Okay, a long overdue chapter here. It came as a pleasant surprise to find out that Sherlock starts today, but I had really wanted to get this fic done before then. So expect many chapters over the day. I just wanted to get it finished, so it may be a bit rushed, and I think Sherlock OOC, but hey...
As John sprinted after Sherlock, he wasn't particularity worried for the detective's safety. After all. Sherlock was incredibly fast, and would catch the murderer before he even reached the doors.
The crowd parted with screams as the two men pushed their way through. John cursed under his breath, speeding up when he saw Sherlock reach inside his coat and draw out his gun. He was even more annoyed when Sherlock ignored his command to drop the weapon, instead firing a single shot, and causing all hell to break loss.
For a genius, Sherlock could do some incredibly stupid things. The crowd was now screaming, and running wildly about in an effort to get away from Sherlock.
The young detective reached the doors, and dashed through, disappearing from sight. By the time an angry John reached the entrance, Sherlock was nowhere to be seen. He growled under his breath, and made a hasty exit before the police could sort themselves out.
It might be best is Lestrade never knew of their involvement in that particular escapade.
John put as much distance between himself and the commotion at Heathrow, walking as quickly as he could.
Once he was out of sight, he slowed his pace, hailing a cab and wondering where to go next. Sherlock could be anywhere. He eventually decided on going back to he flat. Sherlock could probably look after himself. Probably. And once he had caught the killer, he would return.
So he told the cabbie where to go, and leant back, sinking into the soft seats of the taxi. He closed his eyes, relaxing for a moment. It felt strangely nice not to have Sherlock tapping furiously on his phone beside him.
Sherlock raced after the murderer, surprised by how fast the man actually was. He didn't dare risk another shot now he was in London, heaving with shoppers, tourists and cars. He pushed roughly past a group of friends, earning a few angry shouts in his direction.
The killer wasn't gaining any ground, and seemed to be tiring. Sherlock just felt the exhilaration of running, chasing. Normally he would say who the killer was, and that would be the end of it. No 'legwork' as Mycroft would put it.
This was much more exciting.
It was always more fun. He risked a glance behind him, and was slightly disconcerted to find John was not following him. His eyes snapped back to the murderer. He could worry about John later.
Then the killer made a rash decision, in a split second, he turned from the pavement and rushed across the road. There was the sound of screeching breaks and horns. Sherlock saw that the killer hadn't been run over.
So without a moment to consider, he leapt after the man.
It didn't end so well.
One moment he was running, the next something had smashed into his legs, causing him to fall heavily. His head smacked onto the curb, and he heard distant screams. Everything was going fuzzy, and he frowned, reaching his left hand back to touch the place his head had hit the curb. When he withdrew it again, it was coated in blood. He stared at it with unfocused eyes.
Somebody was crouched beside him now, gently patting his shoulders.
"Are you alright, sir?" he asked gently.
Sherlock hissed, half from the pain, and half from the annoyance of loosing the killer. Everything was going foggy. His head was hurting... And so was his leg. And his arm for that matter. His eyes fluttered closed, before opening with an effort.
He stared around, blinking rapidly. There was a man squatted beside him, intense worry on his face. And a few other people staring down at him, hands over their mouths.
"'m fine." Sherlock muttered, attempting to sit up but failing.
The man looked sceptical.
"I think we should call an ambulance." said a women above him.
Sherlock roughly shook his head, though it made it hurt like hell.
"No. No. No don't," he murmured, finding it hard to get the words out. "Where's John?" that seemed to be important. John would know what to do.
He closed his eyes again, thinking about letting go of the struggle to stay conscious.
"Quick! Does anybody know anything that can help?" demanded the man from Sherlock's side.
"John. I need him." Sherlock groaned, wincing as he opened his eyes again.
"Betty, call an ambulance." snapped the man.
"No, don't bother." said a voice which made Sherlock's blood run cold.
He fought with every piece of will power to stay awake, to stay intent. And then Moriarty's face drifted into his line of sight, smiling to triumph. He whimpered, trying not to cower.
"Why? Can you help?" asked the man, unaware.
Sherlock cursed the stupidity of normal people. Surely it was obvious that Moriarty was a killer? A killer with malicious intent.
"I'll take him there myself. I was the one to run him after. I just hope it's not serious." said Moriarty, a smile still twitching his lips as he stared down a defenceless Sherlock.
"No!" Sherlock gasped, managing to ease himself away from Moriarty.
"I think it would be for the best, sir." said the man, whom Sherlock was taking a strong dislike to.
Sherlock shook his head again, with a superhuman effort pushing himself into a sitting position and glaring at Moriarty. He noticed that the scene had drawn quite a crowd, though none looked very concerned.
"Don't let him take me." snapped Sherlock, blinking to keep his eyes focused.
Where's John? He wouldn't let this happen. He would stop them. Sherlock wildly thought, looking around for his friend.
"Come on, up you get." said Moriarty.
Sherlock turned breeching eyes upon the man.
"Don't let him. Call an ambulance if you want. But don't let him." he said, swaying slightly, and grabbing the bloodstained curb to keep his balance.
"You're not well, sir. You need to go to hospital and it would be better if this man took you. Your injuries aren't serious." explained the man patiently, as though to a child.
Sherlock closed his eyes and breathed deeply, trying to maintain his composure. He was probably concussed at the least. But he would be much worse than that if Moriarty got him.
So he tried something else.
"I really need to be getting home. My flatmate, he'll be worried. He's a doctor." Sherlock babbled, trying to look as sane as possible. And not desperate.
Moriarty took his arm, and Sherlock flinched away, hissing angrily.
"We need to hurry." snapped Moriarty.
He and the man hauled an extremely reluctant Sherlock to his feet. He swayed dangerous.
"He's going to kill me." he groaned, the smarting almost unbearable.
How stupid were these people? Didn't they realise he didn't want to go with Moriarty? How could they let him take him away.
"Don't be silly, sir. He only wants to help."
"Are you stupid? Are you mentally ill?" Sherlock shouted as Moriarty dragged him towards the car. "Can't you see? He's a murderer, he wants to kill me. He's tried twice before!"
The man looked a little doubtful, but Moriarty, that sly little snake, intervened.
"Concussion often makes people babble." he said, trying to ease Sherlock's grip of the door of his car.
"I'm not babbling. And I swear, if you've done anything to John, I will kill you Moriarty."
Moriarty shot him a smile nobody else saw. And Sherlock felt a totally ridiculous feeling of fear. Why should he care? John was a liability if he could make his blood run cold like that. But his confused brain didn't care, and let his panic show.
"I'll kill you, I promise I will. If you've done anything." Sherlock hissed.
His momentary fear was enough for Moriarty to release his grip of the door handle and push him roughly into the car. Moriarty turned to the shocked crowd.
"I'll make sure he makes it safely to hospital." he said.
Sherlock tried to speak, but found his voice suddenly constricted, a sharp pain was throbbing in his left arm, and to his horror he saw a needle embedded there, not a drop of whatever it had contained left. His world seemed to tip, and he groaned as his injuries seemed to come into sharp relief, the pain overwhelming.
He heard a car door open, and then shut. And the rumble of movement. Then he blacked out.
There we go, hope you enjoyed it! Next chapter to be up very soon. Please review!