For five minutes Sherlock inspected the body and the room when all of a sudden the portable lamps lighting the scene flickered and extinguished. As the house was abandoned there was no connected power meaning that the building was pitch black with only small slivers of moonlight through the windows that weren't already boarded up. There was a large bang from a room a floor below.
Lestrade spoke first "Oh for f-"
"-John, lend me your torch" Sherlock demanded and held out his hand behind him as he crouched next to the body. He looked like a relay runner expecting the baton. He heard no response. "John!" he repeated in frustration. Hurry up! They were wasting precious time!
"John?" Lestrade queried sounding perplexed. "Not here, mate. Haven't seen him today. You sure he...". The DI trailed off as Sherlock stood and turned around in a circle as he held his phone at arms length and used its dim glow to light the room, coat spinning around him.
Sherlock frowned and headed towards the door as he used his mobile for light. "Hope you were taking notes" he muttered at Lestrade who waved his arms up slightly and let them fall back down to his sides, a pen in one hand a notepad in the other.
"No, I was playing Pictionary" Greg sighed, but the detective had already disappeared down the hallway.
There was an array of officers moving quickly around the corridors with handheld lamps and torches. Sherlock moved through them, they were all going the other way trying to get light to the murder room. He picked snippets of their conversations as he went past in his search.
"...then the camera cut out. Full battery too…"
"...such a creepy place, can't wait for a coffee break..."
"...phone keeps cutting out, can I borrow yours?"
Idiots afraid of the dark, Sherlock thought to himself, but he took note of their concerns. You never knew what minor piece of information could be the key to the puzzle. He made it down to the floor below. The footsteps and chatter from above was loud down here as the officers rushed about and it made it difficult to pick up the small noises surrounding him. He checked a couple of the rooms then his eyes flicked towards a locked door in the middle of the corridor.
He stepped forward, placing his ear on the wood and could hear John's muffled voice. He was about to call out to the man to come out when the door began to shake violently and the knob moved back and forth, he must be trying to get out. Good, that saved having to ask him. But suddenly there were loud banging noises coming from the room and the floor started to shudder, Sherlock realised that these could have been the crashes that they had been hearing upstairs. Perhaps the murderer was still inside? Oh no.
Sherlock dove forward and tried to open the handle but it seemed to be locked. He started pounding on the door as he heard a few yells from inside. "John!" he bellowed. "John!"
Sherlock heard the man call out again. Why wouldn't the door open? As it shook in its frame Sherlock noticed there was light spilling out through all the gaps around the sides. Where was this coming from? It was bright, incredibly bright, what was causing this?
The consulting detective tried turning the doorknob again with everything he had. As he looked down to study it he noticed that he could see his breath in the air in soft, cloudy puffs. It was June, outside the temperature was mild, definitely not freezing cold. What could cause this?
The handle twisted and twisted then finally all the sounds stopped, the light completely cut out and the door stilled. Sherlock took his chance and swung it open only around a second after all movement ceased. John was on the floor on the other side of the room, how had he been rattling the door only a second ago? Simple, it must have been whoever was still here. He had a cut on his cheek and the beginnings of a black eye and was breathing heavily while shaking hard.
Sherlock had taken all that in over a fraction of a second. Next he was using his phone to light up the room, there was a small amount of moonlight coming in through the boarded windows but that data was telling him there was no one else here and that couldn't be possible.
John was saying something, his name- that didn't help right now so he tuned it out. He wasn't in any immediate danger so he could wait. Didn't he understand that he was trying to catch whoever had just done this and that was what was most important? He looked at all the corners and any dark patches in case they had left through a tunnel or a gap in the wall. But how would they have escaped without him seeing? There was no way John could have been touching the door from his distance across the room.
"John, where did they go? Was it the murderer? I don't think it would have just been a junkie living here. If it was-"
"-Sherlock" John breathed again. The softness in his voice made Sherlock stop and look him in the eye.
The two of them gazed at each other properly for the first time since they had arrived. John seemed incredibly drained and showed real fear.
"Sherlock" he tried to get up but his leg locked up and he fell back to the floor. "We need to leave. Now"
The consulting detective walked over and helped his blogger up. "Which way did they leave? I can't see a secret passageway but that doesn't mean-"
"-you're not listening" he explained slowly and carefully. "We have to go. Now"
"What did they say? Did they threaten you?"
John began to walk towards the door but watched the ceiling carefully as he did so. "No, we had a polite conversation about the weather and I read him his daily horoscope". He turned back to his friend, black eye highlighted by the moonlight. "What do you think?" he said with bite as his strength began to return. "We're leaving"
Sherlock took in one more scan of the room but then followed John out into the corridor then into the street while continuing to ask questions about what had happened but he received no response. Paramedics pushed past them.
Sherlock turned swiftly on his heel and asked Donovan who'd been injured.
"Constable knocked unconscious. The stand for a heavy light must have been unstable because it flew towards her and split her head open while they were trying to get them working". She narrowed her eyes "Where were you?"
"Nice try, Sally. I was inspecting a room John had found. Perhaps your officers can learn how to do a proper sweep of a property? Or do you like suspects having the element of surprise over you?"
Donovan finally saw that John was there. "What happened to you?"
He ignored her and directed his question to his friend. "Perhaps I should go up there?"
"There's a full paramedic team. I'm sure they're fine" Sherlock replied, waving a hand to dismiss the issue. He wanted answers and that wasn't going to happen if John went and played doctor upstairs. He was needed here.
"You're the one that needs patching up" Sally offered, nodding towards his minor injuries.
"I'm fine" John explained shortly, pumping his left hand in and out of a fist while he looked up at the first floor windows.
"You look like you've seen a ghost. What the hell is...". Donovan trailed off as three large black vans pulled up, the back doors opened violently and a task force spilled out and ran towards them. "What the hell is going on, you can't go in there!" Sally called out but they ignored her.
A man in a suit walked up. "Sergeant Donovan, may I have a word?" he began to walk off and Sally followed although she didn't look happy about it.
"We were talking!" Sherlock yelled after them both but neither turned around, his frustration began to boil over. "I know exactly what is going on here, but why? Why!"
Next Lestrade burst from front door, he saw Sherlock and raised an accusing finger. "Right! I've just got off the phone from your brother..."
Sherlock already knew this had Mycroft all over it so he tuned Lestrade out and his hand dove into his trouser pocket. His phone displayed:
Leave now. Don't make a scene.
This investigation is no longer your concern MH
Why would the government be interested in a simple murder of a local man whose head was repeatedly slammed into the floor. A man, 3 adult children, no new hobbies, worked at the local newsagency...he wasn't special at all, why did he matter this much? Maybe this wasn't about him at all...
"John we're leaving! I need to think!" Sherlock called out, turning his back on the still yelling Lestrade who was going red in the face.
But John was giving a statement to a man in a suit. What on earth did John see?
A/N: Thanks for reading. I'm just getting back into writing. Feedback is welcome.