You Are My Mystery {Sherlock Holmes}

Chapter 32

The man walks over to Sherlock and pats his breast pocket and flicks the coat open while Sherlock stands meekly with his arms still spread. Walking around behind him, the man starts patting for any hidden weapon at his back. Sherlock covertly starting to bend his right arm towards himself, he whips out the sanitizer spray can, twists around and sprays the contents directly into the man's eyes. As he screams, Sherlock rears back and then savagely headbutts him in the face. The man falls back onto the coffee table, unconscious, and Sherlock triumphantly flips the can into the air.

"Moron."

"Agreed," I mumble. Slamming the can onto the dining table, he hurries over to me and, tutting – probably in annoyance at what the man has done to me – he drops to his knees in front of me.

"Hello, sweetie," I smile.

"What mess have you gotten us into now?" Sherlock asks.

"Me? I did not."

Sherlock looks over his shoulder towards the mans prone body, his expression still promising murder.

***
Bound and gagged with duct tape, the man sits on the chair near the fireplace. His nose is broken and blood has ran down his face and is dripping from his chin. I sit on sofa and Sherlock is in a chair nearby, holding the man's pistol aimed at him with one hand, and his phone to his ear with the other.

"Lestrade. We've had a break-in at Baker Street. Send your least irritating officers and an ambulance.... Oh, no-no-no-no-no, we're fine. No, it's the, uh, it's the burglar. He's got himself rather badly injured. Oh, a few broken ribs, fractured skull...suspected punctured lung," Sherlock states.

I laugh.

"He fell out of a window," Sherlock says before hanging up to look at the man.

***

I sit in the bathroom, cleaning my cut when a shape plummets down pasts past window, ending with a crash.

I hear an agonised groan from outside.

"Oh God, Sherlock."

***

Some time later, it's fully dark outside and an ambulance is only now pulling away from 221. Sherlock is standing outside Speedy's café with Lestrade and I, who apparently decided that his least irritating officer was himself.

"And exactly how many times did he fall out the window?"

"It's all a bit of a blur, Detective Inspector. I lost count," Sherlock says. Not bothering to comment, Lestrade walks away. A little later, the boys are back upstairs.

"Sherlock, what are we going to do? People- Moriarty is after us, one of us, and he doesn't care which one of us he gets," I shout.

"We'll be fine."

"No we won't! Do you not understand?! He's after us, and he's not going to stop!" I shout. Walking across to the window, he picks up his violin and turns his back to the room. "Are you just going to ignore me?" I whisper.

"No. I'm thinking."

"We need to stay one step ahead of him," I state the obvious.

"I already am." He tinkers with his violin and checks its tuning. I watch him for a moment before turning on my heel and walking away. "Happy New Year."