Chapter Text
London has not been the same since the start of June. Instead of going outdoors to enjoy the Summer season and going on excursions or family trips, everyone had decided that it was best to hide in the comfort and safety of their homes. Only a few people walk the streets now. Among them is Detective Inspector Greg Lestrade with his detective friend and the detective's trusted doctor companion.
What had induced horrible fear into the usually bustling atmosphere of London?
"Hurry! We don't have much time!" Greg yelled, running as fast as he can, being followed by his partners. With walkie talkie in hand, he requested for backup to go to the place they were heading for now. There was no time to lose!
Making a sharp turn, the trio found themselves in the park. Usually it would be occupied with families, but now it was completely different. Empty and silent. The three carefully entered the park entered the park facing different with utmost caution, trying to get a good look at their surroundings and covering each other's blind spot. Just their luck that a fog had rolled in about 20 minutes ago, minimizing visibility greatly.
Moving further into the park, John had begun to feel more nervous and stuck closer to the group, eying the place carefully. He does not frequent this park thus he was struggling to develop the layout of it in his head unlike Sherlock, who remembers every square inch of London, including this park.
Greg slowly reached for his gun from his waist, holding it tight in his hands. He has faced many dangerous criminals in his career but this particular one has his stomach in a huge knot he can't get rid of. John was trying to stay composed, making sure he doesn't accidentally stray away from the group in the fog. That was when he laid eyes on something lying on the grass.
"Oh.. my god." He muttered, dashing towards the body to check for any signs of life. Sherlock and Greg felt like something was blocking their breathing. This was an unusual feeling for Sherlock. He quickly looked around and at that moment, a sudden rustling from the bushes could be heard. A rustling of that sound level was definitely not caused by an animal. Under the cover of the fog, the person the three of them was looking for emerged from the bushes, still efficiently hiding his face with a hood and black mask.
Instantly, Sherlock dashed forward and was hot on the culprit's heels. Grab followed after them, leaving John who was instructed to wait for the backup that Greg called for earlier. As Greg ran off, he spoke into his walkie talkie again, this time requesting for an ambulance. The hooded man leapt over the park fence and ran across the empty road to the other side.
Seeing the victim lying helpless and unconsciously with two deep knife wounds in her body, he frantically looked around for something that could be used to block the blood gushing out from the wounds. More parts of the grass were beginning to be stained red and it made John incredibly nervous. At that point, he suddenly remembered that he had a handkerchief in this pocket, and cursed himself for not realising that a few seconds ago. In such a situation, every second counts. John learnt that from experience.
John forcefully tore the handkerchief into half, pressing each piece on the two wounds in a desperate attempt to reduce the blood flow. The body was a sight that John was very familiar with. He had seen this many times before. The body he was attending to laid bloody on the grass with arms and legs spread around. One stab wound on her stomach on the left side, and another one on the right side of her waist. Once in awhile, John would swiftly move his hand to the victim's neck, looking for a heartbeat and repeatedly calling her in hopes that she would wake up. But with each call, the victim showed no signs of waking up.
Meanwhile the chase was still going on with both sides not ready to give up. The culprit still had the bloody knife in his gloved hand and was ready to use it anytime in order to loose his pursuers. As he turned many corners going deeper into an alleyway, Sherlock couldn't help but smile as he knew exactly where the culprit was headed as his always accurate memory serves him well.
"You have nowhere to run now. Best now to give up unless you really want this to go on." Sherlock shouted after the culprit almost smacked into the brick wall that stood towering over him. A dead end! He looked up and turned around realising there was no way to climb over the wall. Without speaking a word, he tilted his head and slowly raised the knife. At the same time, Greg raised his gun without any hesitation to shoot if the situation calls for it.
"Drop your weapons, put your hands behind your head kneeling down! There's nowhere to run now!" Greg instructed, reaching for his pair of handcuffs attached to his belt. But the man wasn't going to be captured so easily. After a, be had a strong will which could be seen burning in his eyes. He was determined to get out of there.
During these standoff, Sherlock took this opportunity to study the culprit in detail from where he was standing, eyeing multiple areas of the culprit, examining him as his brain as his brain quickly absorbed the information. Afterwards, be was looking for ways to avoid the knife attack if the man decides to take a swing.
In the distance a few short minutes later, the sounds of sirens could be heard getting louder and louder. John shifted his gaze to the road outside the entrance of the park with hand still firmly pressed on the wounds. His face was the emotion of desperation.
"Over here!" John shouted loudly and repeatedly until the paramedics ran over to take care of the woman. He wasn't really sure if she would make it, the heartbeat he was constantly watching out for was quickly becoming slower.
Thinking that they have the advantage, Sherlock and Greg slowly started inching closer to the man whose movements have become much faster and much more defensive. Then, he spoke up confidently with a chuckle.
"Where I come from, we were trained to commit drastic actions to get out of such problems. But you two are the first and last people to push me to such extremes. Good luck, I give you my best regards!" The man shouted with an excited tone, his mouth slipped into an evil grin, bringing the knife to his neck. As soon as he did so, Sherlock instantly charged forwards to stop him but was ultimately too late.
Blood gushed out from the man's neck, staining his clothing and he fell to the ground with a loud thud. All the detective could do now was to watch as the man he was so close to catching bled out right in front of him. Greg couldn't bear to approach or look at the body. Instead, he covered his face and groaned in frustration. Over the past few weeks all his anxiety has accumulated inside him, and he wasn't sure if he could take anymore of this.
Without saying a word, Sherlock turned around and walked towards the detective inspector with a slow pace. Greg still had his face in his hands trying to deal with the pent up frustration in him. Sherlock stood silently beside him facing the opposite direction towards the light and shadows, also feeling the crushing weight of constant defeat.