The sister... [Recently edited]

Chapter 7: And Maybe Being In Distress [EDITED]

When I wake up the following morning, the silence is the first thing I notice.

It isn't normal silence.

It's eerie.

Far too quiet for a consulting detective who became insufferable whenever he was bored.

I climb out of bed, slipping on my light blue floral dressing gown before quietly opening my front door.

Carefully, I make my way downstairs, avoiding the creaky steps that Mrs Hudson always complained about.

The sitting room at 221B is empty.

No Sherlock.

No John.

I sigh.

They've gone out on a case.

Typical.

I wander through into the kitchen and put the kettle on, deciding a cup of tea is the perfect way to start the day. A few minutes later, mug in hand, I turn back towards the sitting room.

Without warning, a pair of arms lock around my neck.

Before I can react, something cold presses against my lower abdomen.

A knife.

My mug slips from my hands, smashing against the floor.

The crash echoes through the flat.

"Oh, honestly..." I hear Mrs Hudson mutter as she climbs the stairs. "You lot are so carel-"

She stops abruptly.

Another man grabs her from behind, clamping a hand over her mouth before pressing a knife against her throat.

"Mrs Hudson!" I shout, struggling against the man holding me.

Within seconds, my wrists are bound tightly behind the kitchen chair. Rough rope digs painfully into my skin while another man keeps the knife poised against my stomach.

"Now then, Miss Watson," the man holding the knife says calmly. "Let's not make this difficult."

I glare at him.

"You tell us where Sherlock Holmes is, and you and the old woman walk away."

His smile widens.

"If you don't..."

The knife presses harder.

"She dies."

He nods towards Mrs Hudson.

"Then you."

Another pause.

"Then perhaps your brother."

His grin becomes almost cruel.

"And maybe even dear old Mycroft Holmes."

I tug hard against the ropes, wishing more than anything I could punch every one of them.

"I don't know where Sherlock is."

The knife bites into my skin.

"Tell."

A little deeper.

"Me."

Another fraction deeper.

"Where."

I grit my teeth.

"Sherlock."

Warm blood begins soaking into my dressing gown.

"Is."

"I told you," I hiss through clenched teeth. "I don't know where he is. I'm not his babysitter."

In reality, I wasn't worried.

Every second they spent here only made things worse for them.

Working for Mycroft had its advantages.

His surveillance network was second to none.

If anyone unusual had entered Baker Street, chances were he'd already know.

"TELL ME WHERE SHERLOCK HOLMES IS!"

"I DON'T FUCKING KNOW!"

Mrs Hudson gasps.

"Language, Mykala!"

I glance apologetically towards her.

"Not really the time, Mrs Hudson."

The man responds by pushing the knife in further.

Pain explodes through my abdomen.

I bite back a cry.

"Last chance."

Before I can answer, another voice cuts through the room.

"She already told you."

There's a click of a couple of guns.

"She doesn't know."

The entire kitchen falls silent.

Standing in the doorway is Mycroft Holmes, impeccably dressed as always, flanked by several of his security officers.

He doesn't look angry.

He looks disappointed.

"I suggest," he says smoothly, "you begin making better life choices."

Chaos erupts.

His men move with military precision, disarming the intruders before they have a chance to react.

The man interrogating me barely has time to turn before Mycroft drives a sharp kick into his chest, sending him sprawling across the kitchen floor.

Within moments, every attacker is restrained.

One of Mycroft's men cuts through the ropes binding my wrists.

I push myself to my feet.

Instantly, the room spins.

I stagger once before collapsing.

Looking down, I finally see it.

Blood.

Far more blood than I'd realised.

My stomach twists.

My vision begins to blur.

Strong arms scoop me effortlessly from the floor.

For a moment, everything feels strangely warm.

Safe.

I force my eyes open just enough to recognise the familiar purple shirt beneath my cheek.

Sherlock.

A small smile tugs at my lips.

I try to say his name.

Nothing comes out.

"Stay with me, Mykala."

His voice sounds far away.

"Come on... stay awake."

I want to answer.

I really do.

Instead, the darkness finally wins.

A/N: Sooo... Mykala isn't going to die don't worry!! However I don't know what I am going to write next. I might do another persons POV... What do you guys think? Shall I do a POV from Sherlock or John... I probably will anyway!! So yeah! Happy update!!

EDIT!: After people have said about PSOS I have attached a photo of Sherlock wearing it at the top :)

-Mority xx ily all xx