SHERLOCK I, II, III & IV • #wattys2016

On the Run

Sherlock, caught in the moment, threw his eyes at John and said in a voice filled with dissatisfaction, “You knew about this, John. All of this.”

Astonished more at being accused than what he was being accused of, John stuttered, “Sherlock, no. I didn’t know about Mullen coming here. The clues are all that I knew about.” John paused and then resumed in a humored tone, “This is about not telling you about the threat earlier, isn’t it?”

In a softer voice, Sherlock replied through a smile, “Don’t strain your pipes, John, I know whose side you’re on. This is just coming together all too perfect for you, isn’t it?” He nodded towards Mullen.

“It won’t be too perfect for you if I flood that tunnel. Now, let’s not let fealty get in the way. I just want to talk to John Watson. After all these years apart, there’s so much to say to him.”

“And what will you do with me?” Sherlock challenged.

“You won’t do a thing. I would advise you to run, though. I’ll give you a head start before sending my dogs to after you. They’re fast animals and are like missiles—won’t let you out of their sight.” Mullen lunged forward and grabbed John by the neck.

Sherlock intervened and sent a strong blow across Mullen’s face, making sure to catch John before he hit the ground as well.  Mullen sprawled onto the floor, cradling his harmed proboscis. Seething with anger, he scrambled to his feet and ordered his men to charge. John, keeping a firm grip on Sherlock, pulled himself to a steady stance.

“You’ve got a window, Sherlock. Run!” John pleaded, pushing Sherlock away from him.

Shaking his head, Sherlock suggested another route. “There are two windows. You’re coming with me.” He dodged a swinging punch from one of the men and, while still bent over, he elbowed his attacker in the chest. As the man crumpled to the ground, Sherlock delivered another blow on the back of the neck and wrenched the gun out of the man’s hand.

“Clever!” Mullen praised as he jabbed the point of his own handgun at the back of John’s head.  “You better run, Holmes, the dogs are hungry!”

Sherlock’s eyes shot down at John and seeing that he ought to listen, he fled up the stairs to the top floor. He knew Mullen wouldn’t kill John so soon. The three other men chased Sherlock up the stairs, all laughing wickedly at the beginning of the next phase.

“Good, we’re alone now,” John said rapidly before striking Mullen in the shin with his foot. Mullen lost balance and gave John enough time to jump to his feet and knock him in the throat. With his limbs numb to the surprising pain beneath the chin, John caught the armed hand and slipped the handgun into his own possession. With a smile of victory, John bolted up the stairs and followed Sherlock’s tracks.  When he had made it out of the club, he looked up and down the streets, listening for the dogs. He heard them howling in the distance to his right.

Not wanting to lose another moment, John pivoted on his feet and sprinted down to the street towards unknown territory. The dogs were a great sense of location, as long as they continued to bark, John could estimate how far away he was from Sherlock. With his heart thrashing about his chest and his blood shooting through every vein in his body, John feared he would collapse. He could feel pressure on his lungs and it was getting harder to breathe. But he knew he couldn’t let Sherlock down. Sherlock counted on him for being on time, and he wasn’t going to disappoint him because of a sore chest.

Picking up speed, John turned into an alleyway bordered with crates and other odd obstructions. He stopped and looked around, trying to relocate the group. He heard scuffling that was too close for comfort behind him. Hearing the shuffle of feet pick up speed, John spun around and aimed his gun. With just a glimpse, he knew he could pull the trigger. The gun smoked and the man who had been following him fell dead. John saw that it was one of Mullen’s men.