Short little one shot. May do a prequel, unsure yet.
Enjoy!
Lost and insecure
You found me
Lying on the floor
Surrounded
'I need two units coming in from the South and one from the East.'
Detective Inspector Greg Lestrade recited orders into his radio in his car, waiting outside the derelict mansion of former London mob bosses. It had taken them two months to track down their ever changing locations and now, finally, they might actually find some evidence to put them away for good.
He was sending in the armed officials ahead to ensure the place was free from danger before venturing in himself.
After thirty minutes of searching the whole building, the all clear was sounded and Lestrade jumped from his car, excited at the prospect of an arrest.
He was just entering the second kitchen when a shout from downstairs made him start.
'Detective! Detective! Lestrade!'
'What is it, Jahred?'
'Sir! It's one of yours, Sir!'
The Inspector raced down towards the operative, the stone steps sharp against the silence of the deserted staircase.
When he got to the bottom and entered the basement room, his attention was drawn immediately by the dark wet stain on the stonework and the shape that lay motionless in the centre.
Why did you have to wait?
Where were you?
'Paramedics, get paramedics down here!'
Greg's voice boomed around the room, sending an echo up the stairwell.
He cradled Sherlock Holmes' head in his hands and opened his coat to search for the source of the bleeding.
He quickly found the two bullet wounds in Sherlock's abdomen and cursed to himself when he discovered that one had gone straight through and out his back. He applied as much pressure as possible and rocked the consulting detective's head in an effort to wake him.
He succeeded when a pair of shocking blue eyes stared up at him, slightly dazed and confused at the sight. His breathing was erratic and weighted.
Sherlock mumbled but he couldn't form the words.
'You little bastard, I bloody told you didn't I?'
The eyes Greg were talking to merely shone, forehead creasing with worry.
'Don't worry, it's okay, we'll get you to Bart's, I'm sure Molly can put you back together.'
One of Sherlock's hands reached up and, after a little flailing in the air, placed itself on Lestrade's upper arm.
'You were right, Greg.'
His eyes closed and breathing slowed as Greg's breath caught in his throat.
He felt for a pulse.
Only faint.
You found me
'Sherlock?!'
Another voice Lestrade knew well sounded down the stairs, as Doctor John Watson stormed down the staircase, two at a time, stumbling as he entered the room. His face was badly bruised and he had various cuts on his arms and hands. He almost lost control of his legs upon seeing Greg cradling an unconscious Sherlock, surrounded by a pool of blood.
'Sherlock.'
He was pushed back as the paramedics arrived, storming in with their equipment.
Greg went to John after he had passed on Sherlock to the medical team, pulling him into his shoulder. As soon as John's cheek made contact with the material he began to sob.
Just a little late.
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