Him, Sherlock Holmes

Chapter 20~ Wolves Prowling

-----Willow POV-------
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The cold metal is pressed into my neck. Not hard enough to bleed, but to scrape some skin. My small wrists wrapped behind my back by large muscular hands.

Sherlock's eyes are wide along with John ready to panic. They are frozen in their places, John lifts his arms as in saying "I have no weapons".  Sherlock slowly moves his hand to his front pocket pulling out a gun. The man pushes the knife deeper to my skin drawing a little blood. I hold my chin higher to prevent being severely cut.

Sherlock sets the gun onto the floor and kicks it toward us. The man quickly reaches for it, but I step onto the gun and stand on it before he grabs it. He is furious for what I did. He begins with the knife. Rubbing it along my neck tearing thin layers of skin. I wince at the pain my nerves are picking up.

John is raging over the fact that I'm in pain and he tries to come forth. Sherlock stops him with his own arm.  I push my head forward letting the blade cut skin then ram my head back into my enemy. The enemy drops the knife and holds his palms to his face groaning in pain.

I smirk as I grab the gun underneath me. I hold the gun with two hands in front of me, aiming at the bartender.

"Christ-" John begins shocked. The man gets up. More enraged than before. His eyes aren't brightly shining anymore. They are dark. A dark green. Like when you look into a forest in the middle of the night. Wolves prowl within the darkness ready to pounce.  Ready to kill.

I step backward stumbling into Sherlock in the process. I'm actually afraid. But why? I don't understand, this is nothing compared to the different things I've been through. Like the explosion. Like...Alistair. I shake all emotion and thought out of mind and focus on the bartender. I think I'll call him Mr. Enraged Faker.

He hurls himself at me and I shoot. I shoot with my eyes closed. The power of the gun unbalanced me for just a second. I open my eyes to see Mr. Enraged Faker on the floor with blood pooling around him. I shot him in his side probably just grazing the bottom rib bone on his left side. He glares at me as his chest heaves for air.

I turn to leave, but I stop. I turn back holding up a finger.

"Oh and by the way, you're arrested." I laugh.

"Okay that's enough sassy." John says pulling me away. "Let's go, I need to check on your neck."

I had almost forgotten. My neck is bleeding. I oblige John and Sherlock calls someone on his mobile. I am assuming the police. John sits me down on the floor and starts examining my wound.

"I'll be fine, John. It's only a scratch." I complain assuring him it ok.

"No, I'm sending you home along with Sherlock. I'll have him bandage you up then I will make sure the bloody man gets arrested." John gets up and shuffles over to Sherlock. "Sherlock, go take Willow home and bandage her up." He frowns at John.

"Why me?" He asks in disgust. John rolls his eyes.

"Just do it." John seems annoyed.

"John it's fine I'll do it myself." I butt in. "I'm not totally helpless." I say gesturing toward the motionless body of Mr. Enraged Faker. Sherlock nods in agreement.

"I don't care, you both need some rest. It's been a long night and I get more sleep than you." John says demanding his theory. I wave my hand in the air and walk away.

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-------John POV---------
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Willow walks away obviously not caring. She looks back at us before she slams the door.

"Come in the next 15 minutes or I'm leaving by myself." She sighs slamming the door. I myself turn back to Sherlock. I gesture my arm toward the reckless girl.

"I'll take care of this, go." I push Sherlock towards the door.

"But why me?"He groans.  I raise my eyebrows and glare. Then finally, reluctantly, he leaves.

After a few minutes I hear sirens in the distance. Then car doors. Feet stomping. I soon see Lestrade coming toward me with a few others. He looks confused. 

"Where's Sherlock?" He says dumbfounded.

"He's not here." I say shifting my weight and looking to the ground.

"But we need Sherlock, where is he?" He voices frustrated throwing out his arms.

"I guess you are going to have to deal with me." I glance from the ground smiling. 

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-----Willow POV-------
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I sit in the car for only about half a minute until Sherlock hops in after me.

"221b Baker Street." I say to the driver holding my hand to my throat gently. Shivering as the blood drips from my hand to my black dress.

The drive back to 'home' was excruciating. We sat in silence. The only thing heard was my heavy breathing and the blood dripping.

Sherlock runs up the stairs easily, I try and fail. I take the railing and go slower than I expected. I drop myself on the couch breathing heavier than before. I hear Sherlock scavenging a cupboard. He comes back holding multiple bottles, bags, bandages, and even test tubes. I pours the object onto the floor in front of me. He sets down a towel puts my head on it them proceeds to kneel down.

He grabs two bottles and pours both of the liquids into the same tube. Puts a finger over the top and swirls it. He then dumps the contents onto the remains of my neck.

I scream in pain and my hands start to shake. My vision blurs at the pain. What in the world did he use?

I close my eyes hoping it will raise my pain tolerance. It's no use. He does something else which makes me grit my teeth to stifle a scream.

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