Brilliant and Unloved (A BBC Sherlock Fanfiction)

Chapter 4: I Owe You

??? POV:

*2 Hours Earlier*

I stood at the door of 221b. The knocker rested slightly to the right and small scratches lined the keyhole. I traced the lettering above the knocker, the metal cool beneath my finger. I stepped into the shadows as I glimpsed a figure in the window, looking down at the busy street. Sherlock Holmes. I sneered, adjusting my dark sunglasses. After a few minutes, I watched the door open to reveal Sherlock - a determined expression printed on his face, with Dr. Watson following close behind. I smirked, popping in my earbuds. They found the body.

•

I waited outside the flat watching strangers as they walked past. No one cared to pay attention to me. Not even Sherlock glanced at me as he entered 221b. I smiled, although Dr. Watson was nowhere to be seen. Before the door banged shut, I slipped in and ducked behind a chair. Much to my surprise, Sherlock didn't notice the delay in the door closing. He seemed... distracted, not even bothering to directly avoid conversation with Mrs. Hudson. It was odd seeing him like this - almost sad. He climbed the stairs to his flat, his long navy coat trailing behind him. I waited until I heard the door close and stepped out from my hiding spot.

I pulled my gun from my coat pocket, stroking it softly while humming. Mrs. Hudson looked up from her book shocked. I pointed it at her and raised a finger to my lips. "If I hear a single sound come from your mouth, I will kill every single person in this building," I said, pouting sarcastically. She nodded, terror written across her face, as she raised her hands into the air. "Very good. Now, tell me where John Watson is - or else I will kill you." I could see her hesitate, her eyes flickering between me and the gun. I switched off the safety. the click loud enough for Mrs. Hudson to answer. "He's at the - the morgue I believe." "That's better." I looked at the woman, my eyes hidden beneath my sunglasses. I approached her slowly, pulling a knife out from my pocket. She whimpered, her hands beginning to shake. I grabbed one of her wrists and carefully slid the blade across her palm, spelling out the letters I, O, U. She nursed her injured hand as I stepped back, placing the knife back in my pocket. I shot the gun, the sound echoing through the building. "Oops!" I called, snickering. I walked back out into the street, turning toward the direction of Barts Hospital. I heard a man shout from inside. One down, two to go.