The poppyblood killer

Chapter 3

- Kira, John yells. As the man lunges for me, John tackles him. The knife grazes the side of my cheek but does no more damage as John knocks the assailant down.

- You'll be sorry you messed with us, a thug says.

- I highly doubt that, Sherlock says. Sherlock grabs the wrist of one of the men and grows him to the ground before spinning around to face another thug. A new attacker grabs Sherlock by the neck, but John manages to free himself. He promptly whirls around to punch him.

- It's been a while since we fought together, John says.

- Indeed. Ensure Kira remains unscratched, Sherlock says.

- Always, John says. Shielding me, the two of them fight as a team to clear a path out of the alleyway. It's amazing to watch. They fight like they know each other's moves before they make them.

- I believe the time is right for a tactical withdrawal, Sherlock says. John holds out his hand to me, and I accept with a grateful smile. His hand is warm and strong around mine as we run after Sherlock.

The haven of 221B Baker Street welcomes us back with its familiar embrace.

- Kira, your face, John says. I gingerly touch my cheek, the lingering sting a reminder of our recent altercation.

- Allow me to patch that up for you, John says.

- I'd appreciate it. But only if it's not too much trouble, I say. He smiles warmly at me.

- Not at all. It's what I do, John says. John sits down on the couch and opens his medical kit. I sit down next to him. He cups my chin gently and tilts my face to look at the cut. His touch is so gentle that I find myself blushing, especially with how close our faces are.

- I hope he doesn't notice. Although when we're mere inches apart, I'm not sure how he couldn't, I say in my head. Nevertheless, he doesn't comment and keeps his focus on the cut.

- Fortunately, it's a superficial injury. The knife only grazed you, John says.

- You knocked him away from me just in time, I say.

- I only regret that I couldn't prevent it altogether, John says. He takes out a cloth and some alcohol from his medical bag.

- This may sting a bit, John says. I nod and brace myself. As John carefully cleans the cut, I can't help but shiver. It does sing, but his touch is so tender that I don't mind the burning sensation. His soothing voice makes me want to close my eyes and rest my head on his broad shoulder.

- There. It doesn't look bad at all, John says.

- Your skills are commendable. I hardly even noticed the pain, I say.

- I'll take that as a compliment to my medical training then, John says. Next, he gets out a bandage and starts to carefully cover the wound.

- So, how does a doctor wind up being an assistant to a private detective, I ask. He freezes partway through his work, then catches himself and returns to securing the bandage.

- We happened to cross paths during a case and ended up becoming friends. Turns out I have a knack for detective work, at least as an assistant, John says. He winks. With that dressing in place, he draws back.

- Does that feel alright, John asks.

- Yes, thank you, I say.

- Is that really the whole story. He can play it off like it's just how things lined up, but there has to be more to it than that. But it seems it's something he's not ready to talk about, I say in my head.