Dagger
noun
1. a short knife with a pointed and edged blade, used as a weapon.
Sherlock opened his eyes. His mind raced to catch up with his surroundings and he realized it was exactly 3 in the morning (according to the clock). That means it had been six hours since he and John had been jumped in the street by a gang of criminals. They had all been familiar faces, all people Sherlock had put behind bars for various offenses. Apparently he was a great rallying point for friendships in jail.
Sherlock tried to recall all of the events that had happened.
He and John had been leisurely walking back to Baker Street after a night out on a case. Sherlock had realized ten minutes in that they were being tailed. He didn't tell John, not wanting to concern him, but quickened his pace instead. Sherlock mentally mapped out the quickest way home in his mind, and sped off towards an alleyway, much to the annoyance of John. John had caught up to Sherlock a moment later, finding the shocked detective staring at a freshly bricked off wall. Sherlock turned to John with a slight flash of fear in his eyes.
"What is it, Sherlock?" John had asked.
They had then been confronted by the gang that had been tailing them. Sherlock's memory was a little foggy at that. This surprised him, what had happened?
Sherlock tried to sit up, but he felt a sharp jab of pain in his abdomen. He realized he was in his room, surrounded by darkness. He reached over and flicked on his lamp.
And to his surprise, the light beheld John Watson dozing in Sherlock's desk chair. Then it all came back as Sherlock's sharp eyes found the bejeweled dagger placed not far away from John's resting hand.
One of the crooks had an affinity for family heirlooms. He always carried his grandfather's 100 year old dagger in the case of needing it. Admittedly for illegal means. The crook in question had jumped on Sherlock, surprising him. The man with the dagger had the advantage, and sliced Sherlock's right side while he was caught off guard. Sherlock smiled in pride as he remembered how John had reacted.
Yelling Sherlock's name he had tackled the man standing above Sherlock to the ground, then pulled his gun on the others. The last thing Sherlock remembered was seeing John's hazy face hovering over his own.
Sherlock prodded his side gingerly, and counted a total of nine stitches.
Where would he be without his blogger?