A/N: Well, hello, is it that time again?! Where has this year gone? I hope everyone is safe and well, and I look forward to reading the responses from my wonderfully talented fellow writers. My gratitude as always to Hades for organising this challenge.
Prompt 01: From mrspencil – a rooftop chase.
Dark Waters Run High
It is raining gently, fine misted veils of water passing in front of the streetlamps. The sun is setting to the west, the brickwork of London burnished in deep orange light.
The view from above is stunning, yet the atmosphere promises nothing good and everything sinister, a feeling Watson can attest to as he and Holmes chase the fleeing figure in front of them.
The man in the torn coat has around thirty feet of surface left to cover. Watson estimates he has around four minutes of strength left in his bad leg. He is almost grateful for this, knows he cannot continue much longer.
The man reaches the edge of the building and hesitates. The distance to the next rooftop is too far to jump. He turns on his heel, pulls a gun from his pocket. His hand shakes as he raises it.
Watson stops several feet away, his own hands already up, palms showing. His revolver is in his coat pocket, a solid weight against his thigh, comforting despite the fact he knows he cannot reach it right now. Holmes has stopped too, the detective only an arm's length away, but it feels too wide a gap to Watson as Johnson's gun swings between them.
Something settles in Watson's chest, a familiar pull of trepidation. It is not quite fear, but it is close.
"No further!" Johnson shouts, and he sounds scared, his face silhouetted by the light.
"This is beneath you, Johnson." Holmes's voice is calm despite the fact that Johnson's nerves are clearly frayed to breaking point. "You do not want another two deaths on your conscience, I am sure."
"How." Johnson stops, swallows breathlessly. "How did you find me?"
"I have my methods," Holmes replies, "and you have yours, it would appear."
"I did not mean to kill him," Johnson rasps, the gun trembling violently now. "And I. I don't want to kill you. But I will if you come any closer!"
Watson's leg is throbbing and he wants to shift his weight, but he can hear the dangerous ripple in Johnson's voice. Events play out rapidly in his mind, a memory clinging to the edge of his thoughts. He knows what is about to happen.
"I won't hang!" The words choke out of Johnson like a physical thing, pained and raw.
Holmes takes a bold step forward, says, "Johnson–," at the same time Watson says, "Holmes–", and neither knows what the other was going to say, as Johnson tightens his hold on the gun and fires.
End
A/N II: I know, I'm darkening the challenge with my angst-ridden shenanigans already! Shame on me!