Murder
As jail cells go, the one Sherlock Holmes now found himself in was comfortable enough. He once again relived the events which had led him here. He had woken up on the floor of 221B Baker St. with a gun in his hand a body on the floor. Lestrade had been standing above him, panic evident in his eyes, while sirens blared outside. He had been handcuffed within seconds and dragged from the scene. It took his mind only moments to catch up with the events which were unfolding before his eyes. He must have been holding the murder weapon as it was indeed murder which had occurred. Lestrade had pushed him forcefully into a police car and within minutes they were on the move. The press had not gotten wind of the story but it was clear that the Inspector wanted this dealt with quickly and quietly. What happened next, however, put Sherlock into a state of shock.
"Lestrade, contrary to what you may believe I have not killed anyone tonight" stated Sherlock rather calmly. Lestrade turned to the detective, a look of disgust in his eyes, hatred too.
"Is that why the body of John Watson is currently lying on the floor of your flat shot twice through the heart?" spat the detective, his annoyance and disbelief evident. Sherlock's heart stopped. He would never…could never…shoot John let alone kill him. John was his best friend and he had saved Sherlock from the road his life was taking. Lestrade anger was real, however, so it had to be true. Whatever had happened that evening had ended in the death of the doctor and the arrest of himself. For some reason the events were clouded in the detective's mind. It was almost as if hadn't happened in the detective's recollection. The evidence contradicted this thought, however, and Sherlock was beginning to realise the fallout of what had occurred.
Pentonville was not a prison where any criminal would like to find themselves but for the great Sherlock Holmes it was even worse. Many of the men found in the cells were placed there by him and would be out for blood the first chance they had. It was perhaps this notion which had led Sherlock to solitary confinement in the prison while he waited the charges to be brought before him. Outside the cell there were voices easily recognisable as Mycroft and Anthea. Clearly they were here to find out the truth of that evening and limit the damage that it would cause. Slowly the cell door opened and in the few seconds before his visitors entered he had time to deduce that his brother seemed unfazed by what had happened. It was as if he had simply walked into Baker St ready to trick his younger brother into taking a case filled with legwork. This confused the detective as he had expected some sort of reaction to his actions.
"Sherlock it appears we have a problem that must be dealt with and it must be done immediately" drawled Mycroft giving no indication that his brother had just committed murder. It seemed like it was just another misdemeanour that Sherlock had caused in the course of a case.
"You will of course remain here for a few days until the problem has resolved itself and the media leave you alone about John's death" he continued before the detective interrupted him.
"Mycroft are you suggesting that the world will forget John in a matter of days? I killed him…my best…friend…he died because of me…" Sherlock's composure was leaving him as the truth sank in. He had murdered his best friend and had no idea how or why it had happened.
A/N: Thank you for reading…As always let me know if I should continue Until we meet again