SHERLOCK I, II, III & IV • #wattys2016

escaping the hospital

The doors whooshed open and Sherlock and Simon entered the white halls leading towards the elevator. Side by side with their weapons hidden under their clothing, they walked briskly down the hall, their eyes darting back and forth.

“Take the stairs,” Sherlock whispered. “They see us on the cameras, they’ll lock the elevators.” The two of them made a sharp turn and opened the heavy door leading upstairs. Simon went first to scout it, his hand ready to pull his gun out. Sherlock followed behind, watching the stairs below them for anyone daring to come up.

“I got a shadow,” Simon warned, coking his handgun.

Sherlock looked up just in time to see a man in turquoise scrubs pointing a gun at them. Simon fired, killing him instantly.

“Don’t worry about the body, just go.” Sherlock pushed Simon forward and they stepped over the dead body. Up the stairs they ran, each forgetting about their wounds and fatigue. Their breathing was kept behind their teeth. Any sound could give them away.  They reached the third flight and then the fourth, and then the fifth.

“Shadows behind you,” Sherlock warned as he swung his loaded weapon down the stairs. He fired the three people who had come out of the side doors a flight below them. He killed them all. He nodded to Simon to bard the other side of the door. “Here’s the plan, we go in. Keep your eyes on the enemy, and be aware they may take hostages. I will find John. How’s your leg.”

“Hurts like hell. But I think I can make it.”

“Good. You ready?”

“I’ve been ready.”

Together they gave each other an encouraging nod and then busted through the door. Just like they had expected, nurses and doctors dropped their trays and clipboards and whipped out their guns. Bullets filled the hall. Smoke created a grey wall. Screams echoed off the pale walls. Sherlock made sure Simon was covered before taking off down the hall he was sure to find John. He read the name tags on the door, sometimes opening them incase John had been transferred.  He shoved several surgeons into the wall, knocking them out. He knew he had plenty of rounds left in the handgun, but he pretended he was five bullets short so that he used the rest in a sparing manner.

Sherlock stopped at an intersection. One hall went left, the other went right. Biting his lip, he bolted down the right all. But before he was halfway down, he heard the sound of footsteps running behind him. He spun around and caught the flying human. The two landed on the ground.

“Aceyla?” Sherlock gasped.

“You went the wrong. John is down the left hall.” She struck him across the cheekbones with her brass knuckles.

Sherlock growled and grabbed her by the throat. He struggled to his feet as he shoved her off of him. “You work for Andrew.”

“I’ve been working for Andrew,” Aceyla replied, dodging Sherlock’s punch. She gave him a hard kick in his wounded abdomen.

The detective stumbled back, clutching his gash.

“Use the gun,” she suggested.

“I’m not going to kill you,” Sherlock said softly. “But I will stop you.”

The two stared at each other and, for a moment, the fond memories they had shared in secrecy came over them. But Sherlock knew better than to let feelings conquer the consequences. While the girl was still entranced by the memories, he barreled into her, smacking the back of her head against the hard floor. She let out a groan and her eyes closed in pain. Sherlock knew he could easily kill her, but he couldn’t bring himself that far to do so. Leaving her on the floor, he jumped to his feet and headed down the correct hall.