Him, Sherlock Holmes

Chapter 7~ Cases and Kidnaps

Edited 4/13/2017

-----John POV---------

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There is a dead body lying dead in front of me. The red liquid you call blood has seeped everywhere.

I can feel my pulse pounding through my wrist. My breathing quickens its pace. I look at Willow and Sherlock frantically- who seem to be looking at the body casually. Their faces identical: smirking- ever so slightly- at a dead body. The excitement of a case. Even if it's small, if it involves a dead body Sherlock will take it. I'm guessing the same for Willow. I've only known Willow for about four or five days, but I can tell she is very much like Sherlock.

After my moment of shock and feeling faint, I speak up.

"I'll call an ambulance and Lestrade ." I sigh, knowing that we probably don't need an ambulance and that Sherlock is going to make this a case. Somehow. He always does. Sherlock responds with his usual 'don't bring Anderson!' quote. I agree with him- Anderson is very obnoxious. I pull out my phone from my pocket and scroll through my contacts to find Lestrade.

"Lestrade. Who's this?"

"It's John, I'm with Sherlock. There's a dead body." I say, rolling my eyes slightly at the inconvenience. 


-----Willow POV---------

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John's speaking can be heard in the background faintly, while Sherlock and I examine the young man. A single man in his early thirties and works as a barista down the street. Must live close if he decided to walk home. Why would anyone want to kill him? He's very ordinary and has no major life problems. Hit man- probably. But, no normal hit man would aim for the throat. Sirens in the distance tell me someone is on their way. I glare at the body and see that the man was shot from in front- from the east. East of Balcombe st. there was a large fitness building. I've tried going once, but soon realized how much it cost. It's very expensive with more windows than I appreciate. Easy jackpot for a sniper.

I don't know why John wanted to go to a bar, but I'm glad we took this route. Maybe they'll let me in on the case. I've tried so hard to get my hands on one. Things got out of hand one time and I know what I need to do, not to do, and things like that. I look at the traffic behind the cab we got out of. Honking, yelling, cursing. I laugh at the thought that if they knew or if I told them there is a dead body lying here. It's the face they would make. Full of emotional regret, grieving for someone they don't even know. To be honest I think that's just idiotic. People showing sentiment even when they don't mean it.

Soon I realize someone is talking to me. I shake the thoughts out of my head, looking up at the voice. It's a man with salt and pepper speckled short hair. He has red tinted brown eyes. By the way he's standing in front of me I can tell he knows how to handle a gun well. His stance tells me he is either with the military or police; he stands ready for combat, but as well relaxed.

"Hey, are you okay?" His voice slurs through my head. I can hear the humor in his voice. I blink slowly as reality comes back.

"Huh? Oh, yeah, yeah. Sorry I um.. space out a lot." I apologize, feeling completely dumb.

"So you're good at tuning out people like Sherlock?" He laughs. Sherlock perks up at the sound of his name. I suppress a smile.

"Definitely." I state, continuing to hold back my smile.

"Heh, well Sherlock wanted me to tell you about the case. I'll give you the papers tonight. How or where do you want it? Should I bring it over to your place."

"If you could bring it to 221b Baker street as soon as possible, that would be best." I say casually, but by his expression- I didn't. He looks back behind his shoulders quickly then turning back to me to whisper fiercely-

"You're living with them?!" His question upsets me slightly.

"What?! No. And if I was?" I whisper back, headstrong. He shakes his head.

"Never mind. You guys can leave now. We need to bring in the body to Molly." He's talking normally now. I nod in response, still angry of his assumption. He leaves and I look over at Sherlock who is still looking around the crime scene. I walk up to him and watch his eyes dance from place to place.

"We're supposed to leave now." I say pouting humorously. He turns to me and frowns.

"Why?" He asks, utterly disgusted.

"They're taking the body somewhere else." I shrug. I walk away before he can say anything else. I look around for John, but he is nowhere to be seen.

I walk along the whole street and I still can't find him through the crowd of people. I listen to the footsteps around me. There's a person walking behind me. Except they have been walking behind me for the whole while I have been searching for John. I whip around to see Sherlock. I'm about to question him, but his face is flooded with fear and shock. 

A hand grasps over my mouth not only a hand, but a rag filled with the scent of chemicals. I'm being dragged into a dark alley. The person dragging me is massive. They aren't dragging me. They're carrying me and running. Worry enters my mind as I watch Sherlock running after me and the criminal. I'm swept passed corners, but Sherlock follows. Sprinting his way towards me. We turn two opposite corners quickly- but I don't see Sherlock. We turn another corner and he's still not there. Fear floods over me and is starting to take control. I start to feel drowsy and try to fight it, but it's no use. I give up.

*****