The Solution to your Problem

by fuckitybye

Three months after his supposed death, Sherlock returns to 221B Baker Street to investigate a string of murders that are right up his alley - literally. How? The victims were last seen being dragged into his old flat. But when Sherlock cracks the case, his whole world is turned upside-down and he is forced to go on the run with the alleged murderer.

AN: Hello! This is my first published fic, and I hope you like it. I got the prompt from a tumblr post, and I wish I could cite it but it's been long since buried. If you recognize it, please drop me a message and tell me. Thanks, and don't forget to rate and review! x
-G

Chapter One: Dehumanizing the Enemy

Sherlock raised a hand to bang the knocker on the door of 221B Baker Street. Was this a good idea? He could see the blood on the doorframe, see how the victims had been dragged up the stairs one by one. Their hands had been bound and they had all been gagged. He knocked loudly on the door, knowing the murderer would hear. He would be expecting Sherlock to come calling. The door swung open. No one was there. Sherlock stooped to examine a piece of mud caught on the bottom step. Where had the murderer found his victims? He knew that the kind of mud he was seeing was only found in certain parts of the London Zoo, specifically the lion walk. Was he taking tourists? Sherlock continued up the stairs, his mind moving a thousand miles per minute. He reached the flat he had called home not a few months ago. Pushing the door open slightly, he called in, "Hello? If you're in there, please let Mrs Hudson go!"

"Now Sherlock, you know I'd never lay a finger on dear old Mrs Hudson! She's not your housekeeper, remember? Or did being dead take a toll on that brilliant mind of yours?"

Sherlock pushed the door open wider and stepped across the threshold. Two bodies lay at the other man's feet, and a knife slippery with blood was in his hand.

"Sherlock, it's so good to see you."

"John."

"John, what in God's name did you do this for? What on Earth would make you take innocent lives?!"

"Sherlock, you wouldn't answer your phone."

"John... You've killed two people."

"Sherlock, it was the only way to get your attention. When you disappeared, I completely lost myself. I started drinking heavily, I was a full-on gambling addict, I even tried to kill myself a few times. At first I would stop, thinking that you wouldn't want me to do this. But after two and a half months, I almost stopped believing in that. In you. So then I thought, what would Moriarty do? How would he get Sherlock's attention? And that's when it hit me. The only way to bring you back from the dead was to bring on the dead. And I know I shouldn't have killed them, I know. And I ought to be punished. But Sherlock... It was the only way to get to you."

"John..."

"Why would you do that? Why would you do that to me? You're everything I have, Sherlock."

John dropped the knife from his shaking hand. His knees buckled and he began to break down. Sherlock rushed forwards and caught him, gently lowering him to the ground as John buried his face in Sherlock's coat and sobbed bitterly, hoarse and broken from months of loneliness and grief. They sat together for a while, Sherlock keeping his arms around John, keeping him safe, as John broke beneath his embrace.

"Sherlock, I... I killed two people!" John's tears subsided as utter shock began to resonate on his face. "I'm going to go to jail! I'll be sentenced for life!"

"Not if we leave this city."

"What?" John looked up at Sherlock, his eyes round and disbelieving. "D'you mean it?"

"Have I ever lied to you?"

"Yes."

"Oh, right. Well, I do mean it. We can leave, together."

"But Sherlock..."

"But what?"

"I don't know. When could we leave?" John's face was solemn, as if he had already accepted that he was to be a fugitive.

---

"Right now, if you like."