The Art Of Corruption ~ A BBC Sherlock Fanfiction {Book III}

Chapter 57- Signature Shot

Emily's POV

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"Oh God...Janine? Janine?"

John is at her side, kneeling on the slick glass, his palms and shins soaked scarlet with the blood that continues to pool out from beneath her head. Millie is white under the dimmed studio lights; lips parted, eyes wide, watching John sit back on his heels, sick and stunned with shock. I'm not so much horrified as I am unsettled. Something isn't quite right with the homicide - other than the fact that an innocent woman has been slaughtered at point blank range - and I take a slow step towards the body, trying to see past the dark epicentre of the wound that shreds the soft skin of her neck.

And then I understand.

"Sherlock," I say, quietly. "The neck."

It takes him a moment to fully comprehend the weight of my words, and when realisation hits, it hits hard. 

"Moran."

"It has to be. You told me yourself - it's his signature shot."

Sherlock crouches down next to John and reaches out, turning Janine's head to one side. It lolls, her neck unnaturally pliant, exposing the expanse of mutilated flesh that continues right through the curve of her throat.

Sherlock, however, is looking at her face with a macabre fascination.

"She was knocked out minutes before she was shot."

"What?" says John, hoarsely, wiping his hands on his jumper. "Knocked out?"

"Look, there, at her temple."

"Blood?"

"Blood, John. It's starting to coagulate, but only around her right temple." Sherlock releases Janine's jaw, letting it fall back to its crooked resting position. "She was struck across the head first, then left here, only to have someone - presumably Moran - come along and finish her off."

"He knocked her out first? Why would he-"

"Moran pulled the trigger. That's it."

"Then who-?"

Sherlock turns his gaze upwards. "Someone else is here."

I begin to feel distinctly nauseous.

"What kind of criminal would choose to stun the receptionist rather than eliminate a potential witness?"

The short, sharp cracks of sudden gunshots being fired tear through the silence, and we all tip our heads back to look at the ceiling, attention wrenched away from Janine. We hear two pairs of footsteps, two voices, then more shots, complete with shattering glass, splintering wood and smashing ceramics.

It stops as quickly as it started.

Sherlock stands up, taking care not to disrupt the brief quietude that has curled itself around the penthouse, and then, to our disbelief and well-founded alarm, he starts walking towards the staircase.

"Sherlock," hisses John, frantic. "Get back here."

Sherlock pays him no attention whatsoever.

"Sherlock Holmes, there are two gunmen in this building. Don't make this a death sentence."

"Moran is here because Moriarty needs those files. I want to find out why."

"Sherlock. Wait."

We all turn to look at Millie. Her voice is fragmented, and her cheeks are flushed an angry shade of pink. She takes a step away from Janine's body, the cracks in her composure present in the form of the fists at her sides - an attempt at either control or suppression.