I would appreciate your comments that you give, it really helps me. I don't own anything, and if I did, that would be super. But life is mean like that. Enjoy!(Or don't enjoy, I don't decide)
"JOHN! GET DOWN!" Sherlock shouted as he bent down to the ground. Gunshots could be heard above my head as I started to crawl towards Sherlock. The voices in the air were filled with anger and sorrow as people from all corners of the streets were shouting abuse. The sky was completely dark, but was interfered by a flickering light at the end of the street from a car which was engulfed in flames. All around, I could see the innocent and the guilty; the innocent trying to find safety and the guilty destroying it. This was madness compared to Afghanistan; more people filled the streets as more firebombs and bricks were being thrown.
Just this morning, a case of a murdered child was put in the archives because it was "unsolvable". It took two years to try and find the missing girl, and when they did, they had terrible results. She was only 4 years old; her life barely started. They couldn't get DNA or any traces of the killer. After 6 months of trying, the case was closed. After this was reported on every news channel in Britain, it caused riots in London all the way to Edinburgh and back again.
"Are you okay?!" I asked over the bombardment.
"We have to get to safety!" he shouted as he pointed to an alley full of civilians "We have to get there!"
"When?" I asked as I crouched ready to jump and run. You could see the SWAT team marching down the high street as masked criminals chucked homemade bombs at them.
"NOW!" Sherlock shouted as we got up and ran towards the pathway, dodging flaming cars and shattered glass. Everyone was running in the opposite direction, so running to safety was harder than we thought. Sherlock was the first to reach the alley, I still had far to get to it. I turn my head all around to see the terror of what London has become. Nearly all the streets are copies of this; some more quiet and some more chaotic. Another bomb was set off beside me, which made me fall to the ground, leaving me with a ringing sound in my ears. I thought if I closed my eyes tighter, the noise and possibly all this insanity would go away.
I was pulled up off the ground by Sherlock and lead towards the alley where I was met by people of all ages, even children.
"Is he alright?" someone asked.
"That bomb was pretty close!" said another.
Sherlock ignored all of these comments and turned to face me. He gently slapped my face, trying to get me back into present day.
"John, you're an army doctor. Are you concussed?" he asked.
"Of course I'm not!" I said as I slightly pushed him away "I have been in worst,"
"Comparing this to Afghanistan, are you?" he said with a smirk on his face. Now was not the time to joke around.
"What I do know is that this isn't a safe place for us, we need to get to somewhere safer, with more space," I said as I poked my head outside of the backstreet. I could see groups like us wondering on around, looking for safety. People were still in their flats, looking down at the street with horror on their faces. It was actually amazing how the death of a little girl and a scheming murderer could cause Britain to fall. Just as I returned to the middle of the group, I got a text message from Lestrade.
Where are you?
In an alley in Dean Street. Greg, there are kids with us. Where are you? JW
I am still at Scotland Yard. You have to get as far away from there as possible; Dean Street is practically covered with car bombs going off.
I showed this text to Sherlock so that he could back me up on my idea. He nodded in approval. I felt my phone vibrate in my hand, indicating a new text message.
There is a warehouse on Hollen Street, get there and we will try and send someone to get you. And by the way, it doesn't look like these riots are dying down soon. It's happening everywhere.
The screams from the high street started to get louder and louder. I shoved my phone back into my pocket and poked my head around the wall which lead to the chaotic street. To the left of me was the SWAT team trying to defend their shields from the madness and to the left of me was cars which had been broken into, set in flames or cars which have crashed into walls.
"Hollen Street," I said as I headed back towards the group "We have to get there, police will be waiting there,"
"Who put you in charge?" asked a man who pushed his way into the middle of the crowd "Why should you be responsible for where we go?"
"Look, I have seen worst. When I came here and found you guys, it looked like you didn't have a plan. I have a plan, and if you're not up for it, then that's fine by me," I said. For some reason, I felt like I was back in Afghanistan, treating the wounded. I felt as If I was actually in charge of protecting these people. They are all innocent, and this place; an alley that is surrounded by terror, wasn't a place for anyone, let alone children. All of them were pretty much silent, except for Sherlock, whose footsteps could be heard over the sound of the bombs. He was stuck in his mind palace; he didn't have time to think of the people's safety, he knew what he had to do. He had to solve the case. He had to solve it, or else this Britain would be stuck in a looping time bomb of anarchy.
"Who's with me?"
