Disclaimer: I don't own, I wish I did.
Sherlock faced the young thug who was currently holding a knife to Mrs Hudson's throat.
"You do realise that you're far too stupid to get away with this?" he sneered.
Mrs Hudson whimpered.
"Shut it old woman!" the youth growled, giving her a shake.
Rolling his eyes, the consulting detective sighed.
"Really, you have absolutely no style. Do you have to be so rough?" he spoke as if to a child.
"What's she to you anyway? She your old mum? Shall I cut her?"
Sherlock shrugged dismissively. "She's only my landlady, it's nothing to me what you do to her; I just abhor your lack of finesse."
A frown creased the young man's face.
"What?"
"Well, how about you let the lady go, and try your luck with me?" Sherlock challenged.
"Nah, you're probably tooled up under all that fancy clothing."
His eyes never leaving the knifeman's, Sherlock slipped his Belstaff off, laying it carefully to one side. His suit jacket followed, and then he rolled up the sleeves of his pristine white shirt.
Pushing Mrs Hudson aside, the youth took a step forward his knife raised, and then froze as he felt the barrel of a gun pressed against the back of his neck. John stepped up and spoke softly.
"Always pays to know what's coming at you from behind."