Just a short angsty one-shot that popped in my head today when I should of been working.
Please Read and Review
No Spoilers
Warning Character Death
The flat was cold.
Beams of moonlight gently filtered through through the slats in the blind.
Dust serenely dancing in the lights from the street outside.
A dogeared blue blanket was bunched in a heap on the sofa.
On the coffee table sat a empty glass, deep red tide marks stained the bottom of the glass from the remnants of the wine it used to contain.
The TV projected static into the lonely room its reflection glaring of the sharp ragged shards of glass from a broken wine bottle littering the floor at the base of the bistro table.
The front door creaked on its one hinge a large crack snaking its way through the wood.
A dark mass was crumpled by the brick fireplace, Alex Drakes fragile body was collapsed on the floor.
Her skin was covered in tiny razored cuts and marred with deep blue bruises.
A deep cut was slashed across the front of her face leading from her chin to her right eyebrow, blood had dried over her once beautiful features in a sticky mess, streams of her liquid lifesource pooling into a deep red puddle on the Dreary grey carpet.
Her lungs sucked in one last ragged breath before she gave in as her soul faded away from the world she had grew to love. As the air left her you could hear a word whispered regretfully into the cold flat 'Gene'.
The telephone in Alexs flat rang to itself the shrill tones deafening in the quiet.
Gene Hunt waited anxiously at the other end 'Come on Bolls pick up' he sighed into the handset.
Keats silently creeped down the stairs from Alexs flat slipping silently into Luigis and then out into the street careful not to be seen.
Gene slammed the phone down forcefully, pulling out his lighter and lighting the fag hanging out his mouth, He strolled purposefully out of CID the checkerboard of ceiling lights flickering of behind him as he went to find his bolly.....