Chapter 2
John was in the middle of his shift when a nurse told him about an urgent phone call.
„John? It's Greg." Lestrade said.
„Greg. I am at work." John answered. "Why do you call me here? They pulled me out of a surgery. They said it was an emergency."
"I need you at a crime scene." Lestrade stated.
"That is a joke, isn't it? I don't do these things anymore. You know that." John answered annoyed.
"Yes, I know." Lestrade paused for a moment, searching for the right words. "But the victim has your name carved into his skin, all over his body."
"What? Give me half an hour. Where are you?" John said already half way to the locker rooms.
"Leinster Garden. The empty houses." Lestrade stated.
"Hi Greg." John said nervously. He regularly met the DI, but usually at a pub, having a pint, watching football. But he hasn't been to a crime scene for over five years now, not since Sherlock and Moriarty played their wicked game. Sherlock, oh no, he didn't want to think about the man who once was his best friend. He had moved on. But when Greg had called him, he immediately thought about Sherlock. This would be the kind of case he would have liked.
"Hi John, follow me please. The corpse is inside." Greg led him into the house that was just a façade. Again Sherlock came to his mind. He was the one who told him about this unique place. John shook his head, wanting to get rid of those memories. It were good memories, but they hurt, because he has lost his friend back then and it was all his fault.
A minute later he was standing in front of the body of a young man, splayed out across the small hallway, naked, except for some black boxer shorts. The name "John Watson" was carved into his skin in different sizes and different places, basically covering his whole body. John had to gulp.
"Let's turn him around, so that you can see his face." Greg said, clearly addressing the forensic officer who at once came closer and carefully turned the body around. "Do you know him?"
John looked at the face, angular, high cheekbones, black hair, slightly curly, very young. There was a certain resemblance to Sherlock Holmes, but only a very faint one. John shook his head. "I have no idea, never seen this guy before."
"But you notice the resemblance, don't you?" It was Sally Donovan speaking behind him.
"Yes, I guess it is obvious, isn't it?" John said. "Have you contacted him?" He turned around and looked at Lestrade and Donovan.
"We tried. Seems like he still lives in the flat in Baker Street, but he wasn't at home. Mrs. Hudson says he rarely is at home. We didn't have his current mobile number, but we left a message with his brother and with Mrs. Hudson. So far no response." Lestrade stated.
"If I wouldn't know that he is dead I would say Moriarty wants to play another game with us." John said.
Donovan, Lestrade and John stood in the hallway, watching the forensic team searching for evidence.
"Let's get outside and let them do their work." Lestrade gestured them to the exit.
They were standing silently in front of the fake house, just outside of the crime scene tape that was wrapped around the pillars in front of the entrance door. It was a cool spring evening, it was already dark. The streetlights in front of the house were broken and so only the faint light of the next streetlights threw some light on them. Lestrade was about to light himself a cigarette. Then everything happened very fast. A shot rang out and John felt himself been dragged to the ground at the same time, pulling over Lestrade and Donovan as well as he felt to the ground. A second later he stared into a face he knew so well but hadn't seen for so long and he heard the familiar baritone.
"Are you okay? Keep down." Sherlock growled. The next moment he turned around, firing several shots from a pistol into the direction of the house opposite. A faint scream could be heard and somebody was running away. A second later Sherlock was up on his feet running into the same direction. "Call an ambulance." He yelled on the way. On the street he stopped for a moment, aiming his gun at the man who had run away. He fired just one shot, then Sherlock continued to run.
Shell-shocked John froze in the position that Sherlock had just dragged him into.
"What was that?" He could hear Lestrade speak.
"Are you okay?" Donovan asked John. "That looks like blood. You have been hit."
John finally was able to get out of his frozen state. He looked down at his torso, touching the dark gleaming liquid that was smeared all over his jacket. He looked at his hand, recognizing the liquid as blood indeed. But he didn't feel any pain. No, he wasn't hit, he realized. That wasn't his blood.
He heard Donovan on her phone calling for an ambulance and Lestrade started to fuss about him.
"It isn't my blood." John said aloud. "It is not my blood. I am fine. I wasn't hit." The next moment he realized that that could only mean that Sherlock was hit when he pushed him out of the way of the bullet that obviously was meant to kill him.
"If it is not your blood." Lestrade started, but he also realized the implication.
Donovan looked at the both men, who still sat down on the pavement.
"And now?" She asked.
John and Lestrade got up. They all looked into the direction that Sherlock had fired his gun just a moment ago and they all saw it simultaneously. There in the shadow, just under the broken streetlight, there was a man spread on the pavement. They ran up to him. John knelt down, looking for a pulse, without much hope, seeing the amount of blood that covered the grey pavement.
"He is dead." John stated flatly. He turned the body around, just to see at least three bullet wounds grazing the torso of the man.
"One day we'll be standing around a body and Sherlock Holmes will be the one that put it there." Donovan said quietly.
John got up and looked at her furiously. "But he just saved our lives." John spat out.
"Yes, he did." Lestrade intervened. "But where is he? And how did he know somebody would shoot at us? And what the hell is going on here?"
They took a look down the street, into the direction Sherlock had ran away and they all instantly saw the other body, probably 40 yards away. They got up and ran up to the body. John again knelt down.
"He is alive." John told the other two. "The bullet had went through the shoulder. The lung might be winged as well."
They could hear the ambulance coming closer.