"Hurry up John, he's catching up to us!" Sherlock said as he ran from the serial killer. "I know, I know! I'm running as fast as I can!" John quickly replied. Their pursuer rapid fired five shots at the detective and his companion, one barely missing John's shoulder. They could hear the bullets whizz by and hit the brick walls. Crowds of onlookers screamed and emptied the streets as the killer reloaded and fired again. "God John, you're so slow! Come on." Sherlock suddenly grabbed his friend's hand and dodged another flying bullet. It thankfully missed his head and hit a glass display window, shattering it into pieces.
Sherlock's dark coat fluttered as he turned a street corner, still tightly gripping John's hand like it would be the death of him. (Quite literally, given their situation.) The bunches of
screaming people were growing thick and crowded like a herd of terrified sheep. Sherlock rudely pushed the annoying pack of people out of the way. "Sorry!" John continually apologized as his friend shoved people to the side.
"John, over there!" Sherlock pointed to an alleyway up ahead. The two both beelined for the alley and ran as far away from the gunman as they possibly could. Sherlock had knocked over some cardboard boxes and scared away a few alley cats in the process, but they were safe. "I think we've lost him." Sherlock breathed.
John took a moment to catch his breath. "Yeah, and a good thing too. The guy almost shot my other shoulder!"
"Well, he was a terrible aim." the consulting detective replied. "I'm really not surprised he missed. You're pretty lucky anyway."
John paused for a minute. "Sherlock?"
"Yes John?"
"You're still holding my hand."
"Yes, yes I am. And?"
"You can let go now."
"Right. Sorry."