Shattered Glass ( JohnLock )

Face

•TWO YEARS LATER•

" Welcome home, Sherlock." Mycroft smiled and turned his chair like a classic villain to face his disgusted brother. " Oh please Mycroft, cut the small talk. You know exactly why I'm here." Sherlock scuffed and laid down on a nearby table. Our detective had grown quite the beard and hair in his time away, and quite the attitude. Silence thickened between the two loathing one another before finally a woman came inside and silently began snipping away at Sherlocks hair. " So tell me
Mycroft, why am I back?" The younger Holmes questioned while Athena began to finish up with his shave. " I'll cut straight to the chase. London has been overrun by a series of gruesome murders all by the same man." Mycroft started and lit a cigarette. " It seems to be something up your alley, because believe it or not several important men including Lestrade are in quite the struggle for their own lives." The elder man let smoke curl from his lips as he breathed out his words. " Are you saying Scotland Yard is refusing to take the case?"Sherlock inquired with a confused glance towards the ceiling. " Quite so I'm afraid, who ever has gotten involved doesn't make it through the first night. Lestrades men are quaking in their shoes." Mycroft hummed back with a morbid smirk. Silence followed as Sherlock thought about how London has changed since he left.. A mass serial killer? The thrill of a lifetime in his hands. " Let me see the reports." The baritone voice rang out, leaving a smug face on the politician as Sherlock sat up. The features Sherlock gained in his travels of unraveling the webs of Moriartys hell had given him quite the caveman look, but now he rest as the same Sherlock as before and glad about it. A folder was tossed and caught across the room and soon Sherlock was noes deep into the gracious murders. " Dear god it's CHRISTMAS!" He boasted and continued reading. All eight victims were stabbed numerous times in various locations all over the body, they no doubt made a struggle but yet there were no signs of such on the corpses, and each seemed to have some sort of connection to each other. The plots of the killings made a symbol in Sherlocks mind... A pentagram. Starting on Maddox street and should be ending on Baker Street tonight. Wait.. Baker Street.. John. " Tell me, what has John been up to?" Sherlock asked and tossed the folder aside. " He's found my security cameras and ripped them out of the walls." Mycroft sighed and took another inhale from his cigarette. " But that didn't stop you of course." The younger Holmes butted in to cause a finger point at him in a ' Certainly not'. " I have men watching his every move." Mycroft got to his feet while he spoke. " He' gained a job from Barts and now he's done nothing special. From  my Intel he still resides in your old flat." " Lovely. Send me a cab, I've got a few to greet." Sherlock smiled smugly as Athena appeared, handing him his jacket and soon he was off.

•Four Hours Later•

Sherlock stepped into the old home with grace and a smug smile. He couldn't wait to greet Mrs.Hudson and John.. He couldn't wait to see their faces.

"Oh Sherlock your back! Sit! Tell us where in the devil have you been while I fix you some biscuits, you must be starving!" Mrs Hudson would boast as she hastily began making the promised food.. Then John would come downstairs to here the commotion. He would stop directly in the doorway, flabbergasted and looking drained. Shocked. His face would go pale, but a smile on the Bloggers face would appear as he tackled Sherlock in a hug. " I thought you were dead! How are you alive? Oh Sherlock I love you, you're so brave and amazing! How did you make it away from those Turkish beast?..." And their lips would connect, finally. At last. John would smile into it of course, more than pleased to have Sherlock back and then they would go upstairs and-

Mrs. Hudson screamed, a pan crashing to the floor as she looked in both horror and glee at Sherlock in the doorway. She disrupted his beautiful thoughts. " Sherlock!" She cried and ran over and quickly smothered him in a hug. " Is it really you?! " she cried once more, clinging to him for life it seemed. Sherlock never was one for affection, so he simply patted her back with a smile. " Yes Mrs Hudson, I do believe it's me ". " But-But you died! You jumped off of Saint Barts and died!" She wailed and continued to hug him. This was somewhat close to what he was thinking.. So where was John? " We've all been a wreck without you" she gleamed and finally seemed to release him." WHERES-" he cleared his throat softly " Where's John?" Sherlock asked and immediately regretted it. By the look on Mrs Hudson's face, she looked pained and worried. She knew John wasn't well, something was wrong with his Watson, His-His blogger. " Oh Sherlock... He took your death very hard.. He shut himself out from everyone and he's at work I do believe." She sighed and moved to the kitchen. " Tea?"

John was stalking home, his eyes dull and lifeless. He was getting very tired of being followed. He wasn't a idiot, he could see men tracking his very steps and it was getting on his final nerve. Time for a finally before he could begin anything and finish his masterpiece. " Get off of me! I'm a Federal Agent and im not afraid to hurt you!" The Stalker seemed to cry as John pushed him into a alleyway, anger gleaming in his sunken eyes. Anger had taken control of the doctor, causing his Post Traumatic Stress to take control. He was no longer John Watson, Sherlocks blogger but yet a warrior in the battle fronts of war. He was just Watson, the military doctor men on the other side feared and this stalker was the new enemy. A knife was brought from his Breast pocket with a sickening giggle to continue. " You filthy Afghani, you'll see what it's like to mess with me.." He grinned. The agent backed away, terrified and yelled in horror. 

The silence of London was filled with agonized screams that bellowed into the night soon after.