A Seemingly Endless Sleep
Author Note: Hello there *waves enthusiastically*. What a surprise BritishSweden is once again writing some angst. I've been writing too much... happiness lately so I thought that I'd balance it out with some angst! If you have never read any of my stories before then, welcome to my wonderful world of angst.
This story is something that I thought I could use some ideas from a roleplay conversation that I've been having with my good friend b-b-b-benedict in. It's going to contain angst and flashbacks and JohnLockness. I'm also going to try and write Mycroft into this somehow because I have been told that I write a good Zachariah –Supernatural- and that I might write a good Mycroft too so I shall try.
Anywho, after that ramble I shall start my story. I hope that you enjoy this first chapter! xx
Chapter 1 – The Accountant
"It's obvious!" Sherlock exclaimed spinning around to face John, "It has to have been the accountant. His shoes were the right size and if the shoe fits wear it!"
"You still haven't got the sayings thing to not sound out of character yet," John mumbled as he prayed that Sherlock's shoe revelation meant the end of the case. He loved every case that the two took part in together but right now he just wanted to go back to the flat for some ibuprofen.
He hadn't been working as well as usual that day because of a pounding headache he'd developed due to Sherlock's incessant playing of the violin. Sherlock was an incredible musician and he could make any piece sound like an angel was playing it but at 4am it was less than appreciated. This time it had a cost and John wasn't happy.
"Cliché phrases aren't my thing much like winking although some people seem to like that," Sherlock said twirling back around and pushing his fingers together in his 'thinking pose'.
"The winking is because you are bad at it and it makes you seem more human," John mumbled not giving the detective time to contradict before continuing, "But that is not what we are talking about. Please explain why the shoes are the answer to this case because I have a pair of those shoes in that size too."
Sherlock rolled his eyes slightly before nearly knocking out a woman with his hands as he swung around to face John again.
"It's not just the shoes themselves that hold the answer. It's the shoe prints," Sherlock explained as he wandered backwards down the street while people parted for him, "By just looking at the shapes created by the print and the fact that they were rounded at the edges I could see that the shoes had to be about a year old. They weren't a well known brand and the shoes, when I saw them, weren't well made. The stitching was showing and it was sloppy as well as the material looking faked. As well as this the depth of the print told me approximately the height and weight of the man as I compared it to both mine and yours in the same area and that man in there was exactly the right dimensions."
John was amazed, not that he expected anything less from the man he was privileged to call his best friend. It was a single footprint for Christ's sake and he had managed to pick every section apart to reveal the previously unknown identity of a man whom had murdered at least four women. It was incredible.
"Fantastic," John sighed with a small smile playing on his lips as he fought to ignore the continuous throbbing at the back of his skull, "Absolutely incredible."
"Your compliments are much appreciated John but the more pressing matter is how to prove to the imbeciles at the office that it's him," Sherlock muttered fluffing up his hair in a shop window as they passed by.
"They do trust you Sherlock. You could probably just tell them and they'd be right there to arrest him," John said before he heard the familiar click of a gun being cocked.
"I'm not going to let you do that, boys," the chilled voice muttered from behind the couple, "I quite like the freedom of England and I feel being in prison may ruin that just the tiniest bit."
Cautiously, John turned around to see the man stood a few feet back with a 9mm pointed at his chest. The build of the man, now that John had time to have a good look, reminded him a little of himself. He was definitely some sort of solider and that meant bad news for the companions because he was going to be a good shot and even from down the street he could hit his mark. And today John wouldn't be able to dodge. His reactions were slower and he knew that he couldn't get away if a shot rang from the gun.
Sherlock noticed the public running before he saw what was happening and he froze. Every other person in the world stood in front of that gun, every single one of them would have been better than John.
"You're going to get caught," John said staying as calm as he possibly could with a gun pointed at him, "No matter what happens here you aren't getting away with these murders."
The man lifted the gun to his head and scratched at it absentmindedly with the barrel, "Those bitches deserved to die. It wasn't as if whoring around was helping society in any way."
John clenched his hands and teeth at the man's words. Everyone deserved life; no one deserved to die not anyone. Everyone made bad decisions in their life but that doesn't mean that they should die, "You bastard."
"You got me right in the heart there John. Smack bang in the centre," He said lowering his gun and hitting his chest with the other hand dramatically, "I'm not here for you though; it's more for your colleague back there. Yes I'm talking about you Sherlock."
Sherlock looked at the man without a trace of emotion on his face. He was just scanning the man with his eyes and searching for weaknesses. Sherlock rarely dealt with cases in which the killer was mentally unstable because Sherlock was never a very delicate person and those cases required him to be as such. That was probably what had struck so much terror through him as he looked at the man with a gun pointed at John's chest.
"I was just wondering how you got me. I covered all my tracks and everything that I did was perfectly devised. I made sure of it myself," He muttered not moving the gun from John's chest as he babbled, "I'm intrigued."
"You obviously aren't as good as you thought then because you left a footprint," Sherlock said, immediately regretting his phrasing as the man's face contorted into one of anger. He knew that the man had narcissistic tendencies but he had turned quicker than he had ever considered possible. One minute he was standing high and mighty with a confident smirk plastered on his face and the next he was completely different. It terrified Sherlock and he began to fear the worst.
"Did I now," He said his hand wobbling and dropping slightly as he began to deteriorate quickly, "The problem with you Sherlock is that you think you are brilliant; that everything you do will safe everyone. Well sorry to say but you aren't. People die and you can't save them all can you?!"
Sherlock took a step forward as the man raised the gun to point at John again and he stopped; fearing what would happen if he continued forwards.
"Take John for instance. He's a soldier, a doctor and a good man and now he's going to die," he smirked with a wild crazed look as he cocked the gun once more, "You need knocking down a peg Mr Holmes and I'm going to be the one to finally do it."
"John!" Sherlock yelled reaching a hand out to the man as a click sounded around in the air. It seemed to slow to a speed at which each individual sound wave became visible and Sherlock could see them bouncing in front of him and his own shout reached John's ears before the bullet plummeted into his chest.
"You can't save everyone Sherlock!" he said dropping the gun and running down the desolate street that people had quickly filtered out of.
"John!" Sherlock yelled as he skidded onto his knees to catch the doctor as he fell to the floor. He rested his head on his laps and gripped one hand with his own tightly, "Come on. You're fine."
Sherlock shifted his hand around John's as it became increasingly limp with every second. With his other hand he moved John's face gently trying to stop it from falling sideways as if by some miracle that would keep him alive.
His favourite oatmeal jumper was ruined, a gaping hole near the centre that was blackened at the edges. Crimson began to flood from and Sherlock desperately tried to apply pressure to it while holding the limp man in his trembling arms. He pulled his hand back to see it drenched in blood and quickly re-applied it, pushing down harder.
"Stay with me John. There's an ambulance on the way," Sherlock muttered, all his words rushing together as he watched his friends face grow pale and his eyes flickering shut, "You've just got to stay awake John. Just stay awake!"
Author Note: So what did you think? I would love to know so please leave me a review and I shall love you for a long time! I mean it! If you want to know when I update then follow and/or favourite this story and you shall get an e-mail whenever I update.
With all of my stories I try to have an update day and the update day for this one is going to be Thursday. So, if you enjoyed this chapter, then expect another next Thursday evening at some point!
Thank you very much for reading this first chapter and I really hope that you continue to enjoy it! xx