Lines and Numbers (Johnlock)

Chapter 3

OKAY DRAMA
This one is kind of wild, a little bit of a trigger warning? I'm not sure. Enjoy! Stay safe.

The next day, Sherlock was already putting things together. "Hurry, John. I know who'll be next, we need to get to them," he said, pulling on his coat. I hurriedly ate breakfast while he looked at things on his laptop, typing rapidly. "Sherlock, aren't you going to eat?" I asked, looking at my friend. He'd been looking thinner of late, and that wasn't good. He had already been thin as it was. "I'm not hungry. I've got work," he muttered, clacking away at the keys.

A little while later, we rushed to the police station to get Lestrade and some others to come with us. He gathered up a group of the police, and we hurried away stealthily to the next place.

When we got there, it turned out to be just behind a grocery store. We surrounded the place, and several policemen went first to see what was happening, Sherlock and I following closely behind.

As we neared closer to the back, I heard a voice. "No, please. No... I'm sorry, I just... It wasn't supposed to happen..."

"You knew it would," shouted a voice, and I heard a thump and the other voice cry out. The next second, we rounded the corner.

A man with a pistol had been pointing it down at another man laying on the ground, but upon our arrival, aimed it toward the police officers.

"Put your weapon on the ground and your hands above your head," someone called, and the man looked around desperately.

"Mr. Richard Lynx, we asked you to put the gun down," Sherlock said, stepping forward. The man trained his pistol onto Sherlock, but he didn't even flinch. "I suggest you do, before someone makes you."

The man that had been lying on the ground had quietly crawled far away, and I realized what Sherlock was doing. He was going as bait so the other man could escape.

That brave-ass idiot.

No, wait. A high-functioning sociopath.

"How do you know my name?" yelled Mr. Lynx. "I kept my face off all the cameras! I didn't tell anyone what I was doing."

"God, if I tried to explain everything right now, it'd take ages. Short summary instead: shoes. You tramped through mud. Obviously, you thought to clear your footprints, because you tried to wipe them away. No, it wasn't good enough. An analysis of the dirt told me what part of town you were from. The footprints told me it was most likely a male, 6 feet tall, 215 pounds. After I did that, I comprised a list of people your victims had known." Lynx stared, dumbfounded, at Sherlock, but held the gun steady. "There were a few common connections, but I figured it to be you. After that, I looked through your connections to find who you'd go for next.

Blah, blah, blah. We got here and I used my explanation for Mr. Michael Larkson here to get away." Sherlock grinned, Mr. Larkson getting to his feet behind the police officers, bruised and bloody, but seemingly without any breaks or sprains.

Lynx looked at the ground to his side, where Larkson had been, and Sherlock sprang forward. He wrestled the pistol from Lynx's hands and pinned him to the floor. The officers rushed forward to cuff Lynx, and I helped Sherlock to his feet once the police had taken Lynx away.

Lestrade hurried forward to thank and congratulate Sherlock, but Sherlock just brushed him away.

"Let's get back to the flat. I don't feel so well..." Sherlock muttered, trailing off. He stumbled and fell. Several people rushed up to him, including me and Lestrade.

"Sherlock? Sherlock!" I said, shaking him. It looked like he'd just passed out, though, and I managed to get him back to the flat.