BBC Sherlock Imagines

Sherlock: The Queen of Crime

Collab with myfirstnameisagent

Yo yo yo

What up homies

It's your two favorite authors

(italics is dryizzle)

(Bold is myfirstnameisagent)

So we decided to collab, which will either be reeeeaaallly good or really bad.

Hopefully really good.

Hope you enjoy this, after so long it's finally happened.

We know you've waited your whole lives for this

After an hour of talking and staying up past midnight (well for me)

(9 for me)

We have created this masterpiece. Without further to do (that's how you say it I think)

Here we are

~

You carefully placed the gun, looking through the scope. You knew this was probably the easiest kill you would ever make, for you knew it had to point back to you. Your finger carefully placed on the trigger, you finally allowed yourself to pull as your target stepped into the right place. A smirk tugged at your lips as you watched the scene unfold.

***

Sherlock sat, well, more like perched, on the couch. His eyes focused on his new client. The woman opened her mouth to speak, but instead of words, a gargling like sound came out. The light in her eyes died as crimson began to stain her white blouse, she collapsed. John quickly stood and kneeled down beside her, feeling for a pulse as he let out a variety of well thought out curses. Sherlock's eyes widened for a moment before he leapt up, kneeling beside the woman's opposite side. He examined the wound the best he could, the bullet had pierced her heart, careful aim was required. The blonde's eyes soon became glazed over like freshly cut glass, "Dammit!" John muttered and looked around. Sherlock hopped over the body, barely dodging John as he looked through the window, a small hole from where the bullet had entered. The detective carefully peered through to find a figure a few buildings over; (h/c) locks illuminated by the moonlight, (e/c) eyes bore into him.

"I'm calling Lestrade," announced John, breaking Sherlock from his watchful trance. "She's," he closed his eyes for a moment, as if hating himself for not being able to save her, "she's already dead."

"Maybe she should've sat on the other end of the couch."

"Sherlock!" scolded John. But the curly haired detective ignored him, still staring out the window. The figure had disappeared, but his curiosity hadn't. Who would've wanted to kill this woman? He eyed her plain clothes and bland hair, purposefully trying to ignore the pool of blood that formed around her, hair matted to her forehead. Police sirens sounded in the distance and he caught lights from the corner of his eye, cutting through the cold London night. Sherlock rolled his eyes.

"You actually called Gabe?"

"Greg, and yes I did. He's the police, there's been a murder, that's usually how it goes." John said rather bitterly. Sherlock was about to ask who this "Greg" person was, when a knock sounded at the door.

"Here already? That's a new record, faster than when I needed your help for the best man speech-" Sherlock was pushed back from the force of a women entering the room. A bright red fingernail prodded into his chest, a woman, dressed in an impressive amount of leather, dragged poor Mrs. Hudson in along with her. The old woman trembled as the mysterious woman adjusted the large gun hoisted on her shoulder. The sound of a gun clicking filled the room as Sherlock turned to find John, his gun aimed at the (h/c) haired woman.