"Sherlock," Mycroft's surprised voice drifted over the line, making Sherlock grit his teeth at his brother's superior tone. "To what do I owe this pleasure?"
"This isn't a social call, Mycroft."
On the bed, John's eyes widened when he realized that Sherlock had called his brother.
"When is it ever? What do you need, brother?"
"Information and protection."
"Protection? What have you gotten yourself into this time, Sherlock?"
"Not for me, for John." The detective ignored his friend, who was shaking his head quickly with an irritated expression on his face. "There's an assassin after me, some woman named Elizabeth Durbin. She's a part of a cult called the Ivory Flowers, and she's planning a trap and is going to use John as bait."
John's eyes narrowed at this revelation, but he didn't say anything.
"I'll have my people get right on that and send an agent to your flat."
"We're not at the flat, Mycroft. We're at Bart's Hospital."
"Why are you at the hospital? Are you hurt?"
"Calm yourself, brother, I am fine. It was John that was hurt."
The last part was a whisper, and guilt once again flared up inside of him.
"Well, send him my condolences. The agent will be there as soon as he can, so try not to kill yourselves before he gets there." The line went dead and Sherlock sighed. He would owe his brother for this, but it was worth it if it meant that John would be protected while he went to hunt down the assassin.
From what Sherlock could tell, she thinks that she had managed to trick him, meaning that she wouldn't feel the need to run for her life, and was probably still in the hospital.
"Sherlock," John's voice cut through his thoughts, and he realized that he must have been called several times before. "I don't need a bodyguard."
"John, that nurse could have killed you today, and no one would've known it was her. In a hospital, it would be too easy for her to slip you some poison, or give you a lethal dose of painkillers."
John grumbled, but didn't argue after that. There must have been some morphine left in his system, because he was asleep soon after that, leaving Sherlock with a tough decision. He could go after the fake nurse and bring her in before she managed to strike again, but that would leave John defenseless. On the other hand, he could stay with his friend and lose this chance to take down a killer.
No, what was he thinking? John was more important, and there would be other chances. So the detective settled himself into his chair and waited for Mycroft's agent to arrive.
()()()
It took the man exactly forty-seven minutes and twelve seconds to arrive. By that time, Sherlock was fuming with anger. He could've caught the murderer by now, but instead he was forced to sit and protect his friend because this idiot couldn't drive faster.
Of course, he didn't mind sitting with John and watching over him, seeing as this whole thing was his fault, but he did mind the fact that a very dangerous assassin was walking freely in a hospital. So, when the agent arrived and settled himself in front of the door, Sherlock ignored all of his attempts at being friendly and stalked out of the room.
He checked in with the front desk, but Elizabeth had already left for the day. He had to use his "borrowed" police badge to convince the secretary to tell him where she lived, and then he was in a cab, heading for the apartment the nurse was renting.
A quick search revealed that the apartment was empty, of people and furniture. The only thing testifying to the fact that someone did live there was a sleeping bag and wooden briefcase in the farthest corner.
He opened the briefcase away from his face, extremely glad that he did when a liquid that looked suspiciously like acid sprayed out of it. When it stopped, Sherlock turned the case towards him and looked inside. He found blow darts, various vials of clear liquid, and a small folded up piece of paper that turned out to be a letter.
Elizabeth,
Your initiation has finally come, and we couldn't be more proud. You were given a very difficult person to dispose of, but we have faith that you will succeed. Here is the basic information you will need to know about your target.
Name-John Hamish Watson
Hair color- Blonde
Eye color- Blue, Grey, Brown. Has condition called central heterochromia.
Height- 5'6"
Your target is protected by a dangerous man called Sherlock Holmes, which is the reason this is such a hard task. If you succeed, you will have proved that you are ready to fulfill your role as director of the Ivory Flowers. Be careful, be smart, and be quick.
The note wasn't signed, but there was a stamp on the bottom of the paper, a black flower with sharp petals. After reading the note, Sherlock felt sick. He wasn't the target, John was. And he had left him alone at the hospital with no protection other than a idiotic guard. With a small gasp, Sherlock remembered something. He had forgotten to tell the guard to not let any nurses in. And he had left the window open.
()()()
While Sherlock was gone, Agent Crawford was guarding one Dr. John Watson. He stood outside the door, blocking it with his huge presence. He had been told by Mr. Holmes, and Mr. Holmes' brother to guard this man with his life. Of course he was curious, but it wasn't his place to know any of these things. So, he followed orders and protected his charge.
"Excuse me?" Agent Crawford started and looked down. A nurse was standing in front of him, holding a tray with a syringe on it. "I need to get into this room and administer these painkillers to the doctor."
Crawford had no idea what to do. He had been told to not let anyone in, but he didn't want to incur the wrath of the Holmes brothers for leaving the doctor in pain. Eventually, he let her in, not noticing the way the doctor's eyes widened slightly at the sight of her.
He didn't see Dr. Watson try to call out, only to have the nurse's hand slap over his mouth. He missed how there was a brief struggle that lasted until the sedatives kicked in. And he was oblivious to the fact that when the doctor was unconscious, the nurse dragged him over to the window and hauled him out onto the balcony, where she climbed down a rope, taking the doctor with her.
It wasn't until Crawford turned around to find a completely empty room that he realized his mistake. With shaking fingers, he brought his phone up to his ear and pressed number one on speed dial.
"What is it?" Mycroft Holmes' voice sounded in his ear. Crawford gulped and considered not telling him, but he knew that he'd be in even more trouble if he did.
"Sir, um...Dr. Watson…"
"Yes, what about Dr. Watson?"
"Sir, he's been...kidnapped."
"How?" It was only one word, but it sent shivers down the agent's spine.
"I let a nurse in...she said she had to give him painkillers...now they're both gone."
"Right. Well, you're fired. Turn in your suit and gun and never let me see your face again."
Mycroft hung up and Agent Crawford was left feeling more depressed than he had in a long time. So caught up in his own self-pity was he, that he spared not one more thought to the doctor whose life was now in the hands of one of the world's most dangerous assassins.
