This is a short chapter and really written oddly and not well, but might as well post it?

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Sherlock froze as the man he was watching Turner suddenly, making eye contact with the Consulting Detective, who was currently crouched outside his window, form illuminated by the setting sun behind him.

The man's eyes widened, before his mouth moved, obviously letting out a curse and scrambling from the room, his legs taking him up the stairs two at a time as he disappeared from Sherlock's sight.

Sherlock let out a quiet curse before lithely straightening up, his long coat swishing over the fresh blanket of snow that had fallen to the ground earlier in the day.

Sherlock dug his nails into the gap where the edge of the window met the window sill, feeling the glass pane give, letting Sherlock know that the window was unlocked.

Sherlock quickly grasped the edge of the window, throwing the unlocked window open, before grabbing onto the window sill and throwing himself over the edge and into the room, lightly landing on the wooden floor.

The detective straightened, dusting off the breast of his long coat before quickly striding to the stairs of the cabin, leading upstairs, where the man Sherlock had been watching had escaped to.

He began to climb the stairs, keeping an eye out as he watched for an attack from the man he was in pursuit of.

Sherlock reacher the top of the stairs, keeping low as he entered the second floor of the cabin, seeing that it seemed to be a large and open room with a multitude of boxes and miscellaneous and mismatching furniture pieces scattered throughout the room, creating a complicated maze of paths throughout the room, the towering wardrobes and objects creating a multitude of hiding places where the man who had fled could be hiding.

Before Sherlock could spend any more time analyzing the room he spotted movement in the peripherals of his vision, and swiftly turned to see a form darting across the floor beside the far wall across the room from Sherlock, diving to hide behind a large pile of seemingly empty cardboard boxes stacked together. Sherlock bounded through the room, dodging and leaping over objects blocking his path as he neared the hiding man, who realized he had been seen and began to run again, Sherlock following and quickly gaining. His long legs giving him an advantage as he gained on the man he was currently chasing after.

The man was John Cardinal, and he was a murderer. He had been a prime suspect of the murder of Jake Renti, a man who had been found by his wife, stabbed to death in their tool shed. When police went to confront the man, he had already fled the police and was gone into the wind.

The reason Sherlock had been outside his cabin in the first place was that the detective had traced his movements to a cabin in the woods, where he had texted Lestrade, asking for assistance in the apprehension of the criminal, before being spotted and being forced into a chase unless he was to lose the man.

Sherlock lithely leaped over an upturned sofa that Cardinal had shoved over as he ran, attempting to slow his pursuer down, and his eyes caught the fleeting shadow that trailed Cardinal as the desperate man made an attempt to flee the consulting detective.

Sherlock quickly followed the man, taking the stairs three at a time.

When Sherlock reached the ground floor, he slowed, his mind sending off warning signals as an uneasy feeling fell over him.

The front- and only-door of the cabin was still latched as Sherlock had taken that precaution to slow down Cardinal in case he escaped Sherlock's attempt to chase him down, but yet Cardinal was nowhere in sight.

But he most certainly was still in the small residence.

Sherlock glanced around the large room that made up the majority of the cabins first floor before his eyes snapped back to a small storage closet, the door of which was shut firmly.

But it had been open earlier when Sherlock had been observing Cardinal through the window across the room.

Sherlock had found his hiding spot, no doubt.

Sherlock cautiously approached, knowing that it was more than likely that Cardinal had obtained some sort of weapon.

"It'll be less of a hassle if you just surrender yourself right now you know." Sherlock called out to the man, attempting to draw him out from his hideaway.

Silence.

"The Scotland Yard is on the way. You're just making it harder on yourself Cardinal."

Silence.

Sherlock reached out a cautious hand, his other one grasping an abandoned crowbar that was placed on top of a nailed up wooden box, holding it at the ready in case Cardinal charged him.

Sherlock had just finished twisting the doorknob when the door burst open, causing him to stumble back.

Sherlock caught a quick glance of Cardinal, drawing back his leg which he had used to kick open the door, and throwing forth a beaker of clear liquid, tossing the mysterious liquid at Sherlock.

Sherlock, in the few fleeting moments before the liquid made contact with his face, analyzed which liquid it could be.

After discarding quite a few options due to color, availability, or level of difficulty to create, Sherlock landed on quite a simple and common liquid.

Acetone.

And then it hit Sherlock's face, directly splashing into his eyes, which he wasn't able to close in time.

Sherlock let out a choked noise, collapsing to the floor, crowbar flying from his grasp and skidding across the floor as he brought his hands up to press his lithe fingers against his eyelids, squeezing his eyes shut as they burned, the acid reacting violently with his eyes.

As Sherlock opened his eyes, he only managed to see a blurry mass moving closer to him before the burning pain forced him to clench his eyes shut again, letting out a groan of pain.

Before Sherlock could move or attempt to flee the cabin, he heard a low chuckle, before something was swung through the air, violently slamming into Sherlock's skull, and knocking him out, sending the man deep into blackness, unable to prevent what was going to happen to him.

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I'll hopefully write more but idk I have no muse recently

-Ren