The Death Game

Chapter 12

Juliet couldn't be bothered with dressing up too fancy but she was far from dressing up like a homeless person. She had let her messy hair down. Around her neck hung a golden pendant. She wore a simple red shirt with three-quarter sleeves, which was tightly tucked into a pair of simple black high-waisted jean. A pair of simple high-heeled boots on her feet to finish her simple look.

-Swimming pool, midnight-

She was late, as usual. Not her fault London had decided to rain tonight, making everything just worse, not wanting to walk all the way to the pool under an umbrella, she just decided to order a cab. She waited thirty minutes in her cab before finally getting to her destination. ''It's closed at the hour, dear.'' the driver pointed out to her, only getting a smirk in return to his statement.

She made her way inside. She didn't bump into anyone, it was quiet. Too quiet. There was absolutely no sound coming from the inside off the building. She shuffled to the entrance of the pool. She stood there paralyzed behind a large door with small glass windows, as she heard two men talking by the pool. She tensed up as she heard a familiar voice speak up, Sherlock. Sherlock Holmes was at the pool. 

Why was Sherlock Holmes at the pool?

Two men stood in front of him. The one on the left, near the swimming pool was dressed in a well-tailored suit that fitted his lean frame to every inch of his body. His hand were shoved in his pockets and was repeatedly balancing back and forth on his heels. When he spoke, Juliet recognized the voice of the man yet something was different about it. To his right was a smaller man, John Watson. He seemed far too tensed and his jacket was also far too big for him. He seemed to be hiding something under it.

Juliet was a second away from pushing the heavy door open with her hand when suddenly a man grabbed her from behind. The person quickly put his hand to cover her mouth to prevent her from screaming or making a sound. Biting the stranger was no use; she couldn't hurt him through the leather glove. She muffled out a scream before being hastily turned around. Before her stood Kol Mikaelson wearing a cheshire cat grin on his young face.

''Don't make a sound, darling.'' Kol said his face inches away from Juliet's, ''Wouldn't want to waste that pretty mouth of yours now would we? Now, I'll remove my hand but you have to promise me you won't scream, otherwise I might have to twist that charming neck of yours.''

There was nobody to scream help at. She was alone in this shit show. Alone, stuck between a trained assassin and a large door. Kol let his hand fall from her cold face to fall to his right side. She looked him straight in the eyes in confusion. Why was he here? He worked for the bomber didn't he... so the one man with the Irish accent she hadn't fully recognized, was that him? Was she finally going to see the mysterious man?

''Now come on follow me, darling.'' the assassin stated a sly smirk on his lips. He led the way up the stairs, Juliet followed close behind him like a lost puppy, and she was still confused yet impatient to see the man standing with John and Sherlock. From inside the building, inside the halls, in every room and every wall, you could hear the low and cold voice of the man. His voice was dead, no emotion hid in it. It was cold. Cold and emotionless.

Finally arriving to the last floor in the building, Kol pushed two large doors and arrived on a dark balcony. On the hard, cold floor were carefully placed two large M40A3 rifles. A woman lay on her stomach, looking through the riflescope. Lexis Blake. She jerked her head upwards, arching her eyebrows at the intruders but her looking softened as she saw the familiar face of her partner, followed by the livid and emotionless face of Juliet Waters.

''Sit down, dearest.'' Blake said a soft smile on her youthful face, ''The show's just about to start.''

Juliet fell to her knees, hitting the floor with a small thump. She could finally see the man standing in front of her two friends. He was casually strolling alongside the deep end of the pool, heading towards Sherlock and John, his hands in his pocket. He looked relaxed, at ease. His dark hair was messy; his chocolate brown eyes could pierce your soul with one simple look. His voice was soft, oh so soft. He seemed so nice and small when Juliet had first seen him. But this time, it wasn't the fumble-fingered casually dressed Londoner who messed everything up and was occasionally shy; this was a sharply dressed man with messy hair and a murderous look on his child-like face.