Imagines Vol. 1

Imagine Sherlock Investigating Who Attempted To Murder You P1

December 20th. Today you were planning on surprising Sherlock at his apartment. He doesn't mention it much, but the way he sounds on the phone indicates that he misses you. You also contacted John and inquired him of Sherlock, and he confirmed your suspicions. Don't get it wrong, you miss him as well. You got out of the taxi, in which a rather old man had been driving. Your leather boots splash in the water as your begin to walk down to Baker Street.
Your phone in hand as your thumbs rapidly texted John. "I don't want to be late. But, I'm pretty sure Sherlock already knows I'm coming to surprise him." You texted, then hit the send button. "Most likely" John replied. You began to type when suddenly you accidentally bumped into someone, dropping your phone. "I'm truly sorry" you apologized reaching down to grab your phone, but his hand beat you to it; and he acted as if he was going to hand it over to you. "Oh thank you" you stated surprised at his sudden act, reaching out your hand for it. Unexpectedly, you felt something come over your mouth and darkness come over you. You woke up, your eyes weary and your mouth dry. You groaned, your legs aching. You looked down and saw bruises forming on them, then you looked to your right to find a wooden stick. You felt a rush of cold air. You looked up and realized you were still outside, but in a damp alleyway with dirty and mushy snow. A man in a dark trench coat, collar folded up, and his back to you. He seemed to be fumbling with several different objects on top of one of the trash cans. What you did now, you deeply regretted and wished it had not come; you sneezed. The man instantly looked back at you, turning his heels to face you. "I see you're awake." The man crooned, advancing to you. You only watched him kneel in front of you. "I also see you are...rather close to Sherlock." He mused, caressing your cheek. You flinched at his touch. "Let's see if we can fix this problem..." The man mused while pulling out a pocket knife, and flipping it open to the longest one. You gasped, your eyes filled with shock. "Why?" You mumbled, your eyes locked on the knife. "Because, sweetie, one of us loves Sherlock-which is you-and the other hates him, and that one happens to be me." The man advised you, the knife coming dangerously close to your cheek. With the quick flick of his wrist, he quickly cut you. You flinched, a stinging sensation forming on your cheek. Then he brought the knife to your stomach.
Hours had passed, John sat anxiously in his chair while Sherlock was laying across the couch. "I'm assuming she's late." Sherlock muttered, glancing at John. "N-no, no." John lied, shifting in his seat. "John," Sherlock stated, "what time was she supposed to be here?" John extended his arm and grabbed onto his phone. He looked at his it and viewed your last text. "Four hours ago. That's when she was about to get on Baker Street..." John responded putting it back away. Sherlock shot up, "four hours and you don't tell me?" Sherlock firmly stated, grabbing his coat. "You knew!" John complained doing the same. Sherlock flipped up the collar of his coat and wrapped his scarf around his neck. "Yes but I chose not to look at the time!" Sherlock quickly replied. Sherlock sighed and rushed out the apartment with John following behind.
Another hour passed, you laid helplessly in a small puddle. Your stomach aching from the several holes in it, and you are dizzy from how much blood you lost. "Sherlock" you muttered, your eyes wet with tears. You heard feet splashing in the water. "No, please I beg you!" You implored, striving to push yourself away. The feet moved quicker, until they stopped and two people kneeled before you. A hand grasped your shoulder; Sherlocks hand.