Um, language and blood if you're bothered by that kind of thing. Again, I don't think it's that bad but better safe than sorry ^_^
The call came early in the morning from Lestrade. A new case. He was understaffed as they wrapped up the Markstein case, and he needed a second opinion. Sherlock had already had a refusal on the tip of his tongue when the DI started giving him a bit of information. Just enough to actually peak his interest, as the murder sounded as if it had been committed in a fashion similar to how the Markstein brothers had been killed. Considering his frustratingly minimal amount of evidence in his own investigation into the professional he believed to have killed the brothers, the allure of possibly gaining more was too great of a chance to pass up. Leading, inevitably, to Sherlock making his way to the scene after Lestrade had happily supplied him with an address.
The scene did indeed remind Sherlock of the Markstein case. The kill itself extremely similar in style and fashion to how the two brother's had died after all. A clean shot to the head with the same caliber rifle, and this time there were no witnesses. Likely because the other had been meant to be made so publicized. If there had been any lingering doubt before about the nature of the Markstein's killer, then it was certainly gone now. There was definitely a contract killer working in London. It was very possible that they had even been around for some time, but Sherlock had only now took notice of them due to the previous case he'd worked. Drawing in the detective's attention fully. Despite himself, the detective was more than a bit thrilled to be working on catching this criminal. After all, this was a professional he was dealing with. Someone much more exciting and intelligent than even the serial killers he often looked forward to catching.
While Lestrade and his team saw to the body and sorting out the likelihood of finding someone who had heard a shot –even after the detective had explicitly stated that a silencer would have been used, Sherlock was calculating the trajectory that the bullet had traveled before impacting with the target's skull. It occurred to him, as he figured out the exact location where this killer would have been, that John seemed to have been avoiding him. While Sherlock knew he wasn't necessarily an expert on human behavior in the finer forms and beyond the textbook, he did think that over a week's time of space would be enough to move on from the trauma witnessed in Afghanistan…Shouldn't it have been? The doctor really should have been answering his texts earlier that morning about the case, and how he'd like the man to accompany him if it was convenient. The general lack of answer from John might have even been startling were his mind not already racing with the bits of information he'd received from Lestrade in an attempt to peak his interest in this new case. So instead, it had left Sherlock to chalk his ignored texts up to John dating once more and the fact that he'd stayed the night with her. In a few short hours he'd likely receive a text saying that normal people need sleep, and the doctor would be back in the flat and at the detective's disposal. Until then, Sherlock had a flat to go investigate. Having figured out the location that the sniper—his professional killer—had been in. A window of a third floor flat.
Sherlock easily slipped away from the bustle of the crime scene and into one of the buildings in the general vicinity, up a few flights of stairs, then into the room he knew to be where the shot had been taken. A slow sweep around the room had him taking in several things at once, but none of them were generally helpful considering he'd been looking for evidence. Recently swept floors, room carefully picked over, nothing otherwise out of the ordinary that jumped out to the detective…The room had been cleared of evidence. It was not unlike the previous location where the same person had set up –so he believed— except now there wasn't the slight chip in the window sill from the recoil of a rifle. More time to prepare and setup, then. Planned for a longer period of time that they'd been afforded for the Markstein brother's. This time the killer had been careful, but the level of skill shown with both assassinations, especially the one in broad daylight, suggested they were far more intelligent and skill than to leave such trace. Which lead to the before mentioned conclusion of this kill being planned. The Markstein's must have been a last minute contract, yet beside for faint traces born from lack of time to properly remove evidence the killer had still slipped away. Interesting. With the added factor of this assassination taking place at night rather than in the day with the targets in the middle of a rather large crowd there really was far more time to clean up, and it seemed that the other had done a thorough job of it. Were Sherlock not set on believing this to be the work of a contract killer working alone, he'd almost say it had been done by a cleaner crew.
"What're you doing up here?" the familiar voice of Detective-Inspector Lestrade questioned, and Sherlock looked up from the window sill he'd been looking out of.
"Collecting data, of course." Sherlock replied, giving the DI an innocent look all while his eyes said 'what you should have already figured out.'
Lestrade wasn't amused. "This where the shot came from, then?"
"I believe so, yes, but you're team won't find anything here, Inspector. I suggest you pack up and return to NSY now." Sherlock said.
"Sherlock," the DI said, tone suggesting an oncoming lecture before the man just sighed. "You know, I've known you for years now. I'm not an idiot like you seem to think. I know this is a professional, why else d'you think I'd call you in on a case like this?"
"Not understaffed then?" Sherlock questioned, amused.
"Not the point, Sherlock. I've been keeping these kills quiet for years because I don't need some kind of public outcry. The Markstein case was the first time this guy's been pushing the boundaries."
"If you were aware there was a contract killer of this caliber, why would you not notify myself? I could have helped much sooner?"
"Probably because you were still dealing with withdrawal when I was dealing with this," Lestrade replied. "I've been looking for this guy for awhile now."
"But the Markstein case—"
"Don't pretend like you wouldn't have showed up anyway. Two murders in broad daylight with no witnesses? You'd never have been able to stay away." Lestrade mused. "I've been trying to keep you off this, yeah, but I knew as soon as you started getting distant you knew about this killer."
Sherlock fought the urge to huff in annoyance. "So I'll be called on future cases?"
"No point in keeping you away now, I suppose." Lestrade agreed with the shrug.
Sherlock gave the DI a sharp nod in response. "Very well, then since you'll have no further need of my services I'd best be off." With that curt dismissal, the detective moved to sweep past Lestrade and down the stairs. Coat billowing out behind him dramatically as he did so, but the other's voice stopped him before he'd made it down six steps.
"Where's John?"
"Hmm, new girlfriend." Sherlock replied. "I'd assume he's hit it off rather well with her."
John spat out the blood collecting in his mouth and managed to catch the large Russian, who he now knew was Arthur Bagrov, in the face. The mix of blood and saliva spraying across the bearded chin, and Bagrov responded another shot to the face. The beatings had been off and on over the hours he'd been in the hands of the men. The only reason he knew was because of the small window in the motel room that had light peaking through it now. Otherwise he'd have long since lost track of time as he dozed off in the periods he wasn't being used as a way to vent frustration, only to be woken up by Bagrov when he was bored. His lips had, since the beginnings of this, been split on two separate occasions, there was a laceration over his right eye that had leaked blood down the side of his face and over the bruising there. It wouldn't surprise him if he had bruised, maybe even few a fractured, ribs. Bagrov favored brass knuckles, it seemed.
"Hey!" a voice snarled, and the blonde from earlier was putting himself between John and Bagrov. "Boss'll kill us if you keep going!"
"He's still breathing, its fine." Bagrov argued, and John remained silent for once.
"We'll be moving to the next location soon, just leave him until then." The blonde argued, and grudgingly Bagrov backed off.
"What the fuck are you doing! Get the hell off me!" Sebastian yelled as he was drug into a nondescript black car by several men who refused to answer the mercenaries questions. Jim watched the process on one of several monitors and tracked the car's progress towards the criminal's current location. He wouldn't be doing any of the messy work, but he intended to be the one asking the questions. If Sebastian really thought he could get away with crossing his boss, then the man had quite the rude awakening in store. As it were, it wasn't until halfway to the flat Jim used for these operations that Sebastian grew quiet. Jim hadn't wanted to use sedative. Not when that would draw out the process and waste time when they could begin as soon as the mercenary arrived. He'd also been waiting for the exact moment that the man understood the gravity of the situation he now found himself in.
When Sebastian was properly restrained in the basement of the flat, a man in black with a rather emotionless demeanor waiting off to the side for instructions, Jim hit the button for the intercom. Watching all the camera angles he had pulled up on his monitors as he spoke.
"Hello, Sebby!" the Irishman purred, voice laced with over acted cheer.
"Boss, what's—" The man in the room with Sebastian cut the mercenary off with a sharp, stinging slap that had his head snapping to the side. Jim grinned.
"You know the rules. You don't talk unless I say you can." Jim said, "Now. You've been rather naughty, haven't you?"
"Boss, I haven't done—" Another strike. They were starting off easy.
"Yes you have." Jim sang, as if the other hadn't spoken. "Where is my assassin, Sebby?" Sebastian's jaw tightened. Jim could see it on the screen and the criminal's grin grew far darker. Gotcha.
Hello! Thanks so much for the reviews. I really do appreciate them so much, and I've updated! Yay!
Have a good day
Reaperess ^_^