Soldiers

One

"Sherlock! For God's sake, Sherlock! Just run!" John yelled, gun in one hand, hatchet in the other. He was glad for once, the amount of sharp objects his flatmate left laying about. He tried to keep an eye on said man as his head also spun to look in all other directions.

"But, John, I need samples!" the detective whined, yielding his bloody harpoon in the face of a newly turned zombie - a client they had to keep safe in the confines of their flat when the zombies had taken a turn down Baker Street and interrupted what proved to be a promising nine on Sherlock's case rating scale.

~

They had thought they could wait a little longer before planning their escape, but unfortunately for John - he wasn't so sure Sherlock saw it the same way - Arthur Hardwood had fretted over his family and chosen to make a break for it while John was in the bathroom, and Sherlock had grabbed the harpoon - scalpel and sandwich bags at the ready, it seemed - before hurrying to follow the young man out of the safety of 221 and into Baker Street.

The main bulk of the living dead had spread to other neighbouring streets, but a few were left and, Arthur, sadly ran straight into one just as Sherlock got to the open door, and Sherlock - the dear little detective - instead of choosing to smite them both, had watched in fascination as the thing tore a hole in Arthur's throat with it's teeth. He had fallen to the ground, howling and slouched over panting. His spine had somewhat jolted and the man curled in on himself a little, fell limp onto the road for a matter of seconds before he rose, snarling.

John had gotten hold of his gun as soon as he heard of this new plague that threatened to overpower them and not let it out of sight - the smart and guarded man he was trained to be - and upon seeing that Sherlock and their client were no longer in the living room, had instinctively grabbed it with the hatchet Sherlock had thrown in the living-room wall out of boredom mere minutes before. He was about to leave when he saw Sherlock's coat and knew the detective would miss it if they hadn't the chance to get it back, so tossed it over his shoulder and followed the detective's only obvious path of escape.

He yelled to Mrs Hudson's closed door: "Stay put, Mrs H! We will come back for you, barricade the door shut, now!" John hoped she was and would be alright, but his focus and main priority had been his reckless flatmate in that moment.

~

So, there he was, standing a yard or so from Sherlock, keeping his eyes on the empty street around them as well as on his stupid friend as they argued.

"We can get some when we are safe! Come on, finish them and run, you right bloody idiot!" John called, exasperatedly, "And dear God, don't let them touch you!" he added quickly when one drew closer.

"But, John! He is a fresh sample! What if I don't get one this fresh agai-" Sherlock started, pressing his harpoon to the re-animated Arthur as he looked over his shoulder at John.

"Sherlock!" the ex-army doctor warned, "Now!"

"Fine!" The detective sighed dramatically while simultaneously thrusting the spear of his harpoon into Arthur's head, propelling forwards to do the same to the other beefy walking corpse.

"Come on!" John hollered, waiting for the man to get a bit closer before running, knowing for a fact that Sherlock could easily outrun him if he so wished. When Sherlock was by his side, he huffed, "Bloody moron." and they carried on running, Sherlock leading John to wherever with the map of London in his mind, muttering as they made quick work of Baker Street. It seemed almost empty besides the many double dead bodies, causing John to wonder quite how bad this outbreak really was. They had heard gunfire and a large amount of noise earlier on, which he could hear in the vicinity too, so he assumed London was going to be under some sort of protection.