chains flew into the air and clattered off into the darkness. Simon wheeled his knife that he kept sheathed closed to his ribs. With two motions, he slit both of the men’s throats. Their hands released Charlie.  

“Find John,” Simon ordered, clapping Charlie on the back before returning to the carnage. Charlie did as he was told and found John wrestling Andrew into submission. For being as short as he was, Charlie was surprised at John’s strength, then again, John had once bragged about taking Sherlock down with a headlock. 

Sherlock had run out of ammunition, but that didn’t stop him from using the handgun as a combat weapon. He brandished it easily in his hands, using both ends to either strike against bone or puncture an organ. Like a dancer, he weaved in and out of attackers, reacting and deflecting every move they hurled his way. He twisted the firearms and tazors out of his enemies’s hand by simple winding of their wrists in directions not made to stress.