It never rains in the desert. It just storms in the middle of London.
It was strange, it was even being talked about over the radio and on London news stations. There had never been such a raging thunderstorm in central London before, and that's what the main problem was, it was only central London, nowhere else. Everywhere else it was a pretty nice day considering.
And if they'd known where to look, they would have realised that the centre of it all was the one and only Scotland yard. Where, currently, they were holding a suspect, a Mr. Dean Winchester for the murder of multiple persons, four victims, all known to the man and all having died only hours after being seen with them.
The victims were found strangled and bound, their bodies hidden in trunks of cars in an old car yard once owned by the man's foster father, Bobby Singer. A place that Dean had sworn he hadn't visited in over three years before the old man had died, not wanting to be reminded of the things that had gone down there. Of course, it didn't look good for poor old Dean, especially since all four victims were found with the man's business card in their pockets, with only his fingerprints on the card.
* * *
Dean slammed his hand down on the metal desk in front of him, the handcuffs on his wrists rattling. They'd left a while ago now, almost three hours, leaving him there to soak in his own juices or something and Dean was getting angrier and angrier-he was hungry, he needed to use the fucking bathroom and not only that, they fucking thought he'd killed his friends. He could never kill Ash or Ellen, and especially not Jo or Pam! They were his only family.
"For Gods sake, are you listening to me?!" the man yelled and the skies outside seemed to crackle louder. He could feel them out there, he could FEEL them. "I know you're out there, come on, I need the bloody bathroom."
* * *
"We caught him driving out of town," Lestrade laughed, looking over at Sherlock. "He says he was going on 'holiday', but there were no bags, nothing in his trunk, and besides, it's completely obvious that he did it, all the clues point to him, the evidence. There's nothing to implicate anyone else at all. What do you think, Sherlock?"
