Lost
adjective-
unable to find one's way; not knowing one's whereabouts.
John Watson spun around, looking for the ends of Sherlock's coat that had just disappeared around a corner.
"Sherlock!" John yelled.
John had NO idea where he was, the high looming brick walls seemed to curl in like a clenching fist. John reached his hand into his pocket for his phone but snatched at empty air. He grimaced as he remembered his phone being drowned in the river that the duo had had to wade through earlier that day.
John recalled how Sherlock had been ecstatic upon learning the 'Runner' was exhibiting his skills in London. Of all the clever criminals it had to be a one that could run at an Olympic speed.
'I mean- WOW.' John had said when first seeing the nasty bugger run parallel with traffic, escaping their trap with ease. Military trained, John was still in semi-good shape. But after ten minutes of chasing the Runner, anybody would be winded.
Sherlock Holmes, however, John wasn't sure if he was even human. Sprinting along after the Runner, arms pumping, legs a-blur, he never seemed to stop.
John jogged along, looking for any sign of the detective, taking turn after turn. Getting himself deeper and deeper into unknown territory. He had to keep moving, the Runner and Sherlock were getting further away ever second he wasted.
John gasped for breath and bent over double, when he just couldn't stand it anymore. Everything around him was dark. Dark sky, dark windows, dark walls. All John could ascertain was that he was in a gloomy alleyway, far, far away from home.
A little voice in the back of his head whispered, "Face it. You are lost." (It sounded uncannily like Sherlock)
John leaned up against the wall. Out of the corner of his eye.. he noticed a lone figure slowly walking towards him. And another approaching from his other side, cutting any escape off. John's breath hitched in his throat as he realized he would have to fight his way out. Taking a deep breath, he turned ready to run.
He heard the sound of a window being shoved open, floors above him. He looked up.
"John, what are you doing done there! Come on the Runner is getting away!" Sherlock called down, grinning.
John laughed in relief as Sherlock threw down a rope. John looked at the approaching pair and was doubly happy to see they had stopped.
"Hurry up John!"