Voices in the Night

by earinabox

John, a recently returned Afghanistan veteran, can't say no to the demons that haunt him. Greg Lestrade, an alcoholic struggling with a recent divorce, fights against his addiction. Greg struggles to find John before all of London falls. M for violence and self-mutilation. Johnlock. Thank you finnicko-loves-anniec for the cover art.

10. Chapter 10

Well, that's all folks. Thank you so much to everyone who has read this story. This was my first big fanfiction, and I'm sorry to see it go. If you're interested, I'll be making a new fic soon, though I don't know what it will be about.

John looked at the man leaning against the wall. His face was the one from the photo, though it had changed significantly from the time the photo had been taken. Stress taken its toll, and his face drooped downward loosely. The man looked nervous, frequently checking his phone and rubbing his hand through his hair.

John shifted the bag he had brought with him to his other arm. In it was the rifle and magazines; he had already put on the vest, hiding it beneath his clothes. He reached to open the bag, then stopped. After he did that, there would be no return. He would have to come out of his obscure night into the light, and once he did that there would be nothing more for him.

Greg Lestrade checked the time again. Leave it to Sherlock to bail on him. Greg thought back to all the solved cases that were Sherlock's, and only Sherlock's. It was him who had dragged him into police work and away from his wife. Oh God, what his life could have been if he hadn't trusted that asshole to-

A line of incredible pain dragged down from his jaw down to his thigh, dropping him to the ground. He had just enough time to see the mutilated nightmare that killed him before the night closed around him.

The figure stayed by John as he fired, steadying his hand. It guided the gun barrel towards the policeman, then let John squeeze the trigger. John watched as blood erupted from the man's head and neck. The figure directed the rifle towards a group of tourists now, once again letting John squeeze the trigger, putting a line of bullet holes across the group. Panic had now erupted in the mall, and shoppers ran away from John. A mall cop shot John in the chest, knocking him onto the floor. John lifted his rifle up and expended the rest of his magazine cutting the man's throat with the bullets. He winced as he got up and fired his rifle into person after person, feeling the most glee he ever had.

John collapsed as a bullet erupted under his eye. He smiled as he drifted off, then struggled in fear as the figure's head loomed into view. It began to feast, tearing John once and for all away from reality.