A/N I hope you all enjoy the new chapter of Voices in the Night! Please leave a review so I can improve my writing! Also, thank you to sneaky snakes and zombiegirl04 for following.
John Watson stared at the drug dealer. He had brainstormed for hours before deciding to kill a drug dealer, though in retrospect, it should have been immediately obvious. Drug dealers are willing to go to alleys and buildings where they won't be seen or heard. They are often murdered, and their deaths are immediately labeled as gang warfare or getting in a fight with some crazy junky. Lastly, nobody cares if a drug dealer dies. There would likely be no press coverage on the murder.
John had done his shopping for this experience. Latex gloves and a shower cap would prevent fingerprints or hairs to be left at the scene. This purchase would have been too memorable alone, so to avoid suspicion, he had purchased these at two different stores, along with his regular groceries.
He had chosen this particular drug dealer because of his location- the street was deserted and there were no security cameras pointed at him. It had taken John only an hour of walking around London's suburbs to find him.
Now, it was time. He walked unhurriedly towards the drug dealer. Pushing down a flutter of nervousness, he stood awkwardly next to him. The man looked over at John, gave him a small tap on the shoulder, and gestured towards John's pocket. John understood the message and pulled out his wallet, revealing his billfold. "That house." the drug dealer said in a deep and gravelly voice, and headed towards a small building with peeling paint and broken windows. The man opened the door for John, then closed it behind him.
The drug dealer looked with confusion as John slipped on gloves and a shower cap. Immediately after dressing himself, John pounced on the man, attempting to knock him over. The drug dealer was surprisingly strong though, and managed to stay up, at least until John kicked his knee hard enough to snap it to the side. He could feel the excitement rising in him. John then pulled out the screwdriver he had in his pocket and drove deep it into the drug dealers neck, directly over his jugular vein. Blood showered out onto John's gloved hand, and the man spasmed weakly with pain before lying still. John slowly pulled the screw driver out again, then punctured the man's abdomen several times. He fished around in the dealer's pockets and drew out his wallet, then placed it in his own pocket. John took one last look at the body, then walked calmly out.
John marched through the muddy curb to the other side of the street. He gently pulled off his shower cap and gloves and deposited them with the screwdriver in a small duffel bag he had brought with him. John walked several blocks until he reached a larger street, then hailed down a taxi. He napped on the trip back to his house, satisfied with his job well done.
That night, he had the dream again. He was pinned down in the building, with bullets slamming into the walls around him. He heard footsteps coming from the bottom floor of the building. He pointed his gun at the door, waiting for it to open. As he saw the door begin to be pushed open, he fired through the door, and heard a satisfying thump as a body hit the ground. He pulled the door open, checking whom he had just dispatched. He looked with horror at the body of a small boy whose jaw had now been blown off.