HELLO AGAIN! I'M BACK! I'm so excited to finally have written another chapter! I've been insanely busy and I am so sorry that I haven't posted anything for months. Here's the chapter, I hope you enjoy!
Lestrade and John sit next to each other on a dirty bench. Both are eagerly waiting, not talking. Instead, they stare out into the road.
On various sides of the intersection sit several others pairs of undercover police officers.
They have been waiting for only an hour, but the nervousness and anticipation has made it seem like triple that. Yet, the new hope makes it all worth it. Everybody hopes that this could finally be it, that they will finally find Sherlock.
John suddenly breaks the intense silence. "Lestrade, do you think we will find him?"
Lestrade is somewhat surprised by the directness of the question. "I… I don't know," he responds. "I mean, I would certainly like to think so. But there are still a lot of factors that we just can't control. We can't be entirely sure who wrote that message to us. We don't actually have concrete proof that Holmes is even still alive. I think it's better to prepare ourselves for the worst."
John isn't at all shocked by Lestrade's statement. In fact, he's been thinking that and much, much worse for the past hour. But it doesn't affect his internal hope at this possible opportunity to find Holmes. Somehow, even through all the circumstances, something inside of him wants to keep hope, to not give up. Even though the situation seems hopeless.
As they wait, Lestrade looks over at John. He slowly begins to shake his head at the man he sees.
His friend's face is ash white, and his hands tremble as he attempts to hide the pain that he's feeling.
"Watson. You really shouldn't be here. You are not well. You're hurt. You lost a lot of blood. You need to go home. I know you want to be here to help. But you're really not helping if you are going to be hurting yourself in the process." Lestrade says all this sincerely, but he is almost certain that John won't leave. It's just against his nature.
John is incredibly brave. He's also strong-willed. An injury, regardless of how debilitating, isn't going to be something that John will let get in his way. Especially when the life of his friend is on the line.
John doesn't even respond. He is not even considering leaving. Not for a moment. Yes, he is in pain. Terrible pain, both physically and mentally. But he certainly isn't going to let that possibly jeopardize his friend's safety.
He tries to still his trembling hands, pretending to be okay. Silence once again ensues, and both men feel the weight of the situation.
Every now and then, a cab drives through the intersection and the police stop and search it, but the road is mostly quiet.
Hours pass, but there's still nothing.
John is starting to feel the exhaustion that had previously been pushed away by his nervousness. It's starting to hit him hard, and he hopes that this will be over soon. Not that he's willing, or really able, to sleep, though. He has just been dealing with too much for too long, and he's feeling the full effects of his worry, injuries, and sleep-deprivation.
After a few minutes of quiet on the street, a lone cab rolls through the intersection.
Lestrade stands up and raises his hand, signaling for the cab to stop, the same as he's done so many times today. The cab slowly comes to a stop on the side of the street. Lestrade walks up to the door and motions for the cab driver to step out. He does.
"What's the meanin' of all of this?" the driver questions, obviously irritated.
"I'm sorry sir," apologizes Lestrade, more from instinct than sincerity. "We're looking for a man and got a tip that he'd be coming through this intersection at some point. Would you mind if we did a quick search?"
The driver sighs. "I guess, if ya must. You're makin' me late, though. I'm not happy about this."
Lestrade nods, and a pair of officers approaches the cab. This sight seems to agitate the driver even more.
John finds the man's behavior a bit strange. Yes, the other people that they've stopped haven't been entirely happy. But this man seems more than just unhappy. He seems almost… nervous. John slowly backs away, but the man doesn't seem to see him.
Lestrade pulls the door handle, but the door doesn't open.
"Sir, I'm going to need you to unlock the doors for me."
The driver bites his lip. He slowly approaches the cab again.
Suddenly, before anyone realizes what's happening, he whirls around and pulls a gun out of his jacket, holding it to Lestrade's head.
"I changed my mind," he says. "Nobody move or inspector here gets his brains blown out." Keeping the gun firmly pressed to Lestrade's head, he looks at the two mortified officers who are standing nearby. "Back off."
They hesitate for a moment, but realizing that they don't have a choice, they scamper back to the rest of the officers. Nobody on the street makes a noise.
John can now hear a noise, seemingly coming from the inside of the cab. A slight banging.
"Sherlock…" John whispers. His mind is conflicted. He wants to shoot the driver in the head and pull Sherlock out of the car right now, but he restrains himself.
Instead, while the driver is focused on the policemen, John quietly steps back and crouches down behind the bench on which he was sitting just a few minutes earlier. Not noticing him, the driver continues to speak.
"Everyone back off. I don't want anybody on this street, you understand? Everybody drop your weapons immediately. Don't try anything. I'm not afraid to pull the trigger. Believe me, I would love to kill every one of you right now, but I have my orders. Just throw your weapons down."
The policemen hesitate for a moment, but eventually drop their weapons.
"Good. Now, everyone, get away. I don't want a single person on this street except for me and Mr. Inspector here. I'm going to get in my car and drive off, and nobody is going to be on the street to stop me, do you understand? If I sense any resistance, I will not hesitate to kill him. Now, go!"
The policemen, knowing that their presence can't help anything, slowly back away. In a few minutes the street is empty, except for the driver and Lestrade.
Or, at least that's what he thinks.
Behind the bench, John is still silently crouching, waiting for an opportunity to attack. He pulls out his revolver.
He's taking his time. He's the only one who can save Lestrade and Sherlock right now, and he needs to be cautious. He only has one chance.
John tries to find a clear shot, but Lestrade's in the way. The driver opens the door of the cab and pushes Lestrade inside. He slides over into his seat and gets ready to drive off.
John realizes that this is his only chance, or else he will get away. He knows that he only has one shot. If he misses, the driver will realize what's happening and kill Lestrade.
He can't miss.
He clutches the revolver firmly in his hand and leaps out from behind the bench, firing a single shot through the window. John sprints up to the cab, not knowing what awaits him. He walks up to the window.
Inside, the driver is slumped over in his seat, blood pouring out of a bullet wound in the center of his head.
He's dead.
Lestrade stares at John with wide eyes. He's shaking, but points to the back of the car.
John grabs the keys and unlocks and yanks open the back door.
He stares into the back seat. There's a man there, tied up and gagged.
The man is Sherlock Holmes.
Thank you so much for reading, I hope you enjoyed this chapter! I would really appreciate any reviews or suggestions! :)
Thanks so much to James Birdsong, Dragons-Twilight1992, and Esbee for your reviews on the last chapter! It's people like you that make me want to keep writing, and I really appreciate you!