Guns, Games, and Mutual Appreciation ~ A BBC Sherlock Fanfiction {Book I}

Chapter 3- Trapped

John's POV

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I dive for cover, hoping to god Sherlock did the same. The explosion sends a blast of heat that dries my skin and sends both people and furniture skittering across the room; glass shatters, and I hear a grunt as, presumably Sherlock, slams into the wall. 

Still.

I sit up.

"Is everyone okay?" I call through the smoke.

The resounding coughing and cursing tells me he's uninjured. I breathe a sigh of relief, that quickly turns into a choke, as the air snags in my throat. Then I remember. 

"Millie?" I shout.

"I'm fine." she says, appearing at my side, dabbing at a small wound on her cheek. "Nothing serious".

The smoke filters out of the room, and to my horror and I see Sherlock up on his feet, examining the corner of the room furtively.

"Sherlock! Get down! There might be another one- we need to get out of here, stat."

He waves a dismissive hand in my direction.

"There's won't be. I can't hear it anymore."

"The tick," explains Millie, crouching down next to me, "I heard it too- the noise a timer makes when a countdown reaches zero."

"You couldn't have warned us before the bloody thing expl-" I say to Sherlock, but then stop. He's looking at Millie again. Intensely, I can tell he's impressed, although he's trying hard to hide it.

It doesn't take a detective to work that out.

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Millie's POV

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I don't like this. I can pick up on Holmes' unease as he looks at me, then continues to stare into the corner. I tilt left to look at what he is apparently fascinated by. There's wording, scratched into the wall.

'Burn'

I don't know what it means. I don't like not knowing. 

It's then we hear the noise of feet on lino, and we all turn around, slowly. There's a man, tall and broad shouldered, with a hood pulled over his head, his face obscured.

Watson is focused on trying to identify the man, but I know Holmes sees it too- the flick of the hand behind his back. A spark. Then man turns on his heel, slamming the door and locking it. We're still dilapidated from the explosion, in a mild state of shock I suppose, too stunned to do react. The spark curves in an elegant arc, and lands in a pool of the sweet smelling "blood". It rips into flame, and I process the emotions on everyone's faces in the split second of acknowledgement before reaction. John looks shaken, shocked, and ultimately, surprised, as the wall of flame steadily grows in front of him. Holmes is again, unreadable, his face showing strain but not fear.

Then it begins.

I drag John to his feet, and pull him over to Holmes by the opposite wall, furthest away from the flames. I look around wildly, desperately looking for an escape, a way to get out, but we're covered in sticky, sweet, highly flammable chemicals, and cornered in a small room. 

"Jump," says a voice near me.

Holmes is talking to John who looks at him enquiringly despite the impending danger.

"What?! No-" 

Holmes sighs with irritation, before bodily pushing John out the window. It's not high enough for a break, and I remember the thick, spongy bushes lining the perimeter of the building. John's grunt of indignation  from below confirms what Holmes wants to hear. I start to cough, the heat and sweet smell of blood is making me heady, and by the look on his face, he feels the same.

"Go," I splutter, gesturing towards the open window. 

He turns, ready to jump.

And then the window frame collapses, blocking the only available exit.

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