Consulting Fangirl

Chapter 23: John

A/N I'm so sorry the chapters have been so short. I live on a farm and harvest is soon so I've begun working. That means little time to write.

I didn't want to leave you guys hanging, so I figured a short update was better than no update. Agree? 

So yeah this story is getting intense. I already have the last three chapters written so it is set in stone. No changing it. Sorry. Please please comment though I love hearing from you guys! 

Enjoy :)

After sprinting from the gravestone, I had to stop and catch my breath. Two years away from the action-packed life of Sherlock Holmes left me breathless.

It then occurred to me that I had no idea where I was going. Sherlock was alive. That was my only thought. I had no idea where he was, how he was doing, or even if he still cared. He could have gone insane and became a mass murderer, or became a gay, cat-obsessed chess fanatic. For whatever reason, that didn’t bother me too much.

My phone buzzed again, right as I was questioning my sanity.  It was another text from Sherlock. An address. This was good. Somewhere to start. I had to go there. It seemed to be abandoned, but that didn’t surprise me. Sherlock would never ask to meet somewhere public after faking his death.

With a destination in mind, I jogged to the side of the street and hailed a cab. The driver was an irritable old woman who scowled at me when I told her to pick up the pace. After what seemed like years but could only have been minutes, we arrived.

I hopped out of the cab and threw a handful of bills at the cabbie before sprinting towards the abandoned factory. My feet tore through the rough gravel, its hard terrain making the run more difficult. Beneath the layers of comfort and domesticity, my muscles remembered Afghanistan and how it was there. The terrain was anything but forgiving.

Somewhere in the back of my mind, a voice was screaming that this was a trap. I knew it was, but that didn’t stop me. Sherlock was alive. He was here. I couldn’t live with myself if I left before seeing if this was true.

Some sense returned to me when I came close to the door. This had to be done carefully. I had one chance. If I let myself get caught and died, it wouldn’t just be me hurt. I had Mai now. I had a life apart from Sherlock, a life where I was happy. As much as I wanted him back, I cared about Mai and our future together. I couldn’t throw that away.

I crept through the dark building carefully, keeping my steps as quiet as I could. Still, I winced as each step echoed through the empty building. I expected there to be someone waiting with a gun at every corner until finally there was one.

I stared at the man with wide eyes, but he hardly seemed surprised. He didn’t even bother to point the gun at me.

“Come along, Dr. Watson. He’s waiting.”

I took that as a good sign. He didn’t seem to be threatening me. Maybe Sherlock really was waiting for me. A gunman wasn’t his style, but it has been two years. Maybe he’s changed. Maybe he’s more powerful. I wasn’t quite sure how I felt about that.

When we entered what I assumed to be the main factory floor, the man with the gun stepped back, leaving me alone in the darkness. I couldn’t see anything, just black. The absence of light made the entire situation more dramatic, but Sherlock always was a drama queen.

From the darkness came a light: a small red light that seemed to cut through the black like butter. It took me a second to realize what the red light was, and that it was aimed at my chest.

“Hello John.”