Disclaimer: I don't own Sherlock despite my many attempts to. I will keep you updated on this.
John pulled the bright orange shock blanket around him. Oh God. Mike Stamford, his best friend was dead.
They'd been walking along together, going to a movie when Mike had collapsed. John quickly knelt down beside him and seeing that he was unconscious taken his pulse. There wasn't one. John only knew basic first aid from a course he'd learnt a few years ago but he remembered everything. He yelled for someone to call an ambulance and pushed his friend onto his back. He'd tried to give him CPR but it hadn't worked. When the ambulance had finally arrived they'd taken Mike away and given John the blanket which he was still holding.
Mike had been declared dead immediately.
"Are you sure there were no signs that he was about to collapse?" Asked a middle-aged nurse for the fifteenth time. John shook his head still dazed. Poor Mike. Nothing had been wrong with him as far as John could remember. But what was he supposed to do now? He couldn't go home but he couldn't stay at Mikes flat. He had no other friends he could stay with permanently. Maybe he could sofa surf for a bit until he figured out what to do but what else could he do? Guilt hit John as he remembered one of his best friends was dead and all he could worry about was him.
Snippets of conversation floated up to him from the few people near the ambulance. "Exactly the same as the other four..." A doctor remarked to a police officer standing a few meters away. "No signs or anything peculiar," whispered two nurses. "The Clave should be notified" said a tall man in dark clothes in the shadows. "There's no need to," replied his companion sharply. His voice was familiar. Johns head jerked up and he stared to where the small group was standing at the edge of the crime scene. The familiar voice continued as John struggled to place where he had heard it before. "It's probably not a demon or downworlder, just some crazed mundane. Even if it was we can just hunt it down like normally. There is no reason to disturb the Clave." As the speaker stepped out of the shadows John finally recognised him. Sherlock Holmes, the mysterious boy who had brought him to the hospital.
He pulled himself up and walked towards the group, ignoring the nurse who called for him to sit back down immediately. As he approached them, slowly, a policeman stopped by the trio and said something to them. John stopped in his tracks. The policeman could obviously see them. One of the group, tall with ginger hair, turned to him and said something, causing the policeman to nod and turn away. John carried on walking towards Sherlock, feeling confused.
He stopped a meter behind Sherlock and glowered at his back. Loudly he cleared his throat. Sherlock ignored him and carried on talking to the other two boys. John cleared his throat again. Sherlock sighed impatiently and said, without turning round, "Be patient, will you?" John shook his head and then felt like an idiot as he realised Sherlock couldn't see him. "No, Sherlock Holmes, I won't be patient. I want answers, proper answers this time," he said outloud. The tall thin boy spun round and stared at him incredulously. He quickly regained his dignity and straightened up. "John Watson. What do you want?" He said nodding coldly at the shorter boy. John stared up at him, equally as cold and repeated, "I want answers, proper answers."
One of the boys with Sherlock, the one with dark hair and and a scar on his neck, stepped forwards and spoke, "What's going on Sherlock? Who's this?" Sherlock waved his hand at him not taking his eyes off John. "Just an acquaintance, Greg," turning his full attention back to the boy in front of him he raised his eyebrows, "I don't know what you're talking about." John scowled at him in annoyance. He was so impertinent. "I think you do know. Why can I see these things? These monsters? Why could I see you when no one else could? What the hell did you do with my driving licence?"
Sherlock raised his eyebrow. "For the first three, I have no idea. Probably a genetic defect in your DNA. As for the last one, I forgot. Put it down somewhere probably. I don't even remember taking it. Maybe you lost it. Now I have important work to do, goodbye." He said sharply. With that he turned on he heel and strode off. The other ginger boy sighed and reluctantly followed him but the last boy stayed behind staring at John quizzically. John glared at him and snapped at him, "What?" The boy shook his head slightly and almost looked like he was laughing. "What?" Repeated John. He was already sick of these mysterious people, in their black clothes and tattoos of strange symbols on their arms. The boy spoke "Just, just nothing. Sorry Sherlock's a bit of an idiot. You can see through the glamour?" John nodded slowly, unsurely and the boy continued, "I'm Greg, Greg Lestrade. If you ever really need help, I mean you're desperate - otherwise it would be difficult to help you, then come to 221 Baker Street." Greg nodded at John and hurried after Sherlock and the other boy leaving John alone at the crime scene.
Sorry this took me a long time to get out, especially as I promised to get it out ages ago. I'm such a procrastinator and I was in Greece for two weeks. So yeah... But I promise to get the next few chapters out much sooner. Well, I'll try. As always, thank you for reading and I appreciate any reviews.