So...it's been a while, and a bit short of a chapter. But I am back in the game! (And of course neither Pokemon nor Sherlock belong to me).

The road's clear, and John can't help but remember that the last time he was here, Hamish had been busy playing tree tag above his head, making it clear that he was going too slowly.

Hamish wasn't here now, but John hadn't forgotten the taunt. He sped up to a jog.

Really, ignoring the fact that there were trees literally everywhere around him and that the road had vibrant patches of grass at the edges, it was no different from the tree line of the village. It didn't look scary, which was the issue, and if the rumors hadn't put so much emphasis on 'random scary pokemon going to eat you', he was sure a lot more kids would be playing hide-and-seek in these parts.

He had played hide-and-seek here before, and nothing happened. Well, most of the time.

And then there was the bridge. A rickety, old rope bridge that never the less must have been stronger than it looked, supporting people and carts across the mini-gorge. Supposedly, the road makers wanted as flat a path as possible, but since the gorge only got steeper and wider as they searched, they made do with a bridge here. And some other places along the gorge, but here was what John used.

Normally, he'd cross it without thinking. Normally however, the gorge didn't look so deep, and his leg didn't twinge at the sight of it.

He could turn back, of course. Mike certainly couldn't look down on him for it, and it wouldn't take long to fetch an adult to do the search instead. Finding an adult that would help wild pokemon would be difficult, but if he pestered and promised a favor or two, they might be willing.

The thought sat poorly in his gut. He wasn't like that.

And it…wasn't that deep a drop. He was sure this bridge at least was repaired regularly, and wouldn't snap as easily as a tree branch would. And there was water at the bottom, and he could swim. Mostly.

So walking across should be no problem.

If he clutched the railing a bit harder every time he looked down, well…there was a pokemon in need. So no point in dillydallying.

You'd think finding an injured, partly 'smooshed' pokemon somewhere around a vine-covered rock would be easier. John had already check five different rocks, and even peered over them (as much as he could, at his height. His leg twinged at the thought of climbing them, and he hoped the pokemon had stuck to the ground).

At the sixth rock he'd managed to find some scuffles in the dirt. It led straight into a bush, where he found himself face to face with a cranky caterpie and had to duck a string shot.

John swore and reached for his slingshot, but the caterpie was already retreating, leaving a cloud of nasty fumes behind. Well, that one didn't look injured.

He was just about to give and check the road to the right of the bridge instead when he noticed a scrap of blue stuck in the bush. A handkerchief. And by the touch of it, silk. Who would use a handkerchief made of silk?

Wouldn't it get dirty?

The question floated in his mind, and it took a minute of staring to realize that it probably belonged to someone (rich, and not from his village in any case) and that someone had probably lost it. Recently too, since it was still in good condition. It was too deep in the bush to have fallen there, so…a pokemon must have been holding it!

Or an adventurous rich kid, but how many of those could there be?

Maybe…the pokemon belonged to someone, and ran away? And dropped it's handkerchief. John nodded to himself and checked behind the bush. He found a trail leading deeper into the forest. Looking closer, there were also a few dark spots smeared into the dirt.

What were the chances that this guy's pokemon was also the injured one?

If anything, it was a start. "Hamish," he called out, "can you see anything up ahead?" He waited a beat for an answering chirp, a flutter of wings. When there was none, he flushed. Right, Hamish wasn't here. Stupid pidgey.

He'd just have to scout ahead himself then. Right. Fine. He stuffed the handkerchief into his pocket and took off in a run.

It wasn't long after that everything went to pot.

He found the injured pokemon, right before it tried to tear him in two. It was white, with a blue scythe-like horn on its head, and that was all he saw before he had to roll to the side.

Why was it so violent? The usual pokemon he helped weren't this violent!

It took another swipe at his torso, and John scrambled to get up and away, because however good he was with a slingshot it wouldn't do him any good here.

And – Shit! He ducked under a razor wind – it was powerful, even while injured, and John ran and ran with it snapping at his back the entire way as they both teared through the undergrowth.

And then a bridge came into view, not the one he came on but any bridge would do at this point and John made a dash for it just as the pokemon leapt for the kill.

They landed in a heap on the planks.

The ropes snapped.