Crash. Bang. Screams.
Those sounds were what Felicity Taylor heard just before something large and heavy hit her in the back of the head and she blacked out.
"JOHHNNN," Sherlock whined, "Do come on. I would like to get to the crime scene before Anderson messes it up."
A huff was heard from the kitchen and a clanking sound as John Watson placed his tea cup into the sink. Then John came from the door and found Sherlock sprawled out on the floor. John sighed in a fond way.
"Alright, alright. I'm here."
Sherlock bounded up, with a huge smile on his face, and ran through the door, down the stairs, and outside where he hailed a cab. John smiled a little and followed him.
Once the men approached the crime scene, the devastation was immediately evident. Bodies were strewn across the pavement, the nearby houses and offices were on fire with fire engines nearby foolishly trying to save what was left of the buildings, and police men were looking for survivors. Sherlock jumped out of the cab, leaving John to pay the fee, and strode over to DI Greg Lestrade, with a slight smirk on his face.
"Ah, Sherlock," Lestrade said in lieu of a greeting, "Finally. The boys are getting nowhere."
"Obviously," Sherlock scoffed as John walked up. John, hearing his last comment, lightly pushed Sherlock's arm. The boys looked at each other; one in distress, the other fairly annoyed, but both with a fond expression. This was an every-day occurrence between the two flat-mates. John would gently remind Sherlock that he was not the only person in the world and Sherlock would make some retort, even though he knew John was right.
Sherlock glanced around and saw some movement. "John, I think someone is alive over there." Sherlock pointed to a young girl and John walked briskly over to her. As he bent down, John could see the girl better. She was more of a young woman with long brown hair, bright blue-grey eyes complimenting her pale skin. She was wearing a Doctor Who shirt with Matt Smith and the TARDIS on the front with blue jeans and white flats. Her skin had some beginning bruises and she was struggling to sit up. John reached out to help her up and she gratefully accepted.
"Thank you," American, John thought. "Ow." The girl lightly placed her hand on her head and pulled it back again. Blood was stuck to her palm. "Oh. That's unfortunate."
John started to lead her over to where Scotland Yard had set up a small medical department until the ambulances got there. The girl sat down in a chair as John started to look at her head.
"What's your name?" Sherlock had strode over and began demanding answers from the girl.
"Um. Felicity. Felicity Taylor."
"Well, Felicity, my name is Sherlock Holmes."
