New Body

A/n: sorry about the long wait, I really am, I've just been focusing on other things. I'm sorry!
Thanks to everyone who has reviewed so far, it means a lot to me!
Enjoy this chapter! Xxx

Being hopeful was good. Especially when someone was out to kill you. Especially when he kept sending threatening letters and messages, and made you so jittery, you almost jumped at your own shadow. Hope was great.
Sherlock was hopeful, and his attitude had changed dramatically. He seemed to start enjoying the case again, behaving like it was any ordinary case, and it wasn't our own lives in danger. The case notes were all up on the wall, the clues he'd found from the flat, like the mud from his trainers, and what not, we're also up now, joining the intricate web of string and photographs and making it all the more complex.
At 1.00, Lestrade called, and I was made to pick up the phone, even though it was Sherlock's, and it was sitting right next to him while he was busy thinking.
"Hello?"
"John? Listen, there's been a new body, I need Sherlock down here straight away, I think it will help him with the case, you know what he's like,"
"You know it's not really going to work," I warned him; in my peripheral vision, I saw Sherlock look up, looking at me quizzically. I shrugged.
"It will, tell him Donovan's not on this case,"
"Who is it?" Sherlock asked me, talking over Lestrade.
"Lestrade, they've found a new body," I said quietly, covering the mouth piece with my fingers, "he wants you to go down there,"
He nodded, "what's the address?"
My mouth dropped.
"John? You still there?" Lestrade asked.
"Umm, yeah," I moved the phone back into place, "what's the address?"
"That easily?" He sounded suprised.
"Yeah, apparently, being cooped up has its affects,"I laughed, "where are we meeting you?"
"Umm, you got a pen?"
I scrambled over to the table, pen in hand, switching the phone to my right ear, "yeah,"
"Ok, it's 49 Harewood Avenue, you know by the Marylebone tube station?"
"Yeah, got it," I gave Sherlock the paper, and he jumped up, heading for his scarf.
"See you in a bit,"
I put the phone down, and continued to gaze at Sherlock.
"You're actually going? None of that, 'I'm still in hiding,' stuff?" I attempted to clarify, stunned.
"This is Moran, John!" He said, irritation colouring his tone, "this is our chance to find out more!"
I sighed. I suppose he was right.
"Come on!" He beckoned me impatiently.
"You're not going to just catch a cab are you?"
I found myself being dragged carelessly out of the flat and onto the street. Christ, I was surprised the press hadn't noticed yet, with how he had been flinging himself around lately. Surely someone should notice that Sherlock was still alive, and flouncing around London like nothing had happened.
And as it happens, we did catch a cab. My first cab since that night (or morning really) that Sherlock had suddenly appeared, and told me he was still alive. My first cab with Sherlock since he had jumped. God.

By the time we got to the address, it was strangely empty, with only Lestrade and a couple of young officers who I didn't know, though I was pretty sure they knew us. Despite the 5 months he was gone, I still seemed to be famous. I still had people stop me in the streets and ask if I was 'that blogger who was friends with the fraudulent detective'. That was part of the reason why I stopped going out, and confined myself to my little flat. I shook the thought away, and focused on the scene in front of me.
A body lying on the street, spread eagled, forearm facing the sky, branded with the customary warning, a bullet hole through his heart, blood pooling on the ground. Scarlet. Bright.
Reminiscent...
"This body isn't the problem," said Lestrade suddenly, snapping me out of my thoughts and into the present. I needed to stop doing that really, "it's where he did it that's getting us,"
"What do you mean?" I asked, confused.
I looked around. It seemed obvious to me, there were large houses lining the street. Any one of them could be used as a shooting post. I think the range for the rifle, which was about 1800 metres, allowed for most of the houses near the body to be used for the post.
"Well, we initially thought it was the house directly opposite, but now..."
"It's not the house opposite," Sherlock butted in immediately, leaning over the body to have a closer look, "look at the angle at which the bullet entered,"
"Exactly," Lestrade finished, looking exasperated, " so now we don't know,"
"Is it important you know? We haven't been able to find anything for the other killings, what makes this one different?"
"He usually chooses much more deserted places, with a further range, that's why," Lestrade said, "this one is more of a risk for him,"
Sherlock looked up from his intent peering, "John,"
I headed over and crouched beside him.
"How long would you say he's been here?" He asked at top speed, almost as though it was an after thought, whilst his hands searched around the pockets of the mans clothes.
I studied him closely, measuring the amount of blood lost and the clotting around the wound.
"Not very long, I would say about 2-3 hours," I said finally, slowly, my eyes scanning the rest of the body.
I noticed bruising around the wrists, moving up to the elbow, made in a strange line-like pattern up his arm, as though something had been twisted around it tightly and kept there.
I frowned, they were much older, probably had been there for over a week.
"Sherlock, have you seen this bruising?" I murmured, highlighting it with my fingers, gently skimming over the pattern, "it looks as if he's been- I dunno- tied up? Had something wrapped around his arm?"
"Yes I know," Sherlock replied, just as quietly, before looking up to Lestrade.
"It seems that this victim had been held captive for a while, tied to a chair using metal cord, judging by the pattern made on his wrists and ankles-,"
Upon his words, i went to check his ankles, finding that Sherlock was correct, though that was no surprise.
"-So Moran actually kept this one captive, and he may have done so with the others too, we need to see them Lestrade, I need to see them," Sherlock had finished his sentence at top speed by the time I was actually paying attention. I blinked, taken aback, and straightened up.
Lestrade ran a hand through his hair.
"We can try, I dunno if they've already been taken care of,"
"Good, and I need you to search for all his, and the other's family links, find out any information as to where they were the day they were killed," Sherlock had his phone out and started texting someone, probably Molly, before handing the phone to me, "take some pictures, I need them for the wall,"
Lestrade looked at us oddly, and I realised what that sounded like to someone who didn't know what Sherlock had done to the wall. I grinned, shrugged, and moved closer to the body again.
I took pictures of the bullet wound, the ankles and wrists, a whole one, and was just about to take another one of the wound when his phone started vibrating in my hand, almost making me drop it in surprise.
I stared at the screen- the number came up as unknown.
I glanced over to Sherlock, but he was already too far away to answer it himself.
Looking back at the screen, I wondered whether it was just one of the those stupid automated ones, about bank loans and crap.
Yes, that was probably it.
I sighed, and pressed decline; the phone went still and silent. I pushed it in my pocket, I would give it to Sherlock later.
As I headed out, under the tape and went to catch up with the now small, distant figure of Sherlock, the phone started vibrating again. I stopped, and pulled it out.
It was unknown, again, calling Sherlock.
I bit my lip. Automated messages only rang once.
Whoever this was, it was urgent.
After a momentary debate with myself, I finally decided to answer the call, at the very least I could pass on the message to Sherlock, though who it could be baffled me completely.
"Hello?"
There was silence at the end of the line, and I wondered for a moment of I had been disconnected.
"Hello?" I asked again.
I heard someone draw in a deep, shaky breath.
"I'm glad it was you who answered the phone... I was thinking I would have to get this- this bitch to act for me, which probably wouldn't end well," it was Sarah, though it wasn't. Sarah was talking, but she sounded absolutely terrified. I felt my whole body stiffen.
"Sarah? Are you ok?"
"Sarah is fine," said Sarah's trembling voice, and shivers went down my spine. Someone was there, and was making her talk. Copying Moriarty. I remembered my own ordeal, getting covered in Semtex and made to speak while listening to Moriarty in my ear.
It was Moran, I realised. It had to be.
And he had Sarah.

A/n: a review or two would be lovely x