Before You Find Me
A JohnLock story
John's hands shook, his breathing ragged and excited. He swallowed the lump in his throat, the dreadful feeling in his chest clogging his ability to think. He watched the blood run across the floor, pooling into the cracks of the hard wood. He marveled at the deep crimson hues of the viscos fluid. John turned his attention to the man on the floor at his feet as he cried out. Sneering hatefully, John kicked him in the side with his steel-tip work boot and the gurgling breath of the man stopped once and for all.
Sighing, John picked up the body with cold, leather-clad hands and tossed it from the window. He made quick work of tidying the blood. He knew the dark hard wood would not show a stain. He smiled at his handiwork. He thought his plan to me impeccable and water-tight. It looked like it had been a simple suicide case. At least to men down at the yard.
Of course, John wasn't trying to appeal to the men at the yard. Those men were endlessly stupid. None of them were even worth his time and devotion. He was looking for someone much more spectacular, a man that was supposedly dead. But John Watson knew better.
The man he wanted was none other than the infamous Sherlock Holmes.
The very name sent shivers through him. He wanted to be found by Sherlock more than anything he'd ever wanted before. And he wouldn't stop until he got to see his face again.
He shook his head, picking up his bag. Giving the apartment one last look-over, he left through the fire escape.