Oh my goodness gracious, thank you so much to ObsessedFangirl221B. I seriously want to cry because of your reviews. I couldn't believe it the first time I read it and I had to reread all of them a third time. Your writing is amazing, and thank you so much for what you said about mine!
Of course, thank you CiCi98! It always makes me happy to see your reviews there to! Unbelievable how much love I'm getting for this fic!
Also, thank you to a new follower of the story, BoffinPenwings. :) appreciate it.
I am not too happy with my writing here, only because you know, I have mood swings, where one day I write good, and the other I write like crap. Well, today I am writing like crap. Haha, but we are progressing into the story a bit more now! (BBC Sherlock)
Sherlock and John raced through the rubble of the charred cabin. Sherlock's coat flew back behind him like a cape, as he ran in front of John. Although, it wasn't much of a sprint, as they were both attempting to follow Rondon.
"What is it, Officer?" John called out, as they jogged steadily.
"A message!" Rondon panted.
He led the two of them to an area, where a group of officers were stood, huddled around an object, and appearing as though they were a group of penguins struggling to stay warm. Sherlock pushed ahead of John, peering over the men, with narrowed eyes. John saw Sherlock freeze in his place, slowly spinning around.
John only saw his face for a split moment, but it was enough to see what Sherlock was feeling. His eyes were almost cringing with an agonizing pain only brought on by mental images, and his lips were turned downward in an act to still look tough, no matter how insecure he really felt. John watched as he tore into John's coat pocket, snatching out the box of cigarettes and pulling one out. And then he swayed off, the box now in his pocket as he turned away from John. John narrowed his eyes, and quickly made his way through the officers, eager to see what 'message' had been left. He soon got a good look. On the ground, tainted by gray and black ash, sat a red brick, chipped in color and stability at the corners. John read, the message written in a dark black scribble of handwriting. 'Have I got your attention yet?'
Taking off after the trail of smoke, John hurried to catch up with his friend. Sherlock was stood, smoking his cigarette, and staring up at the dark sky of gray clouds above him. Lost in thought, John presumed.
"Sherlock."
The break in silence didn't stir him, but instead seemed to ease his troubled expression.
"What does it mean?" John asked, with furrowed brows. Sherlock sighed, smoke exiting the ridge of his mouth. "Exactly what it says."
John narrowed his eyes, "Whomever this is just wants attention?" Sherlock turned to face his perplexed companion, his eyes still and focused on John's own, watching him with a gaze of mixed emotions. "Your attention." John grunted with a nod. Of course, it only made sense. Sherlock knew more about this case than anyone. He's the target.
"But why? I mean, why now?" John questioned, staring at Sherlock with concerned eyes.
"I don't know." Sherlock began, "I don't like not knowing."
John smiled, but it was gone in an instant. "It could be a chance to get answers."
Sherlock raised an eyebrow, tilting his head towards John.
"Why he let you live that night." John stated, as Sherlock raised his chin into the air, and shut his eyes tight.
"Don't worry, Sherlock." John sighed and shook his head. "I'm not worried." Sherlock snapped, a little too quickly, his eyes still closed.
Ignoring his attempt to evade the truth, John simply shot his friend a smile.
"We'll take him down. Together."