Lost and Found

Disclaimer: Own nothing but the DVD's, Sherlock belongs to BBC and ACD.

A/N: Okay another Sherlock attempt. Still a work in progress, but soon to be completed. Wanted to use something involving a bit of the homeless network mentioned in the GC episode. I've also seen a couple works where some refer to Sherlock as 'William' sometimes, no sure where the original idea came from, but I like the name, so I'm borrowing it for the name the homeless network uses when referring to Sherlock. Still on the fence with it being a death-fic, I'll take feedback into consideration since the final chapters are still a work in progress. Anyway, I hope you enjoy-Montez

Chapter 1

John's feet were pounding along the pavement as he chased the suspect in the latest murder. For one of the few times he was not a pace behind his long-coated partner and flat-mate, no this time he was in the lead and Lastrade was following behind him. John had gotten a text from the Detective Inspector about twenty minutes before the end of his shift at the surgery and met the man outside. There had been two murders in three days with similarities to those of the infamous Jack the Ripper, unfortunately they had been a young prostitute and a young homeless girl.

Upon getting into the car John commented, "Sherlock is going to have a fit he missed this."

Greg glanced at the blond man next to him, "When's he due back?" The vehicle sped through the London traffic toward the latest crime scene.

"Three days, I think Mycroft is taking advantage of having Sherlock indebted to him. From the texts I've been getting nearly hourly this is proving to be the longest seven days in the history of man. It's a good thing Mycroft isn't in the same country as Sherlock or I think he'd be attempting to hunt his brother down out of boredom." John couldn't help the smirk that crossed his lips, the Holmes men had a hell of a way of showing that they care.

"I can't even begin to imagine" Lastrade commented as he pulled up outside the alley the young woman had been found.

Upon exiting the car both men prepared themselves for the scene they were approaching. They knew John was no Sherlock, but his medical and military background proved useful on the rare occasion Holmes intellect was lacking. Watson pinched the bridge of his nose as he took the final steps forward, after being a doctor and working in a warzone you would think John had been able to see man's full capacity of evil against man, but there were even times the doctor was shaken. These two murders were falling into that category, how a person could do such unspeakable things to another person he would never understand.

Several minutes passed as the doctor actually worked in tandem with Anderson and his team trying to find any and all usable evidence. John's own medical mind whirled at the possibility that the person responsible was either trained as or was being trained as a doctor, doctors are trained to heal and ease suffering, not inflict it. Moving down the alley, replaying what he had seen from the previous scene and this one, there was no doubt it was the same person and no doubt the person had medical knowledge. Judging from the age of the victims the perpetrator was more than likely a younger man, no older than thirty. He wouldn't have needed to be charming considering the victims, but he would have needed to be confident in what he was capable of doing. That kind of confidence more than likely came with a bit of arrogance, a thrill that he was recreating the most famous murder case in the world, in the very same city, and he was appearing to leave the police with the same feeling of helplessness as the original killer over a century ago.

John continued to think as he watched the scene, he knew arrogant brilliance, his friend and flat-mate radiated it with his ability to see what other's didn't. Yet where Sherlock used his 'powers' for good, this man, though not likely to be as brilliant as the world's only Consulting Detective, had the arrogance needed. Again this was something John Watson had learned to recognize in people, arrogance, not many people could pull it off and the former Army Doctor had practice in dealing with the Holmes men to spot it the way Sherlock could spot a cheating spouse by their shoes.

That's what drew his attention to the crowd of people at the far end of the alley, he watched as the onlookers milled about behind the patrol officers assigned to keep them away. The young man was stylishly dressed, but not so much so that he stood out from the others around him. Yet it was the posture he held as he seemed to casually lean against the side of the alley, not the nervous stretching to see better that some of the others were presenting, this young man was more into watching the officers investigating, noting when Anderson called to one of his techs when something seemed significant or when Lastrade, who it was clear that he was in charge, moved to talk with the evidence technicians. The young man didn't really seem to pay John that much attention until he moved a little closer to the gathering of people. Watson tried to appear to be watching what was happening around the victim while keeping an eye on the young man, it was only when Lastrade approached John did the man straighten his stance, John and the man's eyes locked for an instant before Greg spoke.

"So what do you think?" Lastrade was good at his job, but hated that he had to deal with murders, he couldn't understand why people felt the need to take another's life or to do it in such unspeakable ways.

John shifted slightly, watching the young man, while also looking at Greg, "I think I see someone we might want to speak to." Watson's voice and manners seemed casual, but Lastrade picked up on the blond man's change in stance, it was like being around Sherlock just before he took off after someone.

Lastrade had been around the Consulting Detective and his Blogger enough to not react to the words or change in position so as not to tip a potential witness or suspect. John spoke again, "Remember the accounts of the Ripper taunting the police, I think that's what this guy is wanting to do, so he hangs around, watches to see what you all might miss." The barely there nod toward the end of the alley was the only indication that John's full attention had shifted there, "Young man, about twenty-five to thirty, five-ten, light brown hair, glasses. He's wearing a grey suit jacket over jeans, light grey button-up, black backpack-type bag over his left shoulder. Probably a weapon in the back of the jean if the way his hand just shifted is any indication."

Greg ran his hand over his face, "Damn you've been around Sherlock way to long, suppose this is going to turn into a chase now?" the older man asked as he stepped toward the mouth of the alley, motioning for one of the patrol officers, trying desperately to scan the crowd without actually looking. He spotted the man just as a smirk crossed his face and John bolted for the entrance, "Shit…" The DI shouted as he took off around the corner he'd already lost John and the suspect around, yelling for the patrol officers to follow.

That's how John Watson found himself closing in on a possible modern day Jack the Ripper as the lead in the chase. 'Sherlock was really gonna be pissed about missing this' John's mind screamed as he focused on the footfalls and possible directions the suspect might take. All the time with Sherlock running through the cities backstreets, alleyways, and sometimes rooftops allowed John to find a cut through and land himself on a small footpath leading to one of the pedestrian bridges over the Thames. It was here that the suspect decided he was going to fight, especially with the strong possibility that John might actually catch him. It wasn't unexpected so John missed the man's first attempt at swing and tackled him to the ground. That seemed to fuel a fight like John hadn't fought since his Army days and the one occasion his hand-to-hand training had come in very well. John rolled off the man, getting to his feet ready for the next attach, and the younger man didn't disappoint as a handful of gravel was thrown at Watson's face. He closed his eyes a fraction of second too late as he felt the grit start to scrap at his eyeballs, a hand instinctively going to his face, the suspect took far advantage, slamming John into the railing of the bridge. Even with his eye's closed John put up a hell of a fight, his hand's finding the younger man's face, his thumbs going for the sensitive eye sockets of his assailant. A punch to the gut loosened John's hands as both men continued to hit wildly at one another. It was just as John barely registered Lastrade's distant shouts that the suspected killer got in a lucky hit that dazed Watson, causing him to stumble, his lower back catching the railing again as the man rushed him.

Time froze for both John and Greg. John felt the moment both his and the suspects feet left the tarmac of the bridge, their bodies in a tangle of flailing limbs as momentum sent them over the protective railing toward the rushing, debris-filled current below. In those few endless stretching seconds John's hand grabbed onto a support rail, while the suspect's hands pulled on John's injured body, causing him to slip further before said suspect lost his grip and a splash was heard over the roar of the river. John's eyes were still squeezed closed, the fragments of gravel and dirt scratching more as each attempt to open his eyes were aborted. His hand slipped a bit more as he heard Greg's shouts getting closer, could feel the vibration of the DI's feet as he pounded with all his might to reach him. However the few lucky hits the suspect had landed were beginning to scream in protest as his body hung precariously by his right arm, his left having taking a hard slam into the railing before the flip so even the slight vibrations from his would-be rescuers were proving too much. In that last second John Watson was able to crack his eyes open, the blurred image of Greg's panicked face and desperate grab for his hand was the last image that registered before his hand gave way and his body was pierced with a thousand needles as the Thames cold water surrounded him and pulled him under.

Detective Inspector Gregory Lastrade rounded the last bend, his eye's finding his friend in a fight with the suspect they were chasing on the pedestrian bridge. His mind screaming that he really needed to get into better shape if he was going to constantly be chasing after Sherlock and John throughout the city, he pushed himself when it seemed the fight was turning against John's best efforts. The patrol officers were close behind, but Greg's gut twisted when he saw John get slammed against the railing. It was in that one horrifying moment that he saw the suspect take a run at the obviously injured Watson that his mind and voice screamed John's name at the same time the two bodies flipped over the railing toward the raging river. Lastrade was able to see the second John's hand caught part of the support railing, the suspect desperately trying to cling to Watson's body before the younger man slipped, splashing into the river below. Greg heard one of the patrol officers calling in water rescue as his own feet hit the bridge, John was just barely hanging on and the Detective Inspector knew he needed to reach his friend fast, he didn't know the extent of the man's injuries or how long he might be able to hold on. The moment he leaned over the railing would haunt him until his dying day, it was in that moment time stood still and the ground beneath him felt like it gave way. For it was in that moment he saw John's injured eye's open, meeting his own frantic ones. It was in that moment that he reached over the railing begging to all that was holy that he could grab a hand, a wrist, a sleeve…and it was in that moment that Greg Lastrade watched his friend, John Watson, slip from the railing, disappearing in the dark, raging waters of the Thames.