sᴀᴛᴜʀᴅᴀʏ 2:38 ᴘᴍ
Sherlock cautiously walked down a darkened alleyway that held a pungent smell of rubbish and piss. An overflowing dumpster crowded the pathway and Sherlock squeezed close to the wall to be able to make it through. When he came out the other side he paused, his gaze landing on a large box with blankets inside. He glanced down the alleyway and saw that the remainder of it was empty; this must be Ms. Jones' abode.
Sherlock retrieved a pencil from his pocket and knelt down, using the tip of the utensil to poke around.
Flipping over the blanket he found a coffee container; there was a familiar cream colored envelope with Jones' name on it that made it undeniable that Jones was involved with the killer. Sherlock also found a piece of tupperware placed conspicuously outside the box, on it was another envelope which drew his suspicion to the next level.
His jaw set. The urge to touch the paper was almost irresistible yet he instead used the pencil to flip the tupperware over to look inside.
What he saw caused his breath to catch in his throat.
There was something that appeared to look like sauce, then upon closer inspection he saw that it didn't have the same texture; and there was an object inside, roughly four inches long. He discovered it to be a finger.
No longer caring about covering the evidence with his prints, Sherlock grabbed the letter and ripped it open. Printed in bold letters were the same four words that had been engraved in the body which pulled him into this gruesome case:
I SEE YOU MR HOLMES
He scowled. In a fit of rage he crumpled the paper and threw it at the wall; it fell pathetically to the cold ground. He turned his attention back to the finger encased in the box and knew with almost certainty that it belonged to Margaret. His anger ebbed, and the foreign emotion of remorse replaced it. Sherlock felt guilty for not being able to save Margaret, his incompetence was allowing her to be tortured at the hands of a serial killer. He had let Mrs. Hudson to be killed. If he had captured the killer sooner then she would still be alive.
Sherlock sat down, the weight of everything hitting him all at once.
It being the killer's goal or not he realized that they had wormed their way inside his head and Sherlock now felt that anything the killer did, anyone they murdered, was his fault. They wanted Sherlock to stop them yet he couldn't, for once he was outmatched, and his sister would die because of it.
He vaguely remembered calling John to update him of the situation, then there was a welcoming darkness as he passed out.
A/n Thank you Mysteryman13 for your review!