Drip...

Drip… Drip… Drip...

Alone and angry, Sherlock is thrown into a mysterious case with no clear clues or any ideas to help solve it.

This is for the Sherlock fanfiction competition.

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2. Lestrade.

Sirens wailing. Officers running. Children terrified.

Sherlock anticipating.

Whilst several officers hung the tape declaring the authority of the force of justice, Sherlock hid a mocking smile. Gracefully, he drew out an empty plastic bottle and tilted his wrist so the brim of the tube was submerged beneath the liquid. Smoothly, it flowed into the container and with the greatest of care was slowly lifted. Sealing it with a chunky red lid which seemed to be the same shade as the fluid inside. A single drop of blood trickled down the vial and shattered as is collided with the bare ground.

As Lestrade approached, Sherlock stood, ready to great the inspector who he had grown to depend on greatly in the last few months. Lestrade always came whenever Sherlock would require his help although he would never say it out loud. A sense of trust passed between the two men as they looked into each other’s eyes, measuring the depth of the situation they faced.

“So… What are we looking at here?” the inspector asked cautiously as if not really wanting to know the truth. He seemed scared and unwilling to try and make his life harder or more dangerous than before even if one of his best friends was a sociopath who loved risks and solving crimes.

“Blood..” he replied with a hint of sarcasm entering his resonant voice. Humour was just another word for stupidity or pointing out the obvious and Sherlock felt it was one of those rare times the only way he could avoid a long painful rant was to insert wit into his dialogue. After seeing the disapproving look on the detectives face he realised maybe it wasn’t the best time and he mentally noted down never to do it again.

“I need some equipment: safety gear, a camera and I need a lab at St Barths to test these blood samples and whatever else we might find…” Sherlock simply stated with a hollow, empty voice as if trying to withdraw all emotion and love from his voice. It seemed he was hiding something, sadness and sorrow…

Lestrade sighed in triumph as he pulled out a sleek curved mobile out of his long grey jacket.

“And Sherlock, thanks for calling me...” Sherlock let a sad smile fall upon his face for a brief moment before turning away to hide his long full regret. Pity illuminated Lestrade’s face as he solemnly walked away. Sherlock had been through so much trauma, misery seemed to dominate his life. First Mary, then John… Maybe it was all too much…

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