CHAPTER 5: BURN, BABY, BURN

"JOHN!"

It was a clear shot and the bullet hit the target's heart. His body fell to the floor with a loud thump. A big red stain was forming on his shirt. Sherlock kneeled next to him, frantically trying to stop the bleeding, but it was already too late.

John Hamish Watson was dead.

No. No! NO! This is not supposed to happen!

Sherlock had never felt anything like that before. It seemed to him that he was the one lying on the cold concrete floor instead of John. His heart ached too much for him to bare and he couldn't rise. What is this?

The sight before him turned all red when he took his eyes off the dead body of his friend and glared at the woman with the gun.

"How does it feel, Sherlock? To be left without everything you care about?" she asked and handed the weapon back to the man behind him.

Sherlock rose slowly and stepped in front of Helen with two long strides. He couldn't care less about the men in black who released the safety locks on their guns and grabbed her neck in a deadly grip.

Sherlock Holmes was a strong man, a very strong man. Nobody usually suspected it when they saw his thin figure, but so it was.

The grip he had on Helen was enough to break her neck at the same time when another shot pierced the air. Bad aim and the bullet only scraped Sherlock's left arm.

Like a wild predator he tossed the body of the woman away and swiftly disarmed both of the men and knocked them unconscious.

He felt something boil inside him. Like a fire in his stomach, slowly consuming the rest of his body.

He was in pain. He needed to get away from this place. He couldn't look at the body of his best friend, lying there, broken. He didn't know where he was going. The only destination in his head was away.

The familiar streets of London were cold to him. He couldn't feel the safety of the busy streets anymore, so he ran. Ran as fast as he could, just to get away. He wouldn't let it come to him, he wouldn't admit it, but he was lost. He couldn't find his pace, his way, not even his mind. He was lost in his own body. He couldn't feel the physical pain of his wounds, because the pain inside his chest was overwhelming.

When he finally couldn't run anymore, he stopped. Through the haze of his dumbed brain, he looked at the street he was on.

It was familiar, but not in the way all the streets in the subconscious map of London he had in his head. This street here had a lavender scent associated to it.

He found himself in front of a red brick apartment building, opening the front door, dragging himself in and up the stairs to the third floor.

A brown door, with a small golden number on it. He had never been here before, but he knew. Of course he knew. He always knew.

Apparently not, was the last thing his scattered mind could form, as he collapsed on the door.

Friday, 9 p.m

Molly was spending her evening home, with a nice mug of hot tea and TV. She had snuggled herself in a large brown sweater and fluffy socks. The weather wasn't cold, but Molly liked being warm.

Suddenly she heard a loud thump against her flat door. She put her tea on the small coffe table in front of the television set, rose up and walked to the door, to peek out of peephole.

Her anxiety over an unwelcomed guest disappeared, when she saw the hallway empty. Almost.

A familiar black clad figure was lying in her doorstep.

Sherlock!

Molly opened her door quickly and bent down to check if he was okay. There was a wound in his forehead and his dress coat was torn on his left arm, revealing a long, but fortunately not deep, bleeding scratch.

But when Doctor Hooper's fingers carefully examined his head, she could feel waves of heat coming from him. She placed her palm on his face. He's burning!

"Sherlock!" she called for him and tried shaking him, but it was useless.

Molly then took his right arm over her neck and dragged him gently in her small flat, kicking the door shut with her foot. She managed with great effort to drag him in her bedroom and place the unconscious man in her bed.

Molly ran to her bathroom to collect her medical kit and to her kitchen to take a bottle of vodka, she kept as an antiseptic. Then she went back to the bedroom and started attending to Sherlock's injuries.

She carefully slipped his hurt arm out of the jacket and finding no other options, as the blood had started drying to his white shirt, she took a pair of scissors from her shelf and cut open the dress shirt's sleeve. She soaked a cotton pad in the alcohol and wiped around the wound, cleaning Sherlock's pale skin from blood.

She took out the bandages from her kit and wrapped it around his arm. After tying it together, she soaked another pad and wiped the blood off his face.

There was a lot of blood there, since even the smallest head wounds bleed a lot, but the actual scratch was very small and Molly sighed thankfully. She placed one band-aid on it.

Sherlock's injuries had been dealt with, but his temperature still stood high. Molly bit her lip nervously. She took out the thermometer and put it carefully in his mouth.

She replaced the the things to their places and returned with a cold wet towel. The temperature on the screen read 38 centigrades.

Molly put the towel on his forehead and tried to wake him again.

"Sherlock! Sherlock, please!" She shook him slightly, but nothing happened. He lay there, with a look of great distress on his face.

She hid her face in her hands. What happened? What am I going to do?

Giving a worried look towards the bed, she went to the living room and took her phone. She scrolled through her contacts. John. He'll know what's going on.

The phone rang, but no one answered. She tried again, but the result was the same. She pressed the bridge of her nose between her index and thumb, sighing again. Greg.

He answered after the fourth call.

"Hello."

"Greg!" She was relieved.

"Molly! Is something wrong?"

"No- well yes..."

"Molly?" Lestrade sounded worried.

"It's Sherlock."

Pause. "What has that poor bastard done now?" he asked a bit angrily.

Molly explained the situation.

Pause. "Well that's a bit nasty."

"Is there anyone you could call? His brother?"

Lestrade sighed. "I think I have his number somewhere..."

"Could you please tell him what's wrong?" She was getting a little desperate.

"Of course, Molly. I'll see what I can do and then I'll call you back."

"Thank you." Her voice was almost like a whisper.

"Don't mention it. He has gotten himself into far worse situations before."

"Oh... Dr-?"

"Yes." He snapped. "Sorry. I'll better call."

"Thank you."

"Like I said, don't mention it. I'll call you soon."

"Okay."

She closed her phone, sat on the sofa and waited. Five minutes later, her phone rang.

"Yes?"

"He asked you to take care of him over the night. He will be there first thing in the morning. Bloody government noses, always busy..."

"Oh okay..."

"Do you need anything?"

"No. I'll manage." She whispered, on the verge of tears.

"Are you sure, Molly?" He was concerned.

She gathered more strength and made her voice sound strong. "I'm fine. I'm sorry I bothered you."

"Hey... Molly..."

"Like I said, I'm fine." She smiled weakly to herself. "Good night, Greg."

"Good night, Molly. If you need anything..."

"...then I'll call you."

"Okay. Take care."

"You too."

She put her phone on her coffe table and went back to her bedroom, where the dark haired man was still unconscious. She couldn't hold back tears anymore and they silently poured down her cheeks.

"Oh Sherlock. What have you gotten yourself into?"

I am so sorry, everyone. It's for the sake of the story. And just so you'd know... John is my favourite character to write.

Renaissancebooklover108: I considered it, but it would have ruined all my plans with this story. I'm sorry.

I don't know how often I'll update now that school has started. Maybe more often, maybe not. But at least I got to go to London for the first time during the summer break:):) (What the hell is wrong with your bloody traffic, londoners?! The cabbies are insane!)

Sooo... Anyway...:):) Thank you for reading:):) Thank you for favouriting:):) Thank you for following:):) And thank you for reviewing:):) They always make me feel good:):)

I would love to know what you think:)

Love,

Ave