The cab's breaks squealed as the trio pulled up to the scene of the crime, the flashing red and blue lights stirring a newfound discomfort within her chest. Her hands fiddled with the end of her aunt's coat, her body rigid and beginning to break into a nervous sweat. She paid the cab driver herself, earning a flirtatious window from the rather scruffy man, which caused her to quickly retract her hand. Slithering out behind John, she fell into step with the man and followed closely beside. Heads were beginning to turn as the Great Sherlock Holmes strutted onto the scene, lifting up the caution tape to allow both Fuller and Watson in through. Immediately, she was approached by a tall woman. She had caramel-brown skin and hard black eyes, her face drawn in an expression of disgust. "Excuse me, but I'd like some form of identification from you before I can let you into this building," the officer confronted, extending a hand.
Julia swallowed thick in her throat, taking a step back, straight into John Watson, who gently laid a hand upon her upper arm. Sherlock had turned by now, eyes latching onto the strict officer with vague interest. "Miss Julia Fuller is with us, Sgt. Donovan," he called, earning a confused glance from the raven beauty in front of her. "Down girl." His last remark was degrading, almost as if speaking to a dog. Eventually his attention fell upon the men approaching him from inside the rickety old building. One wore a full-bodied contaminant suit while the other was dressed in casual attire, most likely being an undercover cop. John gently gave her arm a squeeze and guided her away, although not before the rosette offered her a shy smile of apology.
She had just caught up with John when she heard them mention something about there being blood further up inside the building. "We might have to take some extra precaution inside," the silver-crowned officer advised. "The structure could crumble at any moment." Julia's eyes travelled to the building itself, eyeing the massive clumps of birds' nests around the steeple, as well as the obvious holes in the roof. She could only imagine the damage inside form rain rot.
"Oh, pish, there's no reason to be nervous," Sherlock scoffed, turning to John. "You up for a little jaunt through this building?"
John hummed. "I don't see why not. I've done worse."
"Perfect." Sherlock careened his head around to look at the young woman between the two of them.
Suddenly, she was the one being stared at, rather than the old building in front of them. "Who's this?" asked the younger fellow in the white plastic suit.
"Julia Fuller," she spoke up, trying to appear confident when she clearly had no idea what she was doing. "I don't believe we've met."
"Inspector Lestrade," greeted the greying officer. "Pleased to meet you."
"Anderson," the other man responded, going in for a handshake. Her extremity extended to greet the longer-haired man back, however she was stopped as Sherlock's warm grasp snatched her own out of the air. Her breath hitched and the rosette turned to the gentleman beside her whom was squeezing her fingers.
"The man's been handling a body, do not touch him," he reprimanded, releasing her limb and brushing past Inspector Lestrade.
"Actually, I happen to be clean at the moment-"
"Regardless, you are not to speak to him. He's nothing but a distraction. You'll learn this as we go along," Sherlock murmured as she fell into step with him. A hiss of air escaped the detective, clearly irritated with the man because he was merely breathing. "Imbeciles are my bane."
Julia laughed softly, smiling down at the ground. The pavement beneath them was moist and gleaming, reflecting the colors of the emergency lights as they flickered. She had to admit, it was exciting in a strange sort of way- to be able to simply walk through security as if they were invincible. She hardly even knew these people and yet she had power over them in some shape or form, and this was all because of Sherlock. Julia held her head a bit higher, feeling a bit of confidence accumulate within her chest. They stepped foot inside of the rickety old building, the sound of thunder rumbling off in the distance catching their attention as soon as they stepped inside. The forensic analysts all drew their attention to the trio, their heads rising one-by-one. Sherlock created a path and soon it was revealed what was left behind by the killer.
The blood was fresh and still as red as candy, the woman's mouth hanging open, crimson ribbons spilling from her gaping jaws. A gun was at her left hand, bruises apparent upon her throat. Julia felt her guts heave and closed her eyes before she could lay eyes upon the spray of encephalitic matter that was spread like chunks of pink cauliflower along the withering floorboards. "She's only been dead for a few hours," John observed, stepping into the room. "Suicide, perhaps?"
"She looks as if she were choked," Julia peeped, drawing the doctor's attention. Taking a deep breath, she looked again, eyes travelling along the corpse before her. "The bruises around her neck: they indicate a struggle. I doubt a woman of her size would be able to grab her own throat that hard."
The detective finally stood up to his full height, towering next to her. "There are no other signs of injury. She hasn't been gutted like the others..." He pointed out the direction of the spray, which Julia tried hard not to gag at the sight of. "She was shot in the head at close range while on still upon the ground. This was not a suicide." Julia broke from her comfortable place beside John and sauntered around the left side of the deceased woman. She knelt - as gracefully as one could while dressed in a skirt - and carefully grasped one of her arms. Rolling up the sleeve, she half expected the woman to come back to life and grab her, but she knew that it had been quite some time since she had had the capability.
Her eyes stared sightlessly toward her knees. Her skin was clear, absent of any numbers or codes. Sighing, she stood up and dusted off her nylons. "No serial number either," Julia took note, nodding toward Sherlock, who merely glanced up from the corpse. "I suppose that the autopsy will reveal any that are hidden elsewhere."
The detective caught one of the forensic team by the sleeve and jerked him forward. They began to lift the body, the sound of the woman's neck popping and then hanging limp like a chicken's reminding Julia of her nausea. Swallowing saliva, she covered her nose with the back of her hand and shook her head, turning herself around and wandering further down the rickety hall. After a while, the boards behind her creaked and she turned her head to see a rather concerned John Watson, his brows knit together. Julia forced a smile. "Perhaps I shouldn't have come after all," she disclosed, her voice quivering within her throat. She shook her head, frustrated with herself. Lightning flashed in the windows, bathing the entire property in harsh white light.
"You probably could have waited outside," John mentioned.
Her arms crossed over her body and she shook her head. "Sherlock would have dragged me in. Says I have to get used to this, apparently." The veteran's hand found her back, rubbing it in slow circles as they slowly but surely inched along, listening to how the house stirred with all the sudden movement within. Everything smelled damp and musty, like mold and dead mice. Julia wished she was back home, making a nice dinner for the three of them. Oh, the idea of food made her belly ache. She sighed and finally came to a standstill.
"John, can you come here please?" came Lestrade's voice, cutting through the silence. The two exchanged a glance and his lips flattened together.
"Sherlock is causing trouble no doubt," he remarked halfheartedly.
Julia snickered. "Why must you always assume that?"
"Because it's true." And with that, the charming doctor turned and sauntered off. The rosette sighed. If John were a bit younger and were still available, she might have considered herself being attracted to him. He'd be great on a coffee date, she was sure of it! Smiling softly to herself, she hugged her own body, shivering slightly in Mrs. Hudson's autumn jacket. Sherlock had been right in telling her to take his scarf the other day. Her own was merely silk, sheer and thin; it was admittedly more decoration than protection against the chill in the England wind. As she watched the older gentleman come to a standstill beside the dark figure of Mister Holmes, the three discussing something to one another, Sherlock most likely make a fool out of him.
They were mentioning something about finding a man unconscious in the downstairs portion of the building, which caused for a bit of alarm. Someone was alive for once? She attempted to listen carefully to what was being said, but something else cause her attention. It was the sound of whimpering. The young woman stiffened and slowly glanced around, her maternal instincts kicking in. Turning, she wandered along the isle until she found the source of the sound: inside one of the dark rooms was a boy, hugging his knees to his chest.
Julia's breath caught within her throat. "Hello..." she whispered softly. The young child flinched, startled by her sudden arrival. "It's okay sweetie. My name is Julia Fuller, I work with Detective Holmes. Why haven't you come out yet? It's safe now."
"Don't!" The boy squeaked. He sobbed, scrambling back. He wasn't wearing anything on his upper half and his dark hair was plastered to his head. He looked as if he had just been drenched. Blood was visible upon his chest. Julia, afraid the boy would make too much noise, raised her hands. She carefully approached. "Where's my daddy? Is he still with that ugly man?"
"I-I don't know honey. I think they might have found him downstairs," she replied honestly, coming to stop in the middle of the room. Carefully, she crouched, offering a dainty hand just as she would with a shy puppy. After a moment of coaxing him, the boy crawled over on his hands and knees. "Come here. It's alright, you're okay now. I've got you." Quickly struggling from her aunt's coat, she wrapped it around the young child as soon as he curled up against her. "What's your name, love?"
"K-Kaleb Brown," he whimpered. The boy suddenly burst into tears, sobbing into her chest. His little hands gripped the material of her white off-the-shoulder blouse. He had to be about seven or so, weighing no more than a sack of mangoes. She lifted him up and allowed him to cuddle into her neck. Softly cooing, her head tilted to get a good view of the entrance. She prepared to leave when when there was sudden a high-pitched ringing. She flinched and the boy shrieked into her shoulder, frightened.
"John, stop!" Sherlock's bark was loud and terrifying, holding something desperate he was meaning to get across yet could not get out in time. Just as John staggered into the room, she heard his booming voice once again, crying out for his partners. "No!"
"Sherlock?" she shrilled, afraid of what she did not know. The detective came flying into view, stopping in the doorway, his face lighting up as soon as the luminous lights came on within the building. They had just triggered the system, the generators magically turning on by some sort of miracle. Panic was engraved into Sherlock's face. She never thought she would see such a calm and collected man look as if he were ready to scream. Watson's phone continued to squeal, the child in her arms clinging to her tighter than before. "What is going on-"
"The radio-waves in John's phone are colliding with some sort of motion-triggered device that is within these walls. We have all of twenty seconds to get out of here before the next three room, including this one, blow," he urgently clarified. Sherlock immediately shouted down the hall for everyone to vacate the premises.
John let out a dry, sarcastic laugh. "Of course this happens when I show up!"
The doctor quickly hurried from the room, Sherlock then turning to Julia as she made for the entrance just the same. She was just handing the boy to the detective when suddenly the floorboard beneath her foot gave way, her ankle becoming snagged and the nylon tearing audibly. Mister Holmes quickly took hold of her arm, yanking her from where her foot was stuck and jarring her shoulder blade. The young woman cried out as splinters dug deep within her ankle and pain shot up her leg. She attempted to run, but ended up falling behind.
"Sherlock, I-"
In a flurry of brown curls, the detective stumbled to a stop and wheeled around, the direness of the situation dawning on him as he gawked at her bleeding shin. Sherlock handed the coat-wrapped child to her once more, snaking an arm around her waist as he attempted to remove the weight from her leg. That was when Julia and Sherlock both knew that they weren't going to make it- not with her injury and the boy to carry. Mister Holmes' head shot up. "John, just go!" His cranium then snapped around as his eyes met the surface of the nearest door, and he turned to her, eyes as wide as dinner plates. Panic. Sheer panic. He whipped off his scarf as quick as possible, asking her to cover the boy's mouth, and then latched onto her arm, pulling her toward what had once been a storage closet, way back when the church had been functional. The door flew open and suddenly she was packed inside of the tiny room like a sardine with Sherlock pressing up against her, shielding her with his own body.
Their eyes met and then they both braced themselves. Not even seconds after, the entire building rocked and the roar of the explosion was deafening, the little boy clinging to her for life, the detective shielding the two as the door flew inward against his back. Both of them cried out as dust showered down like from ash from the explosions of Pompeii. Julia found that her fingers dug into his arm, her face buried against the detective's sweating neck. The boy was sandwiched between them as they slid downward, the weight of the egress and debris falling on top of Mister Holmes forcing them all to their knees. The building rumbled, then stilled, the sound of screaming fire engines approaching from in the distance. Julia's ears were ringing. Grit and glass and wood all created a fine, grating powder upon Julia's bare arms and within her eyes, even as she was curled into Sherlock for protection. The detective and she both coughed, choking on the smoke and cinder, her saviour shifting and trying to push back against the door. Hot tears ran down Julia's cheeks, her body trembling from the adrenaline high she had gotten after the explosion had jarred them both, pinning them to the wall behind them.
It was incredibly claustrophobic between the two. Sherlock coughed. "Are you hurt?" he finally asked, his voice rough.
"No," she sobbed in response, trying to push herself away from his shoulder in order to look at him. "A-Are you?"
"I'm fine. What about the boy?"
The child wailed as if he had just been stung by a bee. She removed the thick fleece from Kaleb Brown's nose and began to try to wipe the tears from his face. She hiccuped and swallowed, trying to get some fresh air but being unable to. "He's alright... I think."
As she shifted, Sherlock hissed in pain."I cannot move," he grunted. Julia flinched but then proceeded to try and move in order to help him remove the massive piles of shattered wood, but she was too weak, her limbs like jelly. Going limp, she trembled against the man, feeling him try and lift himself out on his own without any more luck than she had had. Then he spoke, "We'll get out of this, I promise."
They heard voices above the clamour of machinery, their bodies instantly relaxing. It didn't take long for them to be discovered, the door being pried off of the detective. Half of the building had crumbled inward from the bomb's blast, yet somehow their section had stayed standing, the front having been blown out giving the fire crew enough of an entrance to find them. As soon as the flashlights hit their faces, the men stared, completely bewildered by how untouched they were. They were alive, and it was all thanks to Sherlock.
A hole was created and they were pulled out: Kaleb was first, then Julia, and finally, Mister Holmes. The man was caked in dust, just as she and the child were; they there immediately taken to the paramedics, their vital signs checked and oxygen administered. In the insanity of it all, she learned that John had been injured in the explosion, his leg hit with shrapnel. Sherlock had a cut upon the back of his neck and forehead and his shoulders would surely bruise, but they would live. Kaleb and she were uninjured, aside from a cut or two. The ambulance roared away, taking Sherlock to the hospital for stitches while Julia held tightly to her blanket, her body trembling.
Donovan eventually approached her and asked her what happened. She couldn't answer.