A/N: this was written about seven months ago when I saw everyone doing 221b challenges. Feel free to leave a review!

Disclaimer: I own neither the characters nor the BBC Sherlock (or Sherlock Holmes) story lines.

I was running, pushing myself to the limit, not allowing my stride to break as I counted out our pounding footfalls. The sounds of our passage echoed off the dark alley walls. A noise ahead alerted us to the presence of the perpetrator. Completely in synch, John and I pushed forward at a faster pace. I could feel my heart hammering in my chest; hear it thundering in my eardrums. We turned the corner, John leaping over a puddle that I was unfortunate enough to step in. Water soaked into my pants leg as I pressed on. We could see the murderer now; he was twenty meters away and closing rapidly.

I momentarily broke stride as the sound of a gunshot startled me and a searing pain tore across my side.

"Sherlock? Are you hit?" John asked urgently.

"It's merely a scratch," I assured, forcing my burning muscles to hold out as we raced up the street. The criminal reloaded his gun but seemed to have trouble firing it. Taking advantage of his distraction, John pulled out his own revolver and shot the dangerous killer.

"Good shot, John," I complimented, hurrying to the culprit's side and attaching handcuffs. As we turned the man over to the custody of Scotland Yard, it occurred to me that I'd be lost without my blogger.