WOLF | Sherlock X Reader |

|01|- It's Not Suicide

Notes: Helo, and Welcome to another Sherlock fanfiction by yours truly. I hope you guys enjoy reading this as much as I do writing it. Please, let me know what you think, drop a comment or two ; ). Happy reading! 

::

"Where are they?"

Blue eyes stare into dull grey, it wasn't a question, but a demand. Tyler was well aware of the blood coming from his broken nose, he was used to pain though, so it was nothing new. He focused on the man in front of him, who with clenched fists was waiting for his answer. Tyler keeps his mouth shut, flexing his fingers, his hands being tied to the chair made it impossible for him to do anything else.

"I told you; I don't know." Tyler says, ignoring the pain that shot up from his busted lip. His answer wasn't the one the man delivering the beating wanted, and that earned him yet another punch to add to the very long list of the ones he's received for the past two hours.

"Is that the best you've got, Moran?" Tyler questions with a smirk, spitting out the blood that had gathered in his mouth onto the floor. 

Sebastian Moran growls lowly, narrowing grey eyes at him, "I always thought you'd hit harder."

Moran places a tight grip on Tyler's throat, "You can come out of this alive you know, Olson. Just tell me where the data is, and I might let you live."

"Screw you." Tyler grits out, his gaze hard; he wasn't going to talk, There is just no way Moran will get him to. He'll die with this information. Sebastian sighs, tilting his head, "We can do this the easy way, Olson."

"You can't kill me. You need me, you need the data."

"Ah, that's where you're wrong." Moran smirks, chuckling as realization flashed in Tyler's blue eyes. "It doesn't matter if I kill you or not, there's still two more to get my required information." he says, reaching behind he pulls a very sharp looking pocket knife from his black pants. "But, I'm giving you one last chance to answer me. Where are they?"

Tyler smirks again, he know that this was it, he's going to die. But it doesn't matter, not anymore, his top priority is keeping them safe, and if he has to die to make that happen...

Then so be it.

::

Seven am on Friday morning, way too early for anyone's taste and Sherlock would much rather be in bed. But he got a call, and a case that peaked his interest. Usually, suicide does not appeal to him, that was something NSY can handle on their own without his help. Lestrade said the man's wrists were both cut and he died of blood loss, but Sherlock couldn't help but see a lot of things wrong with that.

 Holmes and Watson step out of a cab at the address that Lestrade texted a few minutes prior. There was the usual buzz of a crime scene that filled the air, with the police moving about and the forensics team busy. Sherlock lifts the police tape, allowing John to pass under it and they then make their way over to Lestrade.

The police force of New Scotland Yard had gathered outside what seemed to be an abandoned warehouse on the East of London. Lestrade quietly leads them inside, their footfalls echoing around the walls and high ceiling of the warehouse.

Most of the forensic team were inside already, all dressed in their blue protective suits. Including Anderson, much to Sherlock's dismay.

 "Right," Lestrade sighs and he quickly ushered everyone out while Sherlock walked carefully around the body of a blond male. Sherlock stoops, pulling out his miniature magnifying glass to view the bruises on the man's jaw.

"We spoke to his wife, she said that he hadn't been home last night. Then we got a call this morning when one of the workers next door found him here," Lestrade explains, folding his arms over his chest. Sherlock hums thoughtfully, checking the man's wrists.