Mia

Dusk had fallen. The sky was blue. Deep blue. My vision was blurred but I desperately held onto the fragmented pieces of sky I could see through the rooftops above wanting to find stars; wanting to find something beautiful to hold onto.
I was concious now. I could breathe. I had been falling in and out of broken dreams for some time. I was not exactly sure of how many days had passed or even if days had passed at all. For all I knew, it could have been mere hours ago that I managed to crawl into this darkened alleyway to wait for my heart to stop beating quite so hard.
I wanted to fall asleep again to forget about everything that happened. Asleep, I could pretend. Forget. Awake, I could not escape the vivid memories that haunted me. I already deemed them as memories because I knew that no matter what happened and no matter how much time passed, I would never be able to forget them. It was his eyes that haunted me. They had reminded me of black holes...that was all I could think as he watched my own frightened eyes and savoured my fear. Black holes. Hollow and empty. Devoid of humanity. He had smiled as he had held the blade to my neck. Smiled. I had trembled and cried out but all he did was smile...
But he was gone now. I'd escaped. He was gone, I had to tell myself that. For now.
I brought myself to my knees, choking between coughs. I had run for so long, so far, that now my lungs felt as if they could collapse in on themselves from exhaustion at any moment. I'd meant to distance myself further as soon as I had slept for a while, but still I could barely move. Time had passed and he had not found me...but that did not mean he had given up.
I stumbled into the street, the headlights from passing cars temporarily blinding me. Nobody noticed me; nobody even looked at me, and I was not sure if that filled me with relief or despair. Rain was falling, impairing my vision even further. I tried to hold onto to a face, any face at all, but every face that passed was an empty mask that conveyed no emotion. Nothing at all. I was desperate now, helpless.
"Please...please, stop. I-I need help." I grabbed the arm of a stranger, begging them, but they shook me off angrily.
I didn't blame them. I was nothing to them, certainly not their problem to solve. I was a crazed girl, bloody and bruised, asking for help when I was not even sure of what I wanted help for. Perhaps I just needed somebody, anyone, to care. Someone to listen. But all I saw were empty faces. Blank expressions. Hollow hearts.
I was about to crawl back into the alleyway I had taken shelter in, when I was overwhelmed by the sense that somebody was watching me. Through my increasingly blurring vision I could see him. He was standing on the opposite side of the street on the corner. I could not make out much for the rain, only his sodden coat and the fact he was holding a slightly crumpled newspaper over his head. And he was staring straight at me.
I wanted to run, but I couldn't move. My heart had begun to beat so hard against my ribcage, that it hurt. I knew then that he had come for me. It was not Moriarty himself, but one of his henchmen. I was so foolish to think that Moriarty himself would risk being seen in public just to find me when he could simply send one of his own associates. I had never stopped to consider that every person that passed me by had the potential to be dangerous. Moriarty. The name itself caused my blood to freeze. I could still remember the warmth of his breath on my cheek, the weight of his body pressed against me, the glint in his eye as he had watched me shiver.
The rain began to fall rapidly, hitting the cobblestones like shards of glass. It soaked me through to my skin, chilling my bones. But now as his gaze intensified my heart began to beat hard against my chest, burning my blood. I looked around urgently for somewhere I could run to. He was coming now; crossing the road, apologising hurriedly to the drivers in cars whose paths he had suddenly and unexpectedly cut across. He was shouting, but the rain drowned out his voice so that I could not hear his words. I watched him, frozen, unable to move. Another angry car horn sounded causing him to temporarily take his gaze from me, distracted. I ducked into my alleyway, my lungs aching from my ragged gasps of breath. I was sure he would pass it. I prayed that he would pass it. My desperation to escape had been burnt out by fatigue.
Let him take me. I closed my eyes. I can't run anymore.

John

It had been a long day. Sherlock had been in a particularly intolerable mood due to a severe withdrawl of nicotine and lack of any "lucrative" cases. He had ordered me to buy some nicotine patches and stay far away from the flat for as long as I could in order to give him some time alone. To think.
I had been too weary to argue and had been standing outside 221B for an inordinate amount of time debating what to do with myself. I could always see Louise. It was seven o'clock on a Thursday night. Our time spent together was restricted to weekends and "special occasions" due to my demanding work with Sherlock and her working hours. She worked mornings on Thursdays which meant that I could see her, but we had not been speaking for a while. Six days, to be exact. I sighed. Sherlock's fault again. I'd been forced to abandon our dinner plans on Saturday after receiving a text from Sherlock reading that my assistance was urgently required. I'd returned that night to 221B to find Sherlock sitting smugly on the sofa having already solved the case in the twenty five minutes it had taken me to take the tube. Needless to say, Sherlock and Louise did not get on well. She had tried to engage him in conversation and attempt to get to know him but Sherlock had no time for people he considered unworthy of his time. I'd tried to explain that he was just a complicated person who found it hard to interract with other people but recently found it was becoming increasingly more difficult to defend him.
At that moment, the sky darkened and rain began to fall. I sighed. Typical. It seemed it was not just people Sherlock had a negative effect on, but the weather also. I huddled further into my coat and tried to decide what to do. I could sit in Speedy's for half an hour to pass the time. Ask Louise to meet me there, perhaps. A plead for forgiveness could be a possible option. Or I could simply barge my way back into the flat and shout at Sherlock for being so infuriating. Neither option seemed particularly appealing.
I gazed across the street where I noticed a shadowed figure standing in the middle of the street. Even from the distance that seperated us, I could tell that there was something not quite right. Their face was obscured by the dark grey hoodie they were wearing, but I could see that it was patterned with blue-black bruises and crusted with blood; scarlet blood that contrasted with the grey drudgery that surrounded us. The person tried to turn away but they were limping. I wasn't sure what posessed me, but I felt a sudden overwhelming urge to help them. Perhaps it was serving in the army for so long. Perhaps it was Sherlock's cold cruelty and lack of humanity towards others that caused me to become so hopelessly sympathetic. Whatever it was seemed to land me in trouble, but I neglected to remind myself of that fact as I crossed the road and took after them.
"Wait!" I called. "I can help you."
A car horn caused me to glance away momentarily. When I turned back, the person was gone.
"Bloody hell!" I muttered under my breath, as more cars began to honk their horns.
And then I saw them. Or rather, her.
She was leaning against the wall of an alley, her hood down to reveal her long dark hair. Her eyes were closed. She was breathing heavily. I approached her cautiously, careful not to startle her.
"You don't have to be scared." I ensured that my voice was as gentle as possible.
Her eyes remained closed but she whimpered. I was not sure whether it was down to the pain or because I had found her. I knelt in front of her.
"It's OK." I whispered. "I'm a doctor. I can help you."
At last she opened her eyes. I realized that she was crying. She did not say a word, simply stared at me with wide eyes as I leant a little closer to examine her face. At first she flinched from my touch but then relaxed as she realized that it was not my intention to hurt her.
"You have some bad cuts," I commented. "You'll probably have a few more bruises too, but you'll be okay." I swallowed. "I have a First Aid Kit - I live just across the street."
The girl nodded slowly but still said nothing. I felt my heart lurch just looking at her. She could not have been older than seventeen. She was just a young girl. It filled me with anger to know that someone would do this to someone so young and vunerable.
"Can you walk?" I asked.
She nodded again and I helped her to stand. For a moment she just stared at me, her eyes alert with fear but weary from exertion.
"Come on," I said. "Let's get inside."