"Sherlock?" Dude called, waitin hopefully fo' some sort of response, all he heard was tha echo of his own voice against tha walls.
Odd. Y'all KNOW dat ****, mutha****a! Dude thought ta his dirty ***, beginnin ta rise from his seated posizzle on tha couch yo. Dude ****in started ta climb tha stairs ta Sherlock’s bedroom, callin up again. I aint talkin' bout chicken n' gravy biatch. "Sherlock?" his voice was a lil mo' urgent dis time, mo' panicked. Y'all KNOW dat ****, mutha****a! But dat done cooked up no difference ta tha sickenin darknizz dat surrounded his mutha****in *** yo. Dude ****in started ta move fast up tha stairs, ascendin at a ridiculously fast pace. "Sherlock!" Dude called up again as he reached tha top of tha stairs yo. Dude looked around, no signz of thuglife except his own.
Dude ran towardz Sherlock’s bedroom, tha door was shut, he banged on dat ****. "Sherlock, mutha****a! This aint funny!" Dude shouted.
"Sherlock, I’m comin in!"
"I’ll break tha bloody door down!" Dude spat.
Dude finally threw his body weight all up in tha door, causin it ta swin open. I aint talkin' bout chicken n' gravy biatch yo. His eyes scanned tha room, no Sherlock, window open, note on bed. Y'all KNOW dat ****, mutha****a! Dude ****in started gettin mo' n' mo' tense, unsure of what tha **** ta do yo. Dude rushed ta tha bed, tha smell of Sherlock rushed over him, he took it all up in as he picked up tha note.
Yo mutha****a Johnny-Boy!
Sherlock wanted ta come play wit mah crazy *** awhile, he was desperately hopin you would come n' join us, mutha****a! It be a jam afta all.
Regards, Jim Moriarty xx.
Attached was a picture of Sherlock, bound all up in tha wrists n' ankles, bustin not a god damn thang but a pair of white underwear yo. Dude was blindfolded yo, but Jizzy could almost fell tha burnin sensation of defiant eyes rush over his mutha****in ***.