Disclaimer – You recognise it, I don't own it.
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No time to think. No time for anything but action.
John had never been much of a formal fighter. Any club would have thrown him out after his first fight. If they even let him finish it.
He wasn't even sure that the MMA would let him try.
He was all elbows and knees and hard edges. Aiming at joints and nerves and limbs.
But it always gave him an edge over normally trained people. At least normally trained people, who hadn't gotten beyond blue belts.
The sniper turned to face him, the rifle falling to the ground. Wasn't much use as a weapon in the close quarters John had managed to achieve. And he closed the distance even more when the sniper went for a second gun strapped to his chest.
One broken wrist and a toss later, the gun was out of play.
He went for a knife, but John disabled the arm at the elbow this time.
Then it was all fists and feet, knees and elbows.
Before long John had the man pinned down on the floor. One knee pushed into the small of the sniper's back. One hand wrapped firmly around two wrists, not even caring about the amount of pain he was putting the sniper through, with the broken wrist.
His other hand was rummaging through the vest pockets looking for the usual equipment that Ben always put in the vests.
Just as he expected, he found the zip-ties and took no small pleasure in using them to restrain both the wrists and the ankles.
"My wrist!"
"Be quiet." John squeezed the broken wrist slightly, "Could be worse."
He frisked his prisoner for additional weapons. He found none.
He hadn't even studied his prisoner's face. No need. First get all the important things sorted out, then deal with him.
It was just like surgery in a way. Always deal with the most immediate problem. See it all the way through to the end, unless another more immediate problem occurs.
Tail. Sniper. Moriarty. And everything in-between he needed to deal with.
"Behave." John idly tapped the sniper's shoulder.
He rounded up both the gun and the knife, tucking both away. Never knew when they might come in handy. The rifle was slung over his right shoulder.
He rolled and gently probed at his left, checking for any further injuries or issues with movement. None immediately presented, but he knew he would be feeling the strain the next day.
A quick assessment of the rest of his body confirmed that diagnosis. It also informed him that the sniper was a trained fighter. Skilled. Disciplined. But also far more used to knife fights. Most of the movements had been slashing or stabbing in nature. Someone surprised falling back on what they knew and understood.
Weapons secured, John turned back to the sniper.
He hauled him back, a good distance away from the ledge and leant him against one of the air-con units.
Finally he took in the sniper's face.
"Colonel Sebastian Moran." John blinked in surprise.
"You recognise me." Moran replied, "Holmes tell you?"
"I read your autobiography." John shrugged, "Therapist suggested it as an example of how I could write. I couldn't put it down."
"A fan." Moran puffed up with pride.
"Best bloody laugh I'd had since I got shot." John snorted, "Took two days for the grin to fade from my face. I mean seriously how did you not kill yourself with laughter writing that thing?"
"It is an autobiography."
"No. You want everyone to think it's an autobiography. It's a hundred per cent fiction."
"What would you know? You're just a washed up doctor."
"Washed up Army Doctor with the rank of Captain." John countered, getting out Gladstone, "And at least I Served. Which is more than I can say for you."
"I am a Retired Colonel."
"No." John shook his head, "No you're not. You never even enlisted."
Absently John was stroking Gladstone, an old habit he'd picked up from the previous owner all those years ago.
"What are you doing with that?" Moran noticed Gladstone.
"Your boss likes games, doesn't he?" John smiled.
"So? He likes to be entertained. You're not entertaining."
"No. Not to him." John shrugged, "But we're going to play a game. It's called Russian Roulette."
John opened up Gladstone tipping the bullets out into his hand. Five bullets rolled around.
He put his hand into his pocket, before removing it, with only one bullet between his finger and thumb. This bullet he put into the cylinder.
He spun the cylinder, then twisted the revolver so that it snapped shut. He then pulled the hammer back.
"I ask a question. You don't answer. I fire." John smirked, "Maybe you've got five chances. Maybe you've got one. That's your choice."
"I would die for Jim."
"Who said I would kill you?" John laughed, "That's so plebeian of you. I'm a Doctor. I know just where to shoot you so that you'll live… In excruciating pain, of course. But you'll live."
John squatted down, to be at eye level with Moran. He saw when Moran saw it in his eyes. The coldness. The ice. The fear was almost palatable.
"You see, I'm not like you, Colonel." John sneered, "I don't kill unless I have to. I don't go round shooting man-eating tigers. Who aren't really. Simply desperate, hungry animals being pushed out by humans and hunted for their skins. I know the human body. I could leave you paralysed forever. Unable to move. Unable to talk. Unable to even control your bladder. But able to hear. Able to feel. How long do you think your boss would care for you after that? A day after the diagnosis was made? An hour? Do you even think he cares about you?"
John almost wanted to roll Gladstone's barrel down Moran's cheek. But he knew that would be overdone.
"Wh… Wh… What… I'll never tell you anything." Moran managed to get out.
"Yes. You will." John smirked, "Question one. Who else does your Boss have snipers aimed at?"
"Go screw yourself."
John carefully aimed and pulled the trigger.
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Please Review.
I would also like to thank my last reviewers:
Gabriel Dragonheart – Good try, but no. TC is for Three Continents
Aracil – Cliffhanger again. I'm fond of writing them. And John's a little more ruthless than most people think.
MJ'sMom – Glad you like. Hope this meets expectations.
Shadowgal ANBU – You're welcome. Hope this is tasty enough for you.
Jinx1435 – Never disparage the Army. They are Lions.
FlameingWings – Couple of good guesses there. But no, I never pegged John as an assassin. Not his style.
Angelwings23123 – Your wish is my command. And yeah, John's not a push-over.
Thanks once again.