Summary
Sequel to "A Silent Night In Belgravia"

After the festive season is over, the three friends start the new year with a bang, mainly on top of Mrs H's bins…

A Silent End To Belgravia

Silent Searches

Waking up on a the first morning of the new year, Rose heard the morose sounds of a sad violin. Sighing at the thought of the seemingly depressed man who had been playing for days, she got up to have a shower, trying to think instead of a new year - a second chance perhaps - the soft sounds of the playing man lulling her awake slowly.

By the time she got out of the hot water however, towel wrapped around her, she noticed the flat was silent again. Quickly getting dressed in her usual black clothing, comfy trainers for a change, she pulled her still damp hair up into a loose bun, letting it dry naturally for once.

"Sherlock…?" She called, mind set on checking on the man upstairs, she soon found she was alone in the flat, his violin discarded in his chair, bow set beside it. Must have been in a rush, she thought, knowing he'd usually put it away properly. Frowning, she went to put the kettle on, making a cup of tea before going to pick up her box of cigarettes. She was about to light one when there was a knock at the door.

Sighing, she thought she could wait a little longer and went to answer the door, hoping it was a client; they could all do with a distraction right now.

It wasn't a client she found a the door though, eyes flying open at the sight before her; four suited men barged in through the door, three trying to pick her up while the last just closed the door behind them.

One of the men grabbed her, trying to pin her down, but she got in a few punches, kicking another in the side of the knee before they finally managed it, though she still fought as they dragged her up the stairs, literally kicking and screaming for her flatmates, praying Sherlock was just getting dressed in his room.

No such luck though as they grabbed the chair by the desk and threw her down in it, punching her in the face as she tried to get up again.

Feeling her lip split, she decided to take a different approach, tongue darting out to taste blood, stomach turning in response to the copper on her tongue.

"Okay, so let's talk." She tried, speaking quickly so they'd hear her. It just got her another punch to the face. Trying to shake it off, she looked up to the man punching her, control of her language forgotten at the violence she was receiving. "Have I pissed you off or something?"

The two men behind her took an arm each then, holding them back roughly, the man in front of her punching her in the gut - hard - taking the air out of her instantly.

Coughing, she spluttered out a quiet, "That's a yes then…"

The fourth man made his presence more known then, walking forward and clicking a round of bullets into place.

Rose groaned as she recognised the man, rolling her eyes in annoyance but coughing before groaning a small complaint. "Fucking Americans…"

The man just punched the other side of her face, ring cutting into her cheek. This may be a good time to stop talking, she thought absently, mind spinning slightly from being punched in the face so much.

The other two held her in place as the third kept watch while the leader just stood in front of her, holstering his gun and rolling up his sleeves; doesn't mind getting his hands dirty then, she thought. His word's contradicted his action's though. "I don't want to hurt you-"

"Then stop punching me?" She interrupted, expecting the punch her threw at her.

Dropping the façade, he demanded what he came for. "Where's the camera phone?"

"What camera phone?" She replied innocently; that got her another punch, this time closer to her eye. She could already feel the skin swelling slightly, knowing she'd have a black eye for more than a few days after this.

"Where is it?"

"Don't know what you're-" She was cut off however by a particularly hard punch to the ribs; not enough to break any, but enough to leave a wide range of pretty colours for her to find later on.

He lurched forward, getting right in her face. Snatching a handful of her hair he jerked her head backwards painfully. "Where is it?!"

She remembered Sherlock saying a while ago, if she ever did get into a sticky situation - such as this one - winding up her captors would put them off their game, make them slip up and make it generally more likely that she'd live through it.

Having just given the strange man a general agreement at the time, she also thought that if it went wrong, they'd probably just kill her sooner.

Better be right, Sherlock…

Hoping this really was the right approach she just taunted him further. "Piss off…"

Twisting her hair painfully, he threw he backwards, the two men holding her letting go as their boss - she assumed - pulled out his gun again, aiming it right between her eyes.

"Three." He threatened, voice tight.

"I don't know where it is." She replied seriously.

"Two!"

"I don't have it!" She implored, not backing down in her fierce eye contact with the deranged looking man, not showing any of the fear that ran through her.

"One!" He said with resolve, cocking the weapon.

"Go on then!" She taunted, her old street habits coming to her in that second, teeth bared slightly, lip curled back, welsh accent slightly more pronounced under the pressure she was under; she could die in the next second, with no back up, no Sherlock, no John and no way out what so ever.

Before he could pull the trigger however, the man at the window caught their attention. "He's here."

Pulling the barrel upwards, the American grinned, coming to stand next to her, gun trained on her temple. "No use in a dead hostage." He told her.

They only waited a few seconds before Sherlock walked in calmly, however Rose could see the fury burn in his eyes as he scanned her first before turning icy eyes on her captors.

"About bloody time…" She told him, licking her bloody lips again but he could see the gratitude in her face, swollen as it was.

Without looking from the American's he answered. "Sorry I was so long…" His tone turned darker before some final words. "But I'm here now."

The man with the gun spoke up. "I believe that you have something we want, Mr Holmes."

"Then why don't you ask for it?" He replied, moving forward to check the young woman over more carefully; bruised wrists, split lips, in two places, cheek was also cut, black eye, severely bruised ribs.

"I've been asking this one, she doesn't seem to know anything." The armed man answered. Sherlock then noted her top just over her ribs had several threads torn; they've had hit her very hard to do that, he thought, eyes travelling to the man's hand, noting the tiniest black thread caught in the detail of his ring, the blood of his assistant and friend tarnishing the otherwise shiny metal.

"But you know what I'm asking for, don't you Mr Holmes?" The man continued, turning the gun onto Sherlock.

Sherlock felt a cold, deep anger take hold of him, burning through him like a bolt of lightning, mind instantly pointing out the armed American's carotid artery, skull, eye sockets, ribs, lungs and various other arteries…

"I believe I do." Sherlock answered darkly, thinking that he was more than asking for something far different than the camera phone. Stepping back, he got to work. "First get rid of your boys."

"Why?" The gunman questioned.

"I dislike being outnumbered; it makes for too much stupid in the room." He explained to them, Rose's lips twitching in a ghost of a smile, thinking that it was generally true.

After a seconds thought, the man told his boys. "Go wait by the car."

"Then get into the car and drive away." Sherlock amended. "Don't try and trick me, you know who I am; it doesn't work."

The men took one look at their boss - who nodded slightly - before going out of the room, leaving just the three of them. Rose didn't dare to grab the gun though; she didn't want Sherlock getting shot by mistake.

"Next you can stop pointing that gun at me." Sherlock said calmly, but Rose could still hear the tension in his voice. A little too controlled, she thought, worried about the man.

The American didn't lower his gun though. "So you can point a gun at me?"

"I'm unarmed." Sherlock informed him, holding out his arms.

"Mind if I check?"

"Oh, I insist." Sherlock replied lightly. Step one, get distance between the American and Rose; step two, take out the American.

Sherlock just waited as he was patted down lightly, patient until the gunman went around the back of him. Slipping a can of spray down his sleeve, he turned quickly, spraying the man in the face before head butting him sharply, knocking the man out, spinning the can in the air as the man fell back.

"Moron."

Kneeling down in front of her, Sherlock brought a hand up before realising that it was in fact Rose Spencer in front of him; not your average fragile woman. Settling for gently gripping her shoulder, her looked her deep in the eyes. "How bad did they get you?"

She just took in a deep shaky breath, wincing at her ribs, eye still swelling slightly, face aching painfully. She tried to laughing it off, a chuckle that was a bit more watery than she'd have liked escaping. Swallowing, glad it was only Sherlock there, she let her guard down a bit. "How bad you think?"

Seeing she was rather vulnerable, but not really knowing what to do here, Sherlock just tilted her face up so he could meet her eyes, seeing the tears starting to collect there. "I think you'll be just fine." He gave her a small smile, a shadow still in his eyes as he pulled a thoughtful face before adding. "After a cigarette that is."

She just laughed painfully, a tear escaping her better eye. "Need a new line there, Sherlock." She whispered, trying to ignore the state she was in.

Sherlock just wiped the droplet away with the brush of a thumb. "Hey," He said seriously, "You're safe now."

She just looked at him, a shaking hand going to cover her mouth as she closed her eyes as she nodded quickly, a few more tears escaping.

Knowing how she was with displaying emotions - Sherlock very much the same, only with the practicality of being less emotional - he gave her shoulder a squeeze before standing again, stepping back from her. "Why don't you put the kettle on?"

Not trusting herself to speak, she stood up quickly, moving to the kitchen to do as she was told. Flicking the kettle on, she leant over the sink, back to Sherlock as she quietly sobbed to herself, Sherlock setting to work in the next room, letting her have a cry in privacy.

Picking up the unconscious man, he dropped him into the chair Rose had just vacated, tying him up and adding duct tape to the man's face, not bothering with being gentle in the least, all the while planning exactly what he would do.

The man would soon learn that Sherlock Holmes was not a man to anger, certainly not when it came to his friends…