A/N: I know, I am a HORRIBLE person, but life got in the way. My uncle committed suicide, my friend turned out to be a manipulative bitch, and then school and depression. Sorry, guys. Back now. x
Maureen huffed in annoyance as they entered yet another store, the third one in two and a half hours. She had already chosen her paint, black and a dark forest green. Darcy, however, was indecisive. She still held Sherlock's hand, and pulled him wherever she wanted to go. John and Maureen obediently followed tins of paint in hand. "She's determined isn't she?" John remarked, as Darcy pulled an ever tiring Sherlock down the paint aisle. Maureen gave a light chuckle and nodded. "Very."
They stopped where Darcy and Sherlock had. "This one!" Darcy pointed to a deep, rich plum purple, the colour of Sherlock's shirt. "Are you sure?" Maureen asked, sharing a secret smirk with John. Darcy nodded enthusiastically, prompting Maureen to pick up two tubs. "Okay. Lets pay and then get out of here!" John laughed at her. "Eager to go much?" Maureen rolled her eyes. "How did you guess?" They walked to the till, and payed quickly, and walked out the store. Sherlock was feeling very tired after being dragged around three large stores, but he carried Darcy on his shoulders nonetheless. As they began walking down the street, a gun clicked from a side alley. Slowly, all four turned to face a ragged looking man, who had a long scar down the side of his face. "Mr Moriarty says hello." He smiled crookedly, and grabbed Sherlock's arm, hauling him and Darcy down the alley. John immediately went after them, but Maureen stayed behind, the tins of paint at her feet.
She quickly hit the panic button on her phone that sent an emergency text to her mother, Mycroft and Scotland Yard. Then she too ran down the alley after her uncle and sister. The mad man had Darcy in his grasp, and Sherlock was panicking trying to persuade him that he didn't want Darcy. John had his gun pointed, trying to threaten the man into letting Darcy go. There was nothing to do. The man had trapped himself between them and a wall, but they couldn't be certain that he wouldn't shoot Darcy before John could shoot him.
"POLICE! WE HAVE YOU SURRONDED! DROP YOUR WEAPON NOW!" Lestrade's voice came through a loud speaker, and they looked up to find police officers stood on the buildings above the alley. "How..." John started as the smile fell from the man's face. "Panic button." Maureen stated, smiling smugly at the crook. "Now unhand my sister you prick." The man surprisingly enough let go of Darcy, who ran straight into Sherlock's arms, and dropped his gun. Maureen stood close to her uncle, soothingly rubbing her little sisters back. Some officers came and handcuffed the man, and picked up his gun. John led them all to the end of the alley where Lestrade and Donovan were anxiously waiting. "My God, are you okay?" Lestrade was immediately there, checking Darcy and Maureen, and then John and Sherlock for injuries. "Fine, Greg thank you." John and Lestrade looked at Sherlock with shock, John mainly because Sherlock was not yet blaming someone for the incident. "I would just like to get my nieces home, to their mother." Greg nodded.
"Of course." Lestrade showed them to a sleek black car, that had Mycroft leaned on the side of it. "Your paint is in the back." John nodded as Mycroft approached to fuss over his nieces, and even Sherlock. "My God, Mycroft has a heart?" Greg chuckled at John's feeble joke. "Apparently." John turned to get into the car with the rest of them, when Greg's voice stopped him. "That guy, he was...sent by HIM, wasn't he?" John nodded.
"Yes." Greg paled, but forced a smile.
"Stay safe, John."
"You too."
And John entered the car.
A/N: This story may be on hiatus for a while as I am struggling to find inspiration, and I am sooooooooooooooooooo busy what with final year of school - studying and homework - and depression, and conventions and holidays. I will write when I can or when I feel inspired, but that might not be for a while. Sorry guys.