Quarter past one in the morning.
Julia Fuller rubbed her sleepy eyes and pulled on her darkest clothing, zipping up her sweater and wrapping her scarf around shoulders and neck with its lengthy amount of material. She then pulled on the sleeves of her coat, not even bothering to pull her auburn locks out from beneath the heavy wool. She slipped on her good flats, indifferent to whether the cold would nip at her bare skin or not, and then sauntered over to the window, peering out at the street below. Sherlock and John stood below in the glistening snowy streets, chatting as they waited for her to arrive downstairs. The rosette ran her fingers along the curtains and simply admired the two from above, smiling softly as an oddly giddy feeling washed over. Her life had been so dull before she had met Mister Holmes and Doctor Watson. Where had they been this entire time? Living with her aunt in London, somewhere she had never dreamed she would end up.
She observed as Sherlock glanced down the street, dark hair a wispy storm of coffee as it fluttered in the wind. It was not snowing thankfully, but part of her wished to those fat, fluffy flakes of chalky alabaster catching in his hair again. For a moment the rosette looked away, retrieving her cellphone and opening up their conversation together. She hovered, taking a deep breath, feeling suddenly bold. Julia began to type something she had never thought she would say to Sherlock himself.
You look handsome tonight.
Her fingers hovered over the send button, glancing down at him once more before going out on a limb. Julia felt a pang of sudden anxiety wash over her, yet she couldn't shake the pleasant trembling within her belly as she fought her butterflies from escaping through her throat in tiny giggles. Sherlock glanced at his pocket, taking out his phone and opening it up, most likely reading the message. He seemed perplexed at first, until the faintest smile ghosted over his face. His head had just turned up to look upon the window pane when she disappeared from view, taking a deep breath and bringing her hand to her mouth to stifle her own girlish laughter. Biting her bottom lip, she pondered for a moment, before she escaped to the washroom and retrieved her makeup kit. Her lips were soon painted dark red against her pale skin, her eyes popping against the colour.
Stepping silently, so as not to awaken her auntie Martha, she crept from the linoleum floor onto the hardwood and made for the heavy malachite-painted door of 221C, confidence in each step. Julia fixed her hair, pinning it up and then grabbing the handle of the door. Oh my god, she thought. I just complimented Sherlock Holmes... and he smiled! The lock clicked and she stepped out into the streets, closing the door behind herself and coming to meet up with John.
"You ready?" asked Julia, unable to even look at Sherlock for fear she would melt.
"As ready as I'll ever be!" the injured doctor brooded, nodding with a charming smile.
"Yes, well, now that formalities are out of the way," Sherlock piped up. "Let us get going." The tall man strode past them, heading in the direction of the downtown area, his trench coat fluttering from where it was not buttoned together. The trio traveled down the abnormally busy streets of London, glancing into shops here and there as they passed their magnificently-lit displays. December had only just begun and Christmas seemed to have already come to the busy city. Heavenly white light burned everywhere they looked, father Christmas and Elves making the occasional appearance here and there.
"Perhaps we should have taken a cab, Sherlock?" John puffed as he tried to keep up on his injured leg. Julia had slowed herself down so as to help the doctor if he needed, the two making small-talk as the inspector lead them forward. Somehow he knew where he was going, which gave them confidence... somewhat.
"No need for that," he tutted, glancing over his shoulder. "If we take a cab, we'll surely be spotted. They're too bright and too yellow."
John let out a dry, breathy laugh, slowing to a stop so he could catch his breath. The detective continued on, yet Julia stopped along side of Watson, a hand upon his back. She glanced off toward Mister Holmes, who eventually noticed that they were no longer following in tow and had turned around, returning to his accomplices with a look of disapproval.
"Taking your medication makes you easily winded, I see. Perhaps you should lay off the pie for a little while; you've been putting on weight," Sherlock pointed out passively.
Julia snorted softly and shook her head, rubbing John's arm and glancing off to the shop they had stopped in front of. A mannequin stood in the very front, adorning a long, deep forest-emerald dress, the skirts flowing and elegant. The material had a slight luster to it, the neckline dipping low upon the chest and wrapping around at the waist, held together by a charming little sash with a small bow tied at the left side. A slit ran up the middle, leaving ogling room for a slender plaster leg. Dangling around the mannequin's neck was a dazzling collar of white diamonds.
"You like this style, this color," Sherlock's sudden statement caused her head to turn. He was staring directly at her, arctic eyes burning holes into her face. The rosette's lips parted and she offered a soft whistle of sound from her throat, speechless.
"Y-Yes," Julia stammered softly. She shyly glanced over at the dress, her fingers coming to the cold surface of the glass. "It's probably far too expensive, though."
Sherlock's arms stretched behind his back and he nodded, turning. The sound of bells filled the gaps between the faint and occasional chatter of the evening, the wreaths that encased the street lamps being disturbed in the brisk breeze. "Come along. We don't have all night."
Julia hovered by the window as John, having found his strength once more, plodded forward after Sherlock, falling into step with the tall detective. As they strolled away, Miss Fuller took in the moment, admiring their difference in height and stature. They suited one another. Eventually she abandoned the dress in the window, although she knew a piece of her would remain with its flowing forest silk. They proceeded on until they suddenly found themselves deep within the glamorous town square, passing by people who surely recognized them from the papers and the media. It wasn't until they were stopped by a local photographer that Sherlock actually became distracted. The publicity would surely go to his head. "Can I get a picture of you three together?" asked the young Scotsman, a cigar clenched between his teeth.
"Of course," Mister Holmes complied, bracing for his snapshot beside John. Julia tucked some hair behind her ear, trying her best to stand up straight and smile for the camera. The Canon's flash burst and, just as they figured it was over, he piped up again.
"Eh, actually, would you two mind if the pretty lass stands in the middle? Jus' because of height difference and such. It makes for a better picture." Silently, Sherlock and she traded spots, one of the detective's hands coming to rest upon the small of her back as they adjusted and re-positioned themselves. "Oh, that's good! If I could get you two fine gentlemen to tilt slightly in toward her..." She felt Sherlock's paw shift along her back, the detective's free hand tucking up behind his back in a rather sharp, educated manner. "Beautiful!"
"Lovely, now, if you will excuse us," Sherlock dismissed, the feeling of his hand disappearing leaving the rosette feeling a bit exposed. The photographer gushed and shook John's hand, taking his leave, although not without shooting the rosette a wink on his way out.
"Where do you suppose that will end up?" Julia inquired softly as they watched the stranger leave.
"I haven't the slightest idea- mostly because I do not care," Sherlock answered, the trio crossing the street, a pigeon fluttering as it scampered out of their path.
"It's almost as if you enjoy having your picture taken, Sherlock," John remarked, shooting the man a clever tease of his eyes.
"Enough, John."
"He's just telling the truth, Sherly..."
"Don't you dare ever call me by that name again," hissed the detective, shooting her a biting glare. "Do you hear me, Miss Fuller?"
Julia pressed her lips together, holding in a boisterous bout of laughter. Doctor Watson, on the other hand, brayed ecstatically, his glittering teeth flashing in the winter night's light.
An hour turned into two, and by time they had reached their destination, Julia was becoming quite exhausted. Her feet were tired from trekking across London, her body shivering as the temperature plummeted further. The streets had all but died now, leaving them to their own private thoughts. Julia's fingers rolled over her phone screen, her mind tumbling like a stone on the shore. Perhaps it hadn't been appropriate to send that message to Sherlock.
They were simply business partners, after all. Once this case was finished, she would have to start busting her tail to earn her keep back home, although she was sure that her overly forgiving aunt would be thrilled to even have her in the same room as her crazy little family at 221B. She treated all three of them like she would her children. A train blew resounded off in the distance. They rounded the corner of the River Thames, studying the water carefully and keeping an eye out for any stragglers who happened to glance their way and notice they were snooping around. The trio finally found themselves approaching a small little dock, a small tugboat nestled within the partially frozen water from beneath the protection of a garage-like building. They carefully walked along the neighbouring dock and then hopped down inside the little parking space, Sherlock and John both turning on their flashlights.
The factory inside wreaked of fish, and immediately Julia knew that she would have to shower once she had gotten home, as well as toss her laundry in the wash at least three times the following morning. The factory inside was huge, or at least this part was, the structure filled with dangling hooks used to escort large deliveries and nets across to the processing room. The beams were high, the soft fluttering of wings giving away that the place was infested with pigeons. The working conditions must have been cold during the winter and awfully hot during the summer, seeing as they most likely had no sort of heating or cooling. Sherlock silently offered her his torch, allowing her to explore more of the building on her own.
"Don't go too far!" warned John in a harsh whisper, although she knew that the place had to be empty. It was nearly three in the morning and the owners wouldn't be arriving for another two hours. She found herself climbing through huge tubs of ice, piles of fish still resting inside. Whoever these people sold their products to, she did not want to buy from. Hopefully she didn't get lost. The young woman pushed through the sheets of heavy plastic, peering around, only to come face-to-face with one giant milky eye and a gaping mouth. Julia gasped and stumbled back into a solid hanging body, given a horrible start at the sight of the partially intact tunas hanging by their jaws.
She attempted to calm her hammering heart, pushing through the columns of smelly bodies in order to make it to a small, dimly-lit staircase, leading her up to a catwalk high above the factory floor. Julia balanced herself along, arms spread out wide like a tightrope performer. And now for her next trick, the Magnificent Redhead will juggle six frozen herring while -
The distinct click of a cocking gun drew her away from her childish imagination.
"If it isn't the infamous Sherlock Holmes," purred a deep voice with a thick, foreign accent. Julia stiffened and slowly stepped along the metal grates, being careful where she placed her feet. Her body lowered with each step, hoping to go unnoticed by the silhouette standing before Sherlock, who was bathed in the florescent light of an overhead lamp. The detective slowly turned, shoulders rigid, coming face-to-face with one of their prime suspects. From what she could see, the man was just about as tall as Mister Holmes himself, dressed in a thick parka, his head buzzed almost bald. An inky tattoo visibly coiled up from the collar of his coat along the back of his neck.
"Your bomb wasn't enough," John stated, only for the enemy to remove the safety from his glock and point it directly at the older gentleman's head, aiming squarely at the skin between his eyes. The veteran grew deathly still. The split second happened in rapid-fire movements, and as soon as the polish gentleman had taken aim, the detective had drawn his own weapon. She had been completely oblivious to the pistol hidden inside of his fleece trench coat.
"I'm sure your boss wasn't thrilled when he found that we had lived," Sherlock challenged. "I hope he understands how cliche of an idea setting up a motion-detected pipe-bomb was. They never work the way you want them to."
The cold metal of the enemy's gun pressed to John's skull, causing the former soldier to shut his eyes and swallow thick within his throat. "Yes, what a pity. I guess my man Reagan won't be happy to find brains splattered along the pavement of his loading dock either-" The enemy forced John back half a step.
"You so much as move and I will shove this gun down your throat," hissed the detective. "Do not touch my associate!"
The man laughed deep within his throat, clearly amused by the sudden emotion behind Sherlock's bellowing voice. The air was so thick that it became palpable as soon as Sherlock was next to remove the safety from his own weapon. The criminal grinned from ear to ear one moment, and the next his smile had been wiped away, replaced by a wide-eyed, menacing look. "You think that this is a joke but it's far more than your tiny intellect can comprehend, Zielinski. You are merely a chess-piece on this well-calculated board."
Sherlock's confidence died within his throat as suddenly the man snatched John by the crook of his arm, dragging him back a few steps and shoving the gun up underneath his jaw. "You resign... or he dies. It's simple," Brendan seethed. "It's either you, or your boyfriend. You're too far in, gumshoe. Give up!"
Julia's heart cried out. One moment she was standing upon the catwalk, her anger burning with the ferocity of a thousand suns, and the next she was teetering as she attempted to reach for the nearest hook. Taking a deep breath, she reminded herself that Sherlock had shielded her with his own body in order to protect her from a lethal explosion- one that had blown half of the building to smithereens. If he could risk his life, so could she.
The rosette leapt without looking. Her hands met the cold metal and she swung forward, the criminal below flinching as he was suddenly kicked in the head by her flying shoe. His gun fired and John fell to the ground, gripping his now bleeding ear. Sherlock lunged, his free hand struggling to snatch the weapon from Brendan's claws. Once again, the weapon fired and there was a cuss, but Julia had missed what was happening below as she soared toward the deck of the boat, landing with a stumble and a grunt, falling upon her hands and knees. The cables attached to the pulley system let out a sharp crack as they collided with the break above her head, startling a few pigeons out of their roosts, sending them panicking for any sort of means of escape. Her head snapped up just as Sherlock was struck across the face, the detective falling to the ground upon impact. "Sherlock!"
"You!" the menacing man snarled, aiming his gun toward her. Her legs went numb and she scrambled, ducking as a bullet split through the air, just narrowly missing her.
"Julie!" Sherlock shouted. Another shot was fired, although this time the doctor managed to push the man's arm up into the air, the lead capsule screaming as it bounced off the side of the buoyant tug. She jumped blindly, landing and tumbling painfully across the cobblestone floors, trying to get as far away as quickly as possible. She could feel fresh blood oozing from where she had scuffed the heels of her hand. The gun had been wrestled away from the man, although now it was Dr. Watson now upon the ground, Brendan's talons latched around the smaller man's neck. The detective, finally able to regain his bearings, abruptly hauled the polish man off of his partner. Everything was a blur. John was choking for air and Julia was clambering backward like a goddamn crab, adrenaline soon coming to paralyze her the moment she laid eyes upon the heated battle before her.
Just as Mister Holmes threw his next blow, the murderer swung and sucker-punched him square in the gut with a horrible thud. The detective grunted loudly, doubling over in agony. Zielinski's mirth rose in volume, his triumph booming as it bounced off the walls.
Sirens were beginning to approach in the distance; just as he attempted to grab the detective's dark locks and perform another punch, Sherlock quickly knelt, retrieving the nearest object and whipping his arms upwards so quickly that it nearly jarred Julia's neck whilst she followed along. Holmes smashed the barrel of his gun across the side of the criminal's head with a sickening smack. The final moments of the struggle moved in slow motion.
"Oh my god-" Julia gasped.
"Sherlock!" John screamed.
The momentum sent Brendan staggering over the detective's foot, the man successfully managing to latch tightly onto Sherlock's billowing trench coat whilst he floundered. The two careened back, hitting the water behind them with a massive, concussive splash. Their bodies disappeared beneath the icy waters of the River Thames and suddenly Julia couldn't breathe. Watson stumbled to his feet and without a second thought, joined them beneath the surface. Then, as if contracting her own fair of madness, Julia bolted upright, ripping her scarf and coat off. She took a breath so deep that she could feel it within her toned belly, and dove below the surface.
Her entire body turned rigid and it took everything within her not to gasp as she fumbled beneath the murky hyperborean depths. However, her body soon became aware of her inability to hold her breath much longer, and she quickly ascended to the top. John was treading water, his teeth chattering violently.
"D-Did you find him?!" Julia stammered, her entire body convulsing from the temperature.
The doctor swam to the side, hoisting himself up on the dock and retrieving one of the torches, the light screaming in her eyes. She was beginning to lose feeling in her legs. Julia grabbed the light as soon as he handed it to her, and they looked at one another with fearful eyes one last time before they both gasped for air. The duo dove down beneath the water, abandoning the oxygen above as they desperately searched for their drowning friend. The light created a faint ray within the silt-filled depths. Just as she was beginning to feel as if her body were freezing over, she felt something solid brush her hand and latched on, praying to god that it was not Zielinski. John beside her the moment they approached the surface, assisting in the rescue mission with an indescribable look of dread slapped across his features. They dragged the man as fast as they could to the top, Julia's lungs begging and screaming in torment until she finally broke the rippling depths. Sirens grew stronger.
"H-hurry," John urged. "Hurry, ge-get out and help me!"
Julia released the man she had desperately retrieved and with what little strength she had, pulled herself up onto the wood and stone, ignoring how numb her limbs had become. Her body trembled and tremored, her teeth chattering against one another so violently that they could be mistaken for tiny castanets. The rosette cried out from the effort as she hooked her arms beneath Sherlock's dead-weight, pulling him up with John's help. The two were soon both on land, panting hard as their bodies shuttered and quivered. They both would give anything to lay down and rest their exhausted limbs, but they had something more important fueling their desire to stay awake. The torch light found the detective's face: he was unconscious, his eyes shut and his lips beginning to turn a horrible shade of grey. John pressed his ear to the detective's chest.
"He isn't breathing," he indicated. Then came a stern instruction. "Julia, unbutton his coat!"
Doing as she was asked, John dropped their only source of light and glanced up at her, unbuttoning Sherlock's sodden blazer and nearly transparent white dress shirt. "You know first-aid?" Julia was immediately brought back to that afternoon at the hospital, yet she held firm and nodded vigorously, lips parted in worry. "So you know CPR! I need you to help me, alright? Just until the ambulance comes. Can to do this for me?"
Tears were already beginning to burn her turquoise set, welling within her bottom lids. "Y-yes, yes, I'll do anythi-ing-"
"Alright, I'll handle the chest-compressions," the doctor shot back, speaking so calmly yet so sternly to her. There was no doubt in her mind now that he had seen his fair share of action while deployed. Julia had to focus, for Sherlock.
John laced one hand over the other, placing them over the detective's diaphragm, and began to count aloud, the young woman quickly wiping the detective's mouth and then tilting his head back. The rosette pinched his nose, and after John had counted to thirty, she placed her fingers along the bottom of his jaw, parted his lips and breathed deeply into his frigid mouth, hearing his water-filled lungs gurgle as they expanded. After three rounds with no results, the red and blue lights were soon upon them. "-twenty-four, twenty-five- come on Sherlock! Breathe!" Unable to catch her own breath, the young woman sobbed softly, hiccuping in her throat and repeating after the doctor as he begged his friend to stay with them.
"Please, please Sherlock!" she whimpered.
"-twenty-nine, thirty!"
Tilt, pinch; gasp, breathe. Gasp, breathe. The sound of shouting bounced off the walls, flashlights bouncing as they approached. Julia wiped her eyes, unable to hide her shock as crystalline spilled and fell from Watson's eyes, the man beginning to lose his composure. John's hands pressed down as hard as they could go, his knuckles turning white; come on Sherlock! Once more, twice, thrice; you can't leave this world this soon!
"John!" Lestrade's voice cut through the air. The inspector was there within seconds, his knees smashing into the soaked pavement beneath, the cotton of his dress pants becoming moist. "The ambulance is here, the paramedics will be along shortly." His eyes flitted over Sherlock's unconscious, drenched form, cussing beneath his breath. "He might not make it, John."
Watson reached fifteen pumps and suddenly the corpse in front of them shot to life, water gushing from his soft, pale lips. He coughed and strained, the shocked trio rolling him over onto his hands and knees as he cleared the water from his lungs, bile and saliva dripping from his gaping jaws. "John," was his first word in the land of the living, his breath coming in moist rasps. Julia, in the meantime, had fallen to pieces. Her hands gripped his sopping coat and her head pressed into his trembling back, feeling the man's cold hand resting upon her own ever so gently. "John- Z-Zielin-"
"It's alright Sherlock," the veteran blubbered, losing himself to his own emotional relief. Julia's heart broke open even further for the sobbing veteran. They had both nearly lost the man they loved so dearly. "It's alright, don't think for a moment, just-"
"He can't get- we have to- Jo-John-"
"We're going to send a diving crew down later to find him. We will make sure that he comes with us, dead or alive," Lestrade insisted, the detective's head coming up to meet his gaze. Sherlock's eyes were grey and dull, his cheeks burning as blood had rushed back into them. The paramedics began to swarm like hornets and all Julia could do was clutch into Mister Holmes, her chilled body welding to his own as she cried hysterically into the back of his shirt. His grip tightened upon her fingers.
Then she was helped to her feet and swathed in a blanket, ripped away from the three-way embrace between her, Mister Holmes, and Doctor Watson.