Mirror Mirror

Chapter 1

Notes: I will try to use headings to denote a POV or a Universe shift. If this is confusing, please let me know in the comments and I'll try to course correct as I finish this story.

Mirror Universe: John's Point of View:

John threw the brick and hit Jameson in the back of the head. The ginger-haired, orphanage director stopped running, staggered and hunched over with his arms covering his head.

"Don't! Don't. I give up, please," he shouted at John who finally caught up with him. He'd picked up another fallen brick in his grip and had every intention of braining the son of a bitch if he even thought about trying to run again.

"Hands behind your back," John growled into the man's ear as he wrenched his arms painfully up behind his back and snapped a pair of cuffs on him. It was after 1:00 am in the morning, and he'd cornered him in an alley between a closed-down pub and a heavily secured warehouse located next to the orphanage.

"You can't treat me this way. I'm bleeding, I can feel it running down my neck. Please, you're a doctor, Watson, help me," the middle-aged director moaned holding out one blood soaked hand. "I think I'm concussed."

"It's what you deserve, bloody tosser," John said. "You ran when Sherlock told you to stay. You've been found out. You think I'm going to go easy on a git like you? You stole from a fucking orphanage, a home for disadvantaged children for Christ's sake. And, if Sherlock hadn't figured it out, you'd still be doing it right now!"

He gave Jameson's bound arms a pull causing him to cry out in pain. He pushed the man's head roughly forward by his hair to look at the wound left by the brick. It had already bled copiously and the man's dress shirt soaked up the blood. Well, John rationalized, head wounds bled. A lot. The abrasion would need stitches to stop the bleeding. None too gently, he pushed the idiot face first into the brick wall so he pull out his shirt from his trousers."

"What are you doing?" Jameson wailed.

"Relax," John said. He reached up under the man's shirt and used his pocketknife to cut a large section of his cotton vest away. He folded it up into a pad and pressed it to the bleeding wound.

Jameson yelped in pain, but John continued pressing. With his other hand, he reached into his pocket and fished out his phone. He pressed speed dial and waited for Sherlock to answer. When the detective picked up he said, "I've got him in the alley behind the old Boar's Head Pub."

"Hold him there, John. I need to find the hidden records his accomplice hid or we'll have no proof he's done anything wrong. They're somewhere on the third floor of the children's home. I need more time," Sherlock commanded. "Is he injured?"

"Yeah, he's going to need the A&E," John responded with a weary sigh. "How much longer?"

"Patch him up yourself. We may have to detain him a bit until I find the records," Sherlock said. "Do not let him go, and keep him out of sight of the cameras! See if that pub has a back room you can break into."

"Sherlock, I've already been cited twice for breaking and entering. Third strike and NWI will make me serve time," John said through gritted teeth. "I can't keep getting caught doing illegal things, or I'm going to be the one they cart off to Incarceration."

"Stop whinging, John and do it!" Sherlock said using his full command voice. You didn't used to be such a dead weight. Are you here to help me or hinder me?"

That stung. Usually, the detective took John's well-being and personal safety into consideration before making dangerous demands. But lately, he'd wanted more and more from him.