Snow battered and spun around London, howling with the wind through the night. The stars were barely even noticeable in this white blizzard. Usually Lestrade would have been home by now, but of course Donavan had to keep him at the Yard for extra hours to complain about you know who. Apparently he was up to the usual again and she was just sick of it. There really isn't anything he can do about it, though. Sherlock does what he wants. After finally calming her down he got to leave, only to find that he had left the lights on for his vehicle and the battery was dead. He had tried to get a cab, but with this weather nobody wanted to be out driving. That's when he came up with the idea to head for Baker Street; a place he knew he would be welcome.
Lestrade trudged up the steps to Baker Street on the cool winter night in London. He hoped that they wouldn't mind him dropping by. According to John's blog it they were on a puzzling new case. There wasn't much information yet, but what he has heard there were some criminals, selling illegal items. Sherlock apparently has been trying to find a good trail all week so Lestrade was sure that the bloggers wouldn't care if he got front row seats to the show.
Lestrade opened the door to the flat, not even bothering to knock. Both John and Sherlock somehow always know it's him entering. Maybe it is because of his footsteps or something. Whatever it is he wished he could do it. Think of how easier it would be to find out when the wife was coming in for a surprise visit. That was all just some hopeless dream though. There are only two great men in the world from what Lestrade believed and they were Sherlock Holmes and Dr. John Watson.
"Hey, I heard you guys are on a new case-"Lestrade froze instantly. Papers were scattered all over the room, covering the floor. Photos were pinned on the wall above the couch and on the mirror above the fireplace. It looked like a tornado attacked the place. Lestrade's eyes scanned the flat until they fell on John, who was pacing back and forth in front of the fireplace with fear bursting from his widened eyes. He was shouting frantically into the phone he held up to his ear. "John, what's wrong?" Lestrade asked. John stopped, staring at Lestrade in surprise. He must have not heard him come in. John pulled his phone from his ear and stared Lestrade in the eye.
"They got him, Lestrade, they got Sherlock," John slurred in a panicked voice.
"What do you mean they got him?" Lestrade asked, his stomach twisting. John pressed the speaker button on his phone and sound instantly filled the room. Rattling was what Lestrade heard first and then it was heavy breathing. "Sherlock?" Lestrade called, hoping that he wouldn't hear the detective's voice. He got his wish. He didn't hear Sherlock's voice but he did hear a pained gasp as the detective tried to move. Sherlock was injured; that much was obvious. Lestrade took in a shallow breath. This was not what he had had in mind for tonight.
Lestrade sat on the couch, listening to the sound of Sherlock struggling. John was sitting next to him, staring at the phone with the same look Lestrade had seen on his face the last time Sherlock had been captured. He wondered what was going on through John's head right now. How many times has he almost lost his best friend? The good doctor had told Lestrade everything. He had told him that he had been on the phone with Sherlock when several men that were behind the illegal items jumped the detective and forced him into the trunk of the vehicle. John had said that they had been following them all along. Lestrade had been biting at his nails the entire story. He couldn't stop the thoughts that ran through his head. What if they didn't just snatch Sherlock? What if they just shot him dead? At least they have a chance to save him, but if he had just been shot they may not have been lucky. What would John be like? Lestrade had seen him once too many without his best friend and there is no way he would be able to survive it again.
Bang!
Lestrade jumped at the sound of Sherlock smacking something through the phone, breaking him from his thoughts.
"Sherlock, stop, you could hurt yourself!" Lestrade shouted.
"I can't breathe," Sherlock's sickly voice stated, quickly. Lestrade stared at the phone in terror.
"What?" John instantly bit at his bottom lip and clutched his hands into fists, nervously.
"If I hit it hard enough I may be able to open the hatch of the car enough to let in some air," stated Sherlock, smacking the hatch again. Lestrade covered his face with his hands. This was not good. If Sherlock was injured, losing air and in a moving vehicle their chances of finding him would be slim.
"So then, Sherlock, are you injured? And don't say your fine because we all can tell that you are from all that gasping and groaning," Lestrade called into the phone. He heard a grunt from the other end and the sound of Sherlock kicking something.
"Yes," Sherlock hissed through his teeth. "My head, shoulder, ankle, and maybe a rib or two are bugging me." Lestrade was going to ask if he could be more specific, but he decided that they didn't have time to listen as Sherlock gave them a full diagnosis and asked then, "Can you give us some kind of clue vehicle is traveling?" There was silence over the other end.
"My attackers are driving through country now judging on the gravel smacking at the side of the vehicle." Sherlock croaked. He was breathing a little heavier now. "My phone's dying so you'll have to hurry, but you can track my phone just like we did for the pink lady." John instantly jumped from his seat on the sofa and grabbed his laptop, pulling up the phone tracer. After typing in the code to Sherlock's phone a little red spit blipped up onto the screen. Sherlock had been right. the vehicle was in the middle of the country side, traveling at an incredibly crazy speed.
"We have you, Sherlock, I promise we'll find you. Just hold on," John called into the phone, closing the laptop and dashing for the door, not even wasting time on grabbing his coat.
"Don't worry; I know you will," Sherlock croaked through the phone. Lestrade wished that they hadn't said those things to each other. It only made him feel like they had jinxed every chance they had. He had to have hoped, though. Just like Sherlock had in John and John had in Sherlock.
I was bored tonight and didn't feel like working on any of my stuff for my other stories so i wrote a new one. there is only going to be two chapters and i'll have the last one up tomorrow along with the second chapter of 'The Dream of a Madman' for those of you who are interested in reading it. Thanks for reading!
