Love Has Limits

OH YOU SON OF A-

I strongly suggest listening to 'Sherlock Holmes: Soundtracks'  or a sad BBC Sherlock playlist on Spotify because it's about to get hOT IN HERE!

Trash author out.

"STOP," Sherlock's shout halted the cab immediately, and the cabbie was wise enough as to not ask why her passenger was kicking the side door open. She also didn't say a thing when the hurried man gave her less money than was needed.

It might've been because of the panic that glinted behind his ever changing eyes. Or the terrified movements of a fearing man. Or just her need to drive away from these abandoned streets unharmed. Either way, her cab was a far distance off before Sherlock made a move to the river.

When he finally rounded the corner, coat flailing in the sudden wind coming off the water, he was met with a chilling site.

A silhouetted figure stood against the thrashing waves, curled grey hair tucked behind one ear. She held a wooden stick about the size of her hand and her tight leather jumpsuit outlined years of training despite the age that lined her face.

The surroundings were bland for such an interesting meeting. Sherlock faced a flat cement path which dropped into the Thames behind the figure but had his back to empty buildings.

"Sherlock, great of you to finally join us."
He slowed to a stop, ruffling his hair absentmindedly and keeping his calmest composure.

"My pleasure. And by 'we' do you mean your friends over there," here he pointed to a concealed van some one hundred metres away from them, "or is there someone else I'm not aware of?"

"Oh, Sherlock, don't worry about them. They won't intervene. This is between me...and you." Her raspy whisper was carried to him by the wind, but within it's words the consulting detective heard a thousand screams. A myriad of them coaxed her lips too, and Sherlock guessed there were many more hidden beneath her fingernails, following her footsteps to a place where they'll be kept forever.

"You do remember me don't you, dear friend?"

Clenching his fists and stepping gradually closer, he answered.

"How could I forget you, Phyllis."

Her contorted smile ignited an unnerving glimmer in her eyes.

Phyllis Dietrichson, Sherlock's mind quickly evaluated, caught for a whirlwind of murder sprees within the year 2013. I caught her and she was sentenced with a life sentence. Seems she got out.

"Yes, well," she said, fiddling eagerly with the small wooden stick in her hand, "after you destroyed my life I hoped you'd remember me."
Sherlocks nose twitched and his words became slightly sharper.

"You killed over seventeen people in a frenzy, Phyllis, you had to go to jail."

"You destroyed my life. I need you to suffer, that's why I brought you here-"
With a snort, Sherlock cut her off.

"Please, your killings before were messy, unorganised. Now, give me John and explain how you got out. You haven't hurt anyone yet-"

It was the murderer's time to snort.

"Ha! You still don't get it!" her bright green eyes gleamed against the night, "I had help this time. I've learned to be more...concise with my work."

"What have you done."

"How's that new case going for you? The one with the numberings, the killer's phone left without any fingerprints, the one that seemed so...organised? Has anything rearranged your thinking?"

Looking her in the eye, Sherlock internally groaned. His mind tore through images and evidence of the case faster than a knife could cut and in a fraction of a second, he had the answer.

Phyllis' voice echoed through his head.

"Rearranged Sherlock. Jesus, what an idiot."

A swirl of blue and green eyes looked out from under Sherlocks mop of dark curls. He chuckled, impressed.

"It was a distraction."

"No, it actually spells out 'it is a distraction Sherlock', but you were close enough."

"The victims. You killed them because their names spelt out..."

"Yes, yes- Kris Assith, Tac Dion and Rise Loct equal 'it is a distraction Sherlock'. I thought I just said that?"

"And the distraction was so you could kidnap John."

"Mm-hm..."

"What have you done with him?"

Phyllis grinned. Eventually, she moved away from the edge of the path and motioned to the Thames behind her.

"You'll have to ask him."

Head full of overwhelming emotion, Sherlock dashed to the river and glimpsed a bobbing head below, facing down into the water. His blond and greying head was limp and arms swayed gently below the murky liquid.

Fingernails dug into his arm before he could jump in, however, and he was dragged roughly back with a yelp.

"Not so fast, I've been waiting years for this-"

Sherlock's fist connected with Phyllis' jaw with a thwack.

When she came back up, blood running down from her nose, she met Sherlock's next punch. Kicking his stomach, she snatched his wrist and snapped it around, pressing it against his back with vigour. The cold blade of a knife prodded into the soft skin of his neck, having been pulled from the previously unthreatening stick that she was holding.

His breath shortened into sharp gasps and unintelligible sounds of suffering as she pressed his hand harder against his back. Tears of pain blurred his vision, but he could still see the horrid outline of a blond head flailing with the violence of the river below. The agony of struggling didn't stop Sherlock from helplessly reaching for him.

The killer's breath was hot on his cheek, the bitter smell of blood dripped like venom from her mouth.

"Doesn't have much longer, him."

Sherlock's growl was deeper than that of a wolf, and had come from a place much more frightening.

Abruptly, he struck out with his head and feet until he felt it strike her somewhere. The excruciating cut on his neck and ache of his wrist was just another burning distraction as he whipped around to where she landed on the floor.
Slamming his knee onto her throat, Sherlock forced her down while she struggled powerlessly. As Phyllis gasped for breath, he laughed, the sweet taste of blood on his lips.

Then, he remembered why.

John.

He glanced back.

How long had he been under for?

"Seems like...you've got...a...choice..." She forced out, her throat under his knee and her breath escaping her uselessly clenching fingers.

It wasn't really a choice in the end.

Phyllis collapsed when he released her, but only for a moment, for Sherlock grabbed her shoulders and flung her forward a metre or so in front of him. The woman stumbled, clutching at her neck and looking back.

"Fuck you and your 'revenge'. And don't you dare  touch John ever again."

The detective spat at her feet as he watched Phyllis limp shamefully away towards her van.

As soon as Sherlock was sure Phyllis and her van was gone, he allowed his outside composure to drop suddenly, revealing a panicking man.

Ripping off his unnecessary clothing and phone, he hurled himself into the River Thames.