Blood was pouring thickly into the sand, the moans had finally stopped. It was easy to tell that the man was killed by an explosive; what was once a leg was now just scattered chunks of flesh. The smell was nostalgic.
Did I just watch a man die? John scrunched his face up. Did I even try to do anything? How did I get here?
John lifted his hands up; he noticed how heavy they were. They were stained with blood, callused, and tired. He rubbed his round fingers together, noticing how the blood was already flaking from the dry sun. His body began to ache; he felt a big weight on his body. John looked up at the sun, quickly raising his arm to shade his face, forgetting how bright it was.
I'm in a desert? John thought to himself. As soon as the thought began, John swung his body behind him, shocked to see that he was in a big vastness of sand. There were mixed feelings of terror and unimportance, no buildings or even trees were visible. His breath picked up, his heart pounded against his chest. John began to feel small and a lone, the sand seemed to expand with every pound his chest made. John kept his hands out in the air, as if he was preventing himself from falling, keeping his mouth slightly ajar. John made a muffled grunt, as he checked what he was wearing. The familiar look of a medic uniform began to connect in his mid; His body ached even more.
Why am I in my old uniform? Why am I in the Desert?!
John stood there in shock, clenching his uniform in his hands, he starting to spin around in a daze. "I can't be here" he whispered under his breath. "It just can't be" his quiet voice sounded thirsty. "It's been so long, it can't be possible." He slumped onto his knees, releasing his hands in desperate manner. His arms fell in front of him; he let out a raspy sigh. The wind started to pick up, smell of burnt flesh still hung in the air. John looked sheepishly behind his shoulder, "How did this poor man die out in the middle of nowhere." Without hesitation, a loud noise of a vehicle came up suddenly over a hill. John swung his head back to see if his ears were deceiving him. A military vehicle drove up violently in the distance, kicking up sand and making a loud fuss over the hill. John, out of hope, made a reluctant smile. Feeling as if he could now have help, figure out what to do next.
A violin interjected John's positive emotions. It cut through the air so suddenly. It was like it wanted everything to stay quiet and listen for a moment. The sound of the vehicle disappeared, even though John could visibly see it driving up in the distance. The only thing John could hear now was just the sweet melody of the violin. The familiar sound of "God Save the Queen" flowed into John's ears, though why is there the sound of a violin and nothing else? John slowly looked over his left shoulder; he could feel the sweat dripping down the back of his neck, giving his back an uncomfortable feeling.
A tall man stood, with a straight and proper posture, he was wearing a soldier's uniform. His right wrist rotated with a beautiful flow. His left wrist held a firm position, holding a violin that glowed in the desert sun. His dark curly hair bounced ever so slightly with his movements. John watch, slowly opening his mouth in a surprised reaction. The man turned to look at John, forming an out of place smile on his thin face. He stopped playing suddenly. The sound of the Vehicle was apparent again, the vehicle seemed to be having a hard time getting up the next hill. The sounds of the gears shifting and sand being thrown up by the tires were becoming meaningless to John now.
"Sher-Sherlock?" John questioned, a hint of anger was in his voice. "What are you doing here?!" His eyes fixated on Sherlock's little movements. John rose up suddenly, his body language was showing that he was starting to become angry, yet defensive. Sherlock didn't take his eyes off of John, that smile was still on his face. "We have another case John! "Sherlock chimed, that smile was starting to make John feel uncomfortable." I can feel that I'm finally getting close; Moriarty won't know what hit him." Sherlock tucked his violin under his left armpit, and waved the bow in sync with his words. John walked up to Sherlock with a stiff posture, though his back slugged over a bit from the frustration. "Sherlock how did you, I mean we get here? This is insane, how died we end up in the middle of fu-" "There is no time John! We have to make our get away before-" "Before what?!" John barked.
A large explosion pierced John's ears, the military vehicle shot up in flames, and John was thrown back. This wasn't how explosions worked; this vehicle still had a few miles before it reach John. Yet John tumbled down the hill, the flames kept rising. After a couple of seconds of thrashing against the sand, John finally laid on his back, letting out a large gasp of breath. Sherlock tried to keep pace with John's rolling body, trudging against the thick sand. John slowly brought himself up, grunting from the aching in his back. Sherlock ran up, grabbed John's hand, pulling him with the momentum. John's body sluggishly pulled up, tripping on his own feet, he tried to push himself along with Sherlock. The flames started to roll behind them like a Tsunami, the heat started to nip the back on their necks.
"Sherlock what is happening?!" John yelled, trying to raise his voice above the thunderous clashing of the fire. "Look forward and don't let go!" Sherlock replied, huffing under his breath.
John gripped tighter on Sherlock's hand; he started to push his legs harder. I won't let go, John thought to himself, I promise.