a/n: a very belated (or very early) birthday gift for the wonderful johnsarmylady:-)

Sherlock and his friends do not belong to me.

Pursuit part one

A dark, damp, unfriendly, graffiti-clad subway;

He stumbled down stairs in the fast-fading light.

Behind him, rang echoing footsteps, much closer;

The crack of percussion, as bullets took flight

And scattered. One shattered the strip light above him;

He flinched as small splinters spun down, skimmed his face

And ducked into shadows, all instincts fear-sharpened.

A locked

And blocked doorway;

A poor hiding place.

~0~

Pressed flat against cold, cracked, glazed tiling, he listened

Intently to boot crunched on glass, whispered voice.

He counted the odds which were stacked up against him;

No exit, no weapon, no mobile, no choice.

Each tension-filled second stretched out as he waited

Whilst all shaded spaces were cautiously scanned.

A dim pool of torchlight glowed eerily stronger;

Now almost upon him.

Game over.

Last stand.

~0~

He tried to untangle events of that evening;

The call he had answered, the trap neatly laid.

Escape then pursuit through the grim city wastelands;

Caught out, caught off guard, and a price to be paid.

A brief exclamation, a rumble of laughter;

As light framed the edge of his crouched silhouette.

He flexed aching muscles, breathed slowly and deeply;

Uncoiled his position.

Defeated?

Not yet...

~0~