Overflow Post II
This post is for responding to prompts from prompt posts that are full, or continuing WIPs that were started on prompt posts that have since filled up or are close to full.
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A flick of hesitation flashed in the woman's expression.
"Go ahead, shoot me!" Anderson braved a step forward, "I am an obstacle in your grand plan! If you don't end this right now, I will be the one who makes sure you spend the rest of your miserable short life behind the bar!"
"Take the pill, Mister Anderson," she repeated, "Don't you want to play the game? You could have won. Or you could find out more about how I beat and outlived four people. Aren't you curious?"
"All I care about is stopping you," he took another step forward, gaining his momentum, "I don't see how my death is going to help accomplish that. You've got the police out of their depths. I was their only hope."
"Oh come on, don't ruin this, Mister Anderson," the woman laughed bitterly, "We're playing an elegant game. Blood spatters would only turn it messy. Your fan wouldn't want me to end it like that."
Anderson stopped on his track with an involuntary grin on his face at the implication. "My fan?"
"Yes, your fan." The serial killer embelished, "He is quite obsessed with you."
The glee left Anderson's face as fast as it came, "Oh, it's a 'he'."
"Don't be like that. I heard he was quite good-looking."
"Irrelevant."
"Fine," the woman waved her gun again as a warning, "Back to your seat. Now."
"I told you to shoot me," Anderson frowned, narrowing his eyes critically, "But all you've been doing is distracting me with idle chats. I wonder why."
"I told you I didn't want to disappoint your fan. Now back to your seat and we can renegotiate."
"I've got it," The consulting detective sneered, "The gun. It's fake, isn't it."
"I assure you this baby is one-hundred percent real," she replied grimly, "Now, don't be difficult Mister Anderson. Don't make me do anything both of us will regret."
"I knew it!" Anderson could feel the tension leaving his body, patting himself on the back for another good deduction well done. "You have been telling me to play a game. Well how about you, playing my game instead."
"You don't know what you're talking about."
"Here's the game. I will try to tackle you down, while you try not to get tackled down. You're welcome to use the gun, or rather, the lighter, to try to stop me."
"This is your last warning, Mister Anderson! This gun if quite real!"
"It's great that you sound so convincing. You are wasted as a cabbie. You'll make a brilliant actress."
A brief moment later, things were moving so fast Anderson could only recall it in a blur. He remembered being tackled to the ground, a hoarse shouting of 'NOW!!!', and a couple of gunshots. A second later, he opened his eyes to find Mycroft lying next to him, groaning in pain.
"Oh God no," Anderson gasped, rising up and moving quickly to pull the man in to his arms, "Mycroft! Mycroft, are you okay? God please be okay!"
Another muffled groan was heard, not far from them. Anderson froze as a familiar figure strode past him to approach the serial killer, who was lying on the floor with a large spot of blood on her left shoulder, gasping for breaths. She was dying.
"You said Anderson had a fan. Obviously he was the power behind you. I don't know what he offers you to commit all those murders and I don't care. Give me a name," DI Holmes barked, hovering a foot above her open bullet wound, "You don't have a lot of time. Don't make these last moments hurtful. Now tell me! Who is it!"
"It's..." She choked out with her dying breath, "Lestrade."
XXX
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