Down These Mean Streets ~ A BBCSherlock Fanfiction

2. Fourteen month later

The crosshairs is moving over the landscape, searching. I am in no rush, knowing that the person I'm looking for will not leave without me seeing it. Mentally, I am reevaluating my calculations but it's more for personal peace than actual worry. Staring at the map of the area and layout of the buildings in front of me for hours burned every single door, every staircase and every possible route into my brain. Knowing their intentions and the location of the dark SUV parked approximately fifty meters away from the right door, it is very likely they will use that one. They will try to keep the way as short as possible. They know I'm here. Well, actually they know that someone is somewhere around the area, heavily armed and out to get them. Which means they know practically nothing.

While I keep focusing the entrance through the scope of my rifle, I think about the person I'm looking for. I know his personal data very well: family, occupation, name, age, height. As far as I've gathered through his file and the video material I've seen about him, he is incredibly self-centered. Arrogant, verging on narcissism, a proud man that is highly overestimating himself and his position in the current situation. I readjust the position of my elbows digging in the ground; stretched out in the dirt to keep a low profile as I wait in silence.

There is a beeping noise.

I startle and the movement causes my aim to momentarily go astray. It takes me a second to recognize it as the sound of my own phone. This is weird. It's the one I only use for this kind of activity. No-one ever calls me, except for the one person that sent me here. And that person knows not to contact me right now. No-one else has the number. Hastily I take one hand away from the rifle and search for the device. Although the sound isn't that loud it cuts through the air like a chainsaw. I reject the call and make a note to look who called after I'm done here. I exhale sharply. Back to the task.

I don't even have enough time to fully concentrate again, before the sound of an incoming message rings through the air again. And then again. And a third time. Pressing my lips together I consider my options.

I could ignore it. Then again, the person on the other end doesn't seem to give up and if the noise continues much longer, I might as well scream my name and coordinates from the top of my lungs.

I could check my inbox. That would be a serious distraction and I could miss my opportunity. But the noise would stop.

And I could just switch my phone to silent – I probably should have done that anyway but according to protocol, I am always the one reporting back after the job is done. If I don't call within twelve hours it can be assumed the mission failed and appropriate steps can be taken. So why on earth would I get a call and multiple messages on this phone? It must be an emergency.

Seeing as switching my phone to silent would take as much time as checking for the messages, I make a decision.

One long glance through the scope to make sure nothing is happening. Then I quickly pull the disturbing piece of metal from my pocket and unlock the screen in one swift motion.

I glance through the scope again. Nothing.

In my hurry I can't find the symbol I'm looking for right away.

There it is.

I open the inbox.

Baker Street. Now. –SH

It's urgent –SH

Hurry –SH

For a moment I just stare at the screen. Then I remember where I am and toss the phone to the side carelessly. I know what he's doing. It won't work.