Chapter 1: The morgue is yours

He never saw it coming. The first blow to his head stunned him. It was clear that to some point, John Watson needed something to release his inner pressure or better SOMEONEā€¦

"You can never shut up, can you?!" Watson screamed, punching the detective straight in the face. Sherlock's head connected hard with the door behind him. Concussion, he thought dazed. Another blow followed, hitting his cheekbone. "You always want to have the last word! Always want to be this great genius detective, who solves every crime. I show you what I think of your high functional brain!" The fist landed in his abdomen, sending Sherlock to the floor. He didn't dare to say any more word, deep in his heart knowing that he deserved all of this. In the back of the morgue, he could see Smith standing there. He's enjoying all of this, Sherlock thought. Before he could make another analysis of the man who sure as hell was a serial killer, a final vicious kick landed full force into his rib section, taking his breath away. While fighting to stay conscious, five employees entered the room, pulling away the furious doctor. "Let him do what he wants," the detective spoke, blood seeping from his nose. "He's entitled. I killed his wife." Blue, sad eyes meeting the ones of John Watson, which he once called his best friend. Cold, hatred eyes stared back at him. "Yes, you did," the blogger said, turning around and leaving the morgue. Sherlock tried to stand up, steadying himself on the wall. Smith watched him with his ugly smile, seeming to enjoy every moment of his suffering. "Don't fool me again," the old doctor whispered in Sherlock's ear, while the beaten detective tried to make his way out of this place. "I'll get you Smith. I know what you are and I will find a way to proof it. Be sure of that." Sherlock replied and then he left.