The cold rain trickled down Sherlock's back, mixing with the blood freely flowing from the stab wound he'd received a little earlier. Weighed down by the rainwater soaking into his cheap hoodie and jeans, he hobbled gracelessly down the mangy alleyway, one hand applying pressure to the wound on his left side – just below the ribcage – the other hand gripping the wall in support. The whole situation was bloody inconvenient, if you asked him.
Sherlock Holmes: tricked Jim Moriarty – the famous criminal mastermind - only to be stabbed by a drunkard in an alleyway somewhere in Sweden.
He huffed out a pained laugh, gripping the wound even tighter as pain shot through him. Who was he kidding? Nobody believed Moriarty was anything more than a victim of the psychopathic Sherlock Holmes. Feeling suddenly very lightheaded, he collapsed face-down into a puddle of rainwater on the ground, swallowing some of the filthy water and grazing his knees. He rolled himself onto his side, so as not to drown embarrassingly, and coughed the filthy water out onto the pavement. Looking down, he saw the water swirling around him turning an alarming shade of red. Licking his lips, he tasted blood.
Sherlock was feeling disturbingly warm and sleepy now. He fought against heavy eyelids, feeling waves of mind-numbing pain wrack his alarmingly malnourished, shivering frame. Warm blood continued to pour out of the knife wound in his side, how could so much blood come from such a small injury?
You're dying you idiot. He thought to himself, but what could he do? If he called an ambulance (which would be quite a feat, with his hands shaking the way they were), Moriarty's men would inevitably find out and come for him and his friends back in London, and he thought it almost funny how powerless Mycroft was in this situation, unless of course his brother could teleport. He didn't want John to find out about his second death, though. John wasn't doing too well apparently, and Sherlock wasn't so sure he would survive finding out that Sherlock had faked his death, only to bleed out in some alleyway in Sweden. And no doubt if The Fake Genius who offed himself a few weeks ago was found dead again in Sweden, it would make the news. Kitty Reilly would have a bloody field day.
He couldn't really have much say in the matter though, as he slowly gave up, lazily watching the pool of blood mixing with the rain falling from the darkened sky. He barely noticed a figure hesitantly walking towards him before he blacked out.
Ok, so, Why Sweden?
Why not Sweden? That's why.
