A/N: I was cleaning up my old files and found this little Psych drabble there. Didn't want to just throw it out, so here you go.
When the gun flew from Lassiter's hand, the detective thought all was lost. It was his fault too. He should've known to take a back-up when Spencer called him, yet he didn't trust the psychic enough to involve the rest of the squad. By the time he realized just how big a mistake he made, it was too late. Their suspect was just about to kill his third victim and Shawn Spencer was practically breathing down his neck to stop it. Hissing at the psychic to stay put and not to dare follow him, Lassiter went inside.
A young girl with bright red hair that fit the typology of the killer was bound on a chair, eyes wide open and scared, mouth shut with a tape. Her breathing was hard and fast as she watched the killer approaching with a hunting knife. If he'd got a chance to follow his MO, first he would cut the skin on both of the girl's wrists, then slit her throat, slowly and precisely and like a finishing touch, before the victim dies, he would carve a little cross onto her forehead like a benediction.
Not this time though.
Lassiter quietly entered the building and headed for the killer, using the various containers and shipping crates as a cover. Once he was close enough, he took a step from his hiding, pointed his gun at the man that was by now practically touching the bound girl's left arm and shouted a warning. The killer turned, startled and Lassiter made a step ahead, which was the second mistake he made that night. Not noticing some box under his feet, Lassiter made a ridiculous half-step, instinctively waving his arms, trying to find his balance.
The gun in his hand slipped out and Lassiter ended up on all fours, like a crawling toddler. It would've been funny, if not for the murderous glint in the killer's eyes, the smile that spoke of murder and the man quickly approaching the fallen detective with a glistening knife. Before the detective could react though, there was a motion and some figure lunged for a gun. In the next second there was a loud bang as the figure pulled the trigger, and the killer's face turned into a surprised grimace, just as red blossomed on his leg. In the next second the leg buckled and the killer went down, howling in pain. Lassiter looked up at his savior, thinking some of the back-up arrived early. He could only speechlessly gape when he saw the pasty face of one Shawn Spencer, still holding the gun in a perfect shooter pose.
"Spencer?" Lassiter breathed out, startled by how squeaky his own voice sounded. What was a bigger surprise though was the fact that Spencer didn´t start bragging how cool he was or trashing around in his spiritual quest. No, he was standing there, with the still smoking gun in his hand and mouth gaping open. And that was the first time Lassiter saw Shawn Spencer speechless.
The End