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Send me §, for my muse’s reaction to yours slowly slipping a knife into their chest.
The warehouse stood empty as Sherlock turned the USB stick in his hand. One copy for John, burnt to a crisp in front of Mary’s eyes. The other, a copy for the detective, everything he needed to prove just who she was. Now, it came to a few small details; just where her loyalties lie… And Sherlock was judge and jury.
Hearing footsteps behind him, he turned around, smiling faintly as he held the stick up. “Mary, Mary… Oh, I can’t remember the stupid rhyme.” He stepped closer, his gaze fixed on his best friend’s wife. All he needed to know was that John would be safe. Tossing the USB into the air, he caught it again with one hand, stopping feet in front of her. “But then, the nursery rhymes always were Jim’s forte, weren’t they, Augusta.”
Had he bothered to light the warehouse, he might have caught the faint glint of a knife before it plunged into his chest. He may have even found the time to step to one side. Instead, he found himself greeted with a sharp pain, his gaze widening as he reached for Mary, feeling the weight of his body causing his legs to give way. “M…Mary. No.”
