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.


4. Insanity.

They began to explore the wreck which the outline of a house was loosely formed. Glass lay shattered along the ragged floor obstructing the path they had initially planned to take as around thirty officers eagerly awaited their return. Only the protection of sturdy steel capped boots kept the sharp shrapnel from carving there feet into oozing blood and pain. With one swift sign from Sherlock, they split into three groups; two with four men, and the main, with five men and woman from the police force.

 A few countless minutes of nonstop searching passed before the first transmission of confirmation was sent. “Nothing over here!” A strong female voice boomed as every communicator let the same message pour out from its hazy speakers.

“Copy that,” Sherlock and another detective replied slightly out of sync but yet together.

“Keep searching, Team one  and I will advance, Team Two check our area and team three keep looking for now.”  Sherlock said with a sense of alert in his voice.

Drip… Drip…

The sound loomed closer and closer as each endless moment gradually passed. Pungent odours filled the air as sweat began to roll down Sherlock’s face. Never before had he felt so insecure, so vulnerable and helpless to his own insignificant fear.

A doorframe which lay blocked by bare planks lay among the brittle bricks was covered in thick, black dust. Rotted ivy had tried to climb up the textured surface before running out of light and subsequently wilting until only the spiralling stalk was left, cold and bare. Sherlock kicked the oak wood with such force it splintered. He slid through the narrow gap, his group trailing not far behind.

What met their eyes was both gory and gruesome. It was like a child’s darkest nightmare but on a much more extreme level. A single corpse lay draped over a steel chair. Blood oozed out of the crack in down his misshapen skull which slowly flooded out like a blocked tap. Under the chair lay a metal panel which would have once been used as part of a bath. One of the most disturbing part of the image was the way the poor man’s eyes seemed to sit outside of the usually sockets but easily the worst fragment of the situation was how he smiled. A forced smile. Such a deadly grin of horror and despair. Insanity.

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