The Shadowmen

Chapter Two

Chapter Two

Sherlock sat on the bed with bloodshot eyes. Though hard he tried, he couldn't seem to get that name out of his head.

John.

Normally his mind would be filled with things of all sorts, from cases to experiments to so-and-so's eating habits. But ever since the Fall, all he could think of was his old flatmate.

Sherlock had tried to occupy his thoughts with plenty of things, from accidentally setting Molly's microwave on fire to sitting mindlessly in front of the telly, watching reruns of Being Human.

After a few months had passed, Sherlock began to go outside more. Soon he was back to solving cases.

It didn't take very long for Lestrade to discover that the great consulting detective had returned.

The police began looking extremely clever after he had started giving Sherlock cases. No one could know that he had survived, and Lestrade could be trusted to keep it that way.

But Sherlock still couldn't sleep. John Watson always seemed to ease his way into the detective's mind.

One day, Lestrade gave Sherlock a job abroad.

"7 dead. 16 injured. According to witnesses a 'mysterious creature' attacked all of them with some sort of knife." The detective inspector said. "I'd rather you stay here in London, but Cardiff is baffled."

"Brilliant," Sherlock replied, looking a bit too happy considering the circumstances. He turned up his collar and smiled. "I'll be there as soon as I can."

About two hours later, Sherlock arrived at the apartment building. He slipped under the bright yellow tape and began examining the crime scene. After questioning the victims, he looked around for other witnesses and saw only one.

The strange man was leaning against the structure. Sherlock began to study him. In ten seconds, he had discovered the following: The man had old, worn shoes. He ran a lot. Not jogging shoes, though. He wore a strange combination of clothing, including a bow tie. He obviously wasn't from around Cardiff. Possibly visiting. This wasn't his apartment. His jacket was bloodstained around his left arm. The stains were recent, he could tell by their colour. There was a gaping hole in his jacket, near the blood. He identified it as the mark of a small knife, as Lestrade had said. His eyes were tearing up and fixed on a couple. He had lost someone very close to him, but not a wife or kids. Friends, perhaps.

His final deduction: This man was obviously from somewhere far from Cardiff. He's an adventurer. He travels by foot, most of the time. He recently lost someone near to him, someone he must have known for a while. He must have come to Cardiff to attempt to get this person out of his head. He probably heard the screaming from the apartment. Being the adventurer that he was, he went to help. The creature must have cut him as he was running from it.

Sherlock walked closer to the man, ready to question him. He sighed. This was his least favourite part of the solving process. Dealing with the ordinary people. "Well, I know that this is hard for you, and blah blah blah, but just tell me what happened, and this'll be over with." The man simply explained how he heard screaming, ran into the building, heard someone, became a chicken and ran off. At least he wasn't being ridiculous like the others and talking about a "shadow".

But then, once the man had finished, he shifted his weight nervously. It was a small thing, barely noticeable. But this was Sherlock Holmes. Sherlock simply realised that he hadn't told him all there was to know. "Well, if you suddenly remember anything else, call Scotland Yard." Sherlock realised this was a mistake. The man now knew that Sherlock was aware that he lied. Best not trust him to strangers.

"Just tell them you need to speak to Sherlock Holmes." Sherlock turned around and walked off, but he felt the gaze of the stranger turn from a normal gaze to that of recognition and curiosity. He immediately began to suspect that the stranger was not an ordinary person. Not at all.