I Need a Gangsta//Jim Moriarty

Prologue

"Somebody get the door!" Sherlock shouted from his seat in the leather armchair.

Doctor John Watson stepped into the room and glanced at the door, then his watch.

"Bloody hell! Who would be here at this time a night?"

"Perhaps it's a serial killer, who's going to attempt to kidnap us, cut up our body parts, and sell our organs on the black market," Sherlock said, looking hopeful.

John rolled his eyes and walked to the door. "If it is, I'll let them bloody take you."

He unlocked the door and threw it open.

His eyes widened at the beautiful woman that stood before him. She had elegantly curled blond hair, perfectly plump; blood red lips and a curvy figure. The woman smiled at him and extended her hand.

"You must be John," she said in a voice that John imagined an angel would sound like. He gulped then composed himself, taking her hand in his and shaking it.

"T-That would be me," he said.

"Who is it?!" Sherlock yelled.

"It's a client!" John yelled.

"Oh, I'm no client," she said. His eyebrows knitted together in confusion and she held out a piece of paper.
"Give this to Sherlock, please." He took it and she turned to walk away.

"Who are you?" he called.

She glanced behind her shoulder at him. "Don't worry, Johnny boy. We'll be seeing each other very soon." And she descended down the stairs, the darkness swallowing her whole.

John shrugged his shoulders and stepped back into the flat. He glanced down at the letter and walked over to Sherlock.

Sherlock opened one of his eyes. "That fragrance....it smells familiar."

"She left you a note," John said, placing the paper on the arm of the seat.

"She?"

"She didn't say her name. She had blond hair and-"

Sherlock jolted forward and snatched the note up, ripping it open.

He inhaled sharply before running over to the door and throwing on his jacket. He flew out the door and down the stairs. John hurried after him and out onto the street.

John was panting and trying to catch his breath. "Sher-"

"Which way did she go?" Sherlock snapped.

"I don't know! What's going on, Sherlock!" John shouted. Sherlock scanned the road. He seemed to be calculating all the passerby's. He then turned on his heel and went back into the flat.

"I must contact Mycroft!" he announced.

John shook his head and looked down at the note, now on the floor. He bent down and swooped it up.

He felt his heart skip a beat and he attempted to moisten his mouth.

"Sherlock! You have some explaining to do!"

He dropped the note and the black ink cursive letters were facing up.

Surprise, bitches. I bet you thought you'd seen the last of me. I'm back.
~AH