(Alice’s POV: )

A minute or two later, the Chief Superintendent walked out onto the street holding a handkerchief to his bleeding nose.

“Are you all right, sir?” Some officer asked. A bit away, Sherlock had been leaned against the side of a police car, facing it. Now John was slammed up against the car next to him and to his left, and me to his right. Sherlock looked across to John with an amused expression on his face.

“Joining me?” He asked sarcastically.

“Yeah,” I answered, chuckling.

“Apparently it’s against the law to chin the Chief Superintendent,” John continued. “And to punch a police officer,” He added, looking pointedly at me, who shrugged. Behind us, a couple of armed officers unlocked the cuff on Sherlock’s right hand and transferred it to John’s right wrist, chaining the boys together. They hooked me to his other wrist.

Sherlock looked over his shoulder, watching what the officers were doing and where they were standing.

“Hmm. Bit awkward, this,” Sherlock said to John.

“Huh. No-one to bail us,” John replied. I pursed my lips. My family could. Perhaps he had forgotten.

“I was thinking more about our imminent and daring escape,” Sherlock answered as he looked down at the radio lying on the dashboard of the car we were leaning against. The radio squealed as the dispatcher spoke.

“All units to two-seven,” The dispatcher ordered. John looked round at Sherlock’s previous statement as I began picking the lock on Sherlock and I’s cuff.

“What?” He asked sceptically.

“All units to two...” Rapidly Sherlock reached through the open window of the car with his hand that was still attached to me (yanking me around quite violently) and pressed down on the talk button. Instantly the officer behind us doubled over in pain and grabbed at his earpiece as a high-pitched squeal of feedback ripped through it. Sherlock reached behind him and pulled the officer’s pistol free, instantly raising it. As it was in his left hand, John’s shackled right hand was yanked upwards as well and he gasped in surprise at the rapid turn of events. Sherlock called out as he aimed the pistol towards the nearest officers. I was still trying to pick the lock, but was failing miserably.

“Ladies and gentlemen, will you all please get on your knees?” Sherlock shouted. Nearby, Lestrade whole body language was just screaming the face that he was freaking out. When nobody reacted very quickly, Sherlock raised the gun skywards and fired it twice.

“Now would be good!” I added for him. He lowered it and pointed it at the police again.

“Do as he says!” Lestrade commanded. He gestured everybody downwards and all the police started to kneel. We started to back away.

“Just-just so you’re aware, the gun is his idea. I’m just a... you know...” John stammered. I rolled my eyes. Sherlock transferred the pistol to his right hand and promptly aimed it at John’s head, my wrist being dragged along with it. I groaned.

“...my hostage,” Sherlock finished. John gasped.

“Hostage! Yes, that works – that works…!” John whispered to Sherlock and me. We continued backing away from the kneeling police. I looked behind me to make sure I wouldn’t trip over anything and noticed a new piece of artistic graffiti had been sprayed on the wall of the house on the street corner. In red paint, huge letters spelled out “iou” at least three feet high and were surrounded by an elaborate dark set of angel’s wings. I looked away as we began to back carefully around the corner.

“So what now?” John asked.

“Doing what Moriarty wants – I’m becoming a fugitive. Run,” Sherlock explained somewhat. He turned and began to race off down the road, dragging John and I along with him.

Around the corner as we ran along side by side by side, Sherlock looped the loose chain between the handcuffs around his wrist with both his hands.

“Take my hand,” He commanded, grabbing Johns hand and trying to grab mine.

“Sherlock, just let me pick the lock!” I complained. He gave me a stern look and grabbed my hand.

“Now people will definitely talk,” John mumbled as we raced onwards. I rolled my eyes.

 Sirens were approaching at the junction ahead of us. Sherlock swerved to his left and dropped the pistol in the process. It clattered to the ground and I looked behind myself at it.

“The gun!” John announced, voicing my thoughts.

“Leave it!” Sherlock ordered. He shoved John down a side alley and yanked me as the police car raced straight across the junction. We ran down the alleyway and reached high railings blocking our way. Sherlock quickly ushered me onto a dustbin and over the railings, not letting go of my hand. Then, with his customary flair, he followed. John, being an adorable short-arse and also not as close to the dustbin, was left behind; his right hand was dragged upwards and his face almost smashed against the railings as Sherlock dropped to the other side.

“Sherlock, wait!” John almost-shouted. He reached through the railings with his free hand and grabbed Sherlock’s coat, dragging him closer and glaring into his face, pulling me into his back.  “We’re going to need to coordinate,” John said sternly and clearly. Sherlock quickly scanned all around us as I backed up from his coat.

“Go to your right,” Sherlock instructed.

“Huh?” John asked, not paying attention. I groaned.

“Go to your right,” I repeated. He looked upwards and went up onto his tiptoes to get the chain of the cuffs over the top of one of the spikes at the top of the railings.

Not long afterwards, we were on the same side of the railings and running down the alley again. Reaching a T-junction, Sherlock turned to the right, then immediately braked and ducked back again as a sirening police car raced past the end of the alley. We leaned against the wall catching our breath for a moment. Sherlock gave my hand a supportive squeeze.

“Everybody wants to believe it – that’s what makes it so clever,” He began, looking to John.

“A lie that’s preferable to the truth,” I commented, looking across Sherlock to the doctor. Looking away again, Sherlocks voice became bitter.

“All my brilliant deductions were just a sham. No-one feels inadequate – Sherlock Holmes is just an ordinary man,” he continued angrily.

“What about Mycroft? He could help us,” John suggested. He grunted as Sherlock dragged him across to the other side of the alley and peered down the left arm of the T-junction. “Or Alice’s family?”

“A big family reconciliation?” I scoffed a little.

“Now’s not really the moment,” Sherlock finished. He spun around, dragging John in a circle behind him as he looks back the way they came. John spotted something at the end of the right arm of the T-junction.

“Sher... Sherlock,” He called. He elbowed him with his cuffed arm to turn him in that direction. A face was peering around the corner at the end of the alley. “We’re being followed. I knew we couldn’t outrun the police,” John said solemnly.

“That’s not the police. It’s one of my new neighbours from Baker Street. Let’s see if he can give us some answers,” Sherlock corrected. He broke in the opposite direction from where the man was watching them. Running to the next corner, we flattened ourselves against the wall as we reached it and Sherlock looked around the corner. There were no sign of any police in the street but a double decker bus – the number 74 to Baker Street Station – was approaching. Sherlock pressed himself back against the wall again and looked at me. I looked back up at him. His face was blank… or at least I think it was. I’m not sure what he was thinking.

“Where are we going?” John asked.

“We’re going to jump in front of that bus,” Sherlock said flatly, still not looking away from me.

“What?!” John asked, eyes wide. But Sherlock was already on the move and dragged us both out into the street, holding my hand tightly still. The assassin raced after us. Halfway across the road, Sherlock screeched to a halt directly in front of the approaching bus. John’s impetus carried him past Sherlock before he was able to turn. I whimpered a little and Sherlock gave me a not-very-reasurring glace.

Now we were all facing the bus and not moving. The assassin charged into the road, threw himself at us and shoved us out of the way and all four of us tumbled to the ground as the bus drove past, its horn blaring. Before the assassin could recover, Sherlock sat up and dragged the man’s own gun from his jeans, then cocked and pointed it at him.

“Tell me what you want from me,” He ordered. The man stared at him wide-eyed but didn’t speak. Sherlock moved the gun’s muzzle closer to him, my hand hanging limp underneath it and looking rather silly. “Tell me,” He insisted.

“He left it at your flat,” the assassin said, looking at us like it was obvious.

“Who?” Sherlock asked.

“Moriarty,” He answered, speaking in the same tone.

“What?” I asked, furrowing my brows. All of us started to get to our feet, Sherlock still holding the gun on the other man.

“The computer keycode,” the assassin clarified.

“Of course. He’s selling it – the programme he used to break into the Tower,” Sherlock realized.

“He planted it when he came around,” I added. Three gunshots rang out suddenly and the assassin reeled and dropped to the ground. I stepped in front of Sherlock out of pure impulse as he stared up in the direction the bullets came from, then swung around and we raced off. As police sirens approached again, we ducked into an open doorway as yet another police car drove past the end of the road. We took a moment to catch our breath again.

“It’s a game-changer. It’s a key – it can break into any system and it’s sitting in our flat right now,” I said, more to John to anyone.

“That’s why he left that message telling everyone where to come. ‘Get Sherlock.’ We need to get back into the flat and search,” Sherlock continued.

“CID’ll be camped out. Why plant it on you?” John pointed out.

“It’s another subtle way of smearing my name. Now I’m best pals with all those criminals,” Sherlock answered. John spotted a pile of newspapers nearby and he picked up the top copy.

“Yeah, well, have you seen that?” I asked, pointing to the paper. It was a copy of “The Sun” telling of the upcoming exposé by Kitty Riley. John showed it to Sherlock and me.

“A kiss and tell. Some bloke called Rich Brook,” John muttered. Sherlock slowly turned his head – clearly the name meant something to him. John was still looking at the paper and doesn’t see his expression, but I did. I gave him a look but he didn’t look at me.

“Who is he, then?” I questioned.

I am so sorry! I know I've said this the last few updates but I really am! I had major writers block this time, and I started school again I'm really sorry. Thank you for sticking with me, those of you who had.

Enjoy, vote, and comment patient peoples.