"Well hello there Sherlock. I see you refused my little request." Jim rose an eyebrow at Sherlock , smartly straightening the cuff of his suit sleeve and straightening his shoulders, " Now we can't have that ...can we?" He questoned with a smirk.
Sherlock gulped and looked Jim in the eye, saying nothing , but speaking a thousand words with his eyes alone.
James tutted and shook his head, a small smirk dancing on his lips, " Shouldn't have done that ." He said in a sing-song voice. He pulled a phone from his pocket and chucked it at Sherlock to catch .
He looked at the screen.
His heart sped up , his eyes stung, his stomach churned and he couldn't control it. He felt an intense rage seige through his veins , his hands shook as he looked from the picture to Jim , and back to the picture, pleading for it to be different , but no . It was the same picture .
A boy, blood over his head, his neck at an odd angle, lying on the floor.
It was John .
And John was clearly dead.