Marriage and Mental Illness (Sequel to Tall Buildings and Pill Bottles)

Catch Me if You Can

John's POV

It was only two days later that we got the call from Greg. "We've got eyes on him, we're going after him. The intersection of Brixton and Villa." He hung up without another word.

Sherlock, who had been sitting nearby, listening, was on his feet in an instant. We both grabbed our guns quickly and were out the door in a matter of seconds. The place wasn't far from the flat so we took off in a sprint.

We ran together, arms pumping and breathing labored until we came to the intersection. Sherlock had already pulled his phone out, looking for more information on where to go. "They're headed down Brixton, come on," he grabbed my arm, basically pulled me along with him.

We found the others quickly, it had only been ten minutes since the call had happened in the first place. Donovan was the only two I really knew other than Greg. I pulled my gun out, cocking into place. Greg nodded to us and glanced back out into the street from the alley we were in.

"He's inside that store," his head jerked to indicate the hardware shop three doors down from the alley. "Only shoot if you have to, and only to hurt. Not kill, he'll lead us to the rest of the organization."

I nodded, adrenaline coursing through my veins. I glanced at Sherlock, noting his eyes blown wide, chest heaving with breath. The night air was cool and crisp against my skin. I turned back to the street, ready to run at a moment's notice.

Seconds later, a white man in his early 60's walked out of the stores. Paul Stewart. Greg stepped out into the street, gun pointed directly at him. Two others and Donovan had gone out with him, creating a flank against him.

"Scotland Yard, put your hands in the air!"He turned and saw four guns pointed directly at him. He grinned devilishly, revealing crooked yellow teeth. He lifted the hood off his face, revealing the rest of him.

Brown eyes dead with roiling hatred, his light brown hair peppered with gray. The tattoo wasn't just a swastika, it was intertwined with a symbol I vaguely recognized from the American terrorist organization, the Klu Klux Klan.

"Well, well, it seems that the police finally got their act together. Unfortunately, you're not going to shoot me. You need me, for information." His voice was like nails on a chalkboard, scratching against my ears.

"Catch me if you can," he teased. He bolted in the opposite direction, leaving us with no option but to follow.

Greg cursed loudly as the five of us sprinted after him. Sherlock was running the fastest, gaining ground with every second. The path Paul Stewart had taken was filled with twists and turns, having us slamming against walls every so often in order to make the sharp turns.

Sherlock halted, barely giving the rest of us enough room to stop before slamming into him. "We'll lose him if we keep following him this way," his eyes flitted around the alley, mind spinning with the thousands of possibilities. He reached for a fire escape of a building and began to scale it. I followed suit behind him.

"Are you insane?" Greg called up. We were both halfway up the building when I called down.

"One thing I learned the second night I knew my husband, Greg, was that he can get anywhere in London in the fastest way possible. Come on, or we'll lose him." Greg paused only for a moment before following. Donovan was the last to join, hesitating longer than the others.

Before the others had even joined us on the top of the building, we were running again, jumping down from small ledges until we reached a gap. The two of us leaped without a second thought, landing easily on the other side. The others followed closely after a moment of hesitation before jumping.