Melodrama!
Heart pounding. Weak leg aching.
I run, stop, run, peering through each door's spherical window. Where is he?
Something's not right. The feeling pulls me under; I choke on fear.
What if he's hurt? Dead?
…Jesus.
I bang through doors, sprint to a window.
Glance at the building opposite.
My god. Sherlock.
And I see the cab driver, see him standing, taunting. I see his gun.
I aim my own. Pull. My hand is stiller than it's ever been.
Shoot.
The bullet slices as cleanly through the window as it does into the cabbie's chest.
I'm gone before he hits the floor.
...What John will do for Sherlock. =D
-Spark Writer-