No Vacancy at 221c: A BBC Sherlock Fanfic

Hope

Sherlock jumped down into the pit with silent feet, his tall figure back lit. He ignored Celestia and kept his eyes on James, his gun extended and aiming at the man's head as he crouched over Celeste. James's own weapon was jammed mercilessly into Celeste's temple, pinning her head to the ground.

A flicker of surprise passed over James's eyes, that were filled with an eccentric glow. He turned his head to the detective and laughed sharply. "There's no point, Holmes. Go ahead! Shoot me; I dare you," he challenged carelessly. "But I promise you that if I die, the girl goes with me."

Celestia tried to force her breathing, that had been coming in gasps and sharp intakes, to even out so that her pounding heart would slow. But this was to no avail. Her mind was screaming with protests and regrets and memories and her head throbbed as it started to feel lighter, evidence no doubt of the blood loss she was experiencing. The cold stone scraped at her face and the metallic smell of blood rose from the pool that was collecting under her severed neck. They were in the middle of the crevice and while she could hear a voice behind her, her face was turned the opposite way, and she was unable to see her attacker or Sherlock. His deep voice had momentarily cut through her foggy mind and set a small spark of hope ablaze in her heart.

"Ah she is a pretty little prize isn't she, Sherlock? Don't worry. She won't be when I'm through with her." He jerked her head around, her neck cracking painfully. She tried not to look at Sherlock, instead looking into the eyes of the crazed killer. All at once images came flooding into her mind and her muscles clenched at the unexpected sense of betrayal and anger that welled up within her. In the blink of an eye it was gone, and Celestia had yet another chance.

"James, pay attention to me," she said calmly as his other hand brought the knife back up to her face, absently tracing a pattern over the air in anticipation. Her words caught in her throat, but she forced them through painfully. He paused and looked back at Sherlock who hadn't moved and stared back down into her colorless eyes. "What happened to Christine was an accident, and I'm not her, James! You have to see that. You can't just kill everyone who reminds you of her!" Her voice was desperate, pleading with him to understand reason.

His features went slack and his hold on the gun loosened. "How did you know about that?" He demanded in a conflicted whisper.

The harsh glow of modern lighting pierced the darkness and cut off her reply. Two police men jumped into the hole and detained James. They were forced to sedate the criminal after he began to thrash about wildly. The gun that had been left on the ground and the knife that lay on her abdomen were removed gently and a shadow shielded Celestia's eyes from the bright lighting.
"Celestia..." John's voice was hesitant and as her head turned to face him he inhaled quickly. He knelt down beside her and put his hand over his mouth. He reached out to grasp her hand and squeezed it gently. "Sherlock? Come here please." Her eyes were dilated and glazed, looking up at him blankly.

The detective concealed his weapon and took his time in obeying the wide eyed doctor's wishes. "That went better then expected," he announced as he strode over the rough stone floor. "I was beginning to wonder if we'd get you out alive," he mused, still not looking down at her. "You're alright I presume?" he asked, almost as if he had been forced to.

"Sherlock, do you call this alright?" John replied sharply. He pointed to her pale neck where a jagged 'JW' had been carved and was now leaking scarlet droplets that trailed over her smooth skin.