Chapter 1
On The Run
Okay, so this story was previously on my Wattpad account, and I wanted to switch it over to here, because this is my favorite site, haha. Just another Sherlock fanfiction that I just wrote the next chapter to, so I hope you enjoy, and please review!
John was tired. He had been at the Clinic since 9 this morning, and the only welcoming thing that had happened that day was the warm waft of air that pressed on him as he unlocked the door to his flat, at 221B Baker Street. He sluggishly picked up his bag containing his modalities from the damp ground and made his way inside, up the stairs and to the door to the flat. The first thing that he noticed when he walked in was that the couch was empty. An unpleasant burning smell and smoke coming from the kitchen greeted his eyes.
"Sherlock?" John speedily walked to the kitchen, trying to find the source of the smoke.
He found Sherlock standing in the kitchen with experiments flung across the kitchen table and inside cabinets and in the sink. One of which was on fire, and was fuming smoke throughout the flat.
"Sherlock?! What the hell are you doing?!" Concern was strung across his voice.
Sherlock looked up from his observation of the burning material and the first thing he said was
"Oh Hello John!" John dropped his bag and made his way around the table to where the (cotton?) material was burning. He waved his hand trying to blow the smoke away a little so he could see better.
"Sherlock is this really necessary? It's 11 o'clock!" He stepped back looking to find a cup of water to pour over it, not really focusing on the fact that Sherlock would likely be pissed if he poured it over the experiment.
"Yes, of course. It's always necessary John. Now don't go pouring anything over my precious experiment, this is important." He turned his back to the small metal cup holding the burning cloth and grabbed the table behind him as if trying to protect it from the fires enemy.
"Well could you at least clear out the cabinets so I could make some tea please?" He said, knowing he wasn't getting to the small fire no matter what. The flame was dimming anyways, so there was no need for the water.
Sherlock thought a few seconds before answering Johns question, "Fine." he said reluctantly.
He began clearing things up, while John left the room to go freshen up a bit and finish some reports. When he returned he was surprised to find the kitchen relatively clean, with many of the experiments relocated to a large portion of the kitchen table which had previously been covered with old case files and other old and finished experiments. John began making the tea when he realized after about 10 minutes of Sherlock's noise, it had stopped abruptly. Just then he heard a knock on the door and rapid footsteps. Then everything was silent. He walked to the Living room to find the flat door open, and down the stairs, he could see that the front door was open as well. A confused John wondered why Sherlock would have left in such a hurry. A case, probably. He thought to himself. Making sure to check the other rooms for him before he left, he made his way down the steps and to the street where he could only see the flit of Sherlock's coat around the corner and footsteps echoed across the buildings. He broke into a run wanting to catch up to Sherlock before he lost him.
As he rounded the corner he made note of another figure, several yards in front of Sherlock that was running at a full sprint. Of course. I should've known it was a case... he thought to himself. When he finally reached Sherlock he was stopped at the edge of a street.
John looked around trying to find the street name on a building only to find that it wasn't, in fact a street, but an ally. In which John and Sherlock were standing at the opening side and the figure was facing the wall.
"You're trapped now, might as well give up." Sherlock said to the figure in between his breathy huffs of breath.
They turned and in a low gruff voice said "I can never be trapped Mr. Holmes. That's the art of a magician!"
There was a loud snap, and a large cloud of smoke rolled over the two men, leaving them without sight and irritated throats, they were vulnerable.
"John? John. Where are you?" there were some more coughs then Johns voice
"Here, Sherlock move to your right a bit and reach behind you with your hand." Not knowing any other way to find each other, Sherlock obeyed, soon finding Johns hand through the smoke. He had made the deduction that the smoke would have spread to far back through the street for them to leave it behind and still expect to find the "magician." So they had to move close to the wall and walk alongside it until they met the end, where the street turned into a dead end.
"Sherlock I think I see him." John squinted into the smoke seeing the shadow of a person. John broke into a run, intent on getting this over with. He tackled him, only to find out it was a dummy. Someone knew. Someone knew I was going to tackle whoever was in the smoke. How could anyone have known that he was going to tackle them? That's absurd. There's no other reason they would have provided a dummy! The smoke had thinned now, only to a light fog and it was easier to see. They had lost him, of course they had. Sherlock walked up to John with disappointment on his face.
"Dammit! We've lost him. I'll have to finish this up in the morning, with the help of Lestrade." He began walking in the direction of their flat. John was frozen, this was unusual. Sherlock would never just give up on a chase. Especially if he was this close to catching the murderer he wouldn't stop until they were in handcuffs! Nonetheless John followed, he had forgotten about his exhaustion, and walking towards the flat gave him time to realize just how tired he was. Sherlock was walking faster and more brisk than he was, it was apparent John had much less energy than him.
When they had made there way back inside the flat John had continued to make tea, and Sherlock had snuck into his room, making very little noise which made John suspicious. Then there was a loud crash as the sound of glass breaking filled the flat. Wondering what Sherlock had broken now, John entered the room cautiously.
He knocked on the half open door "Sherlock, can I come in?" There was a small groan of pain coming from behind the slightly cracked door. Opening the door slowly, he saw Sherlock's window was broken and there was a bloody knife laying on the floor. Footprints of the intruders shoes smearing in blood led out the window, staining the white window sill with, what could only be Sherlock's blood.
John found Sherlock leaning against the wall and holding his side. Beads of sweat had dripped down his face and drenched his collar. There was blood covering his hand and all over his clothes. His eyes were closed and Johns initial reactions were shock and concern
"Sherlock! Are you alright?!" The amount of concern and worry was evident in Johns voice. Sherlock panted, his ability to breath becoming much more labored.
"S-Stabbed. Suspect... went out th' window. Go...-catch 'im" His legs began to give out and John was there in an instant to catch him. He lay him softly on the wooden floor and immediately reached for his phone.
"I'm calling Mycroft, okay?" Sherlock's eyes were beginning to close, while on the phone he tapped Sherlock's face a bit.
"Sherlock! Sherlock I need you to stay awake for me alright? Come on now stay awake." He made a bandage out of a towel that had been thrown carelessly on the floor. Thank god for your messy habits Sherlock. He dialed Mycroft's number on his phone.
When he picked up he immediately started talking "Mycroft? I need you to come to Baker Street, It's Sherlock. He's been stabbed." There were a few faint orders being carried out in the background in which John could here Mycrofts authoritative voice ordering a car to be readied and dispatched to 221B.
"I'll be right there John, I have a car already on it's way it shouldn't take more than 5 minutes." Mycroft had a light string of concern in his voice for his little brother, there was a pause and then "How is he?" John took a moment to evaluate the situation, "He's going to be fine, Mycroft. Just get that car here as soon as possible." There was a moment of understanding then Mycroft hung up.
John knelt down beside Sherlock "Sherlock?" He said.
"Hm?" His eyes cracked open a little bit looking at John, his face was much paler than usual and his breathing shallow and labored.
"Mycroft's on his way, are you doing okay?" Stupid. Stupid question, of course hes not doing okay look at him! In a faint whisper Sherlock answered.
"Ye'. But 'm cold Jawn." he said, as he shivered a bit, sending jolts of pain through his weak body, Sherlock couldn't suppress a groan of pain.
"Yeah, alright, here." he took off his black jacket and laid it across Sherlock chest. He sat down on the ground and pulled Sherlock's head into his lap, trying to keep him comfortable while they waited.