One hour. Two hours. Three hours. The post-military man had not arrived at 221B. Mrs. Hudson would be back very soon. Sherlock had phoned her to make sure she was alright; she was at a friend's playing some card game. If she arrived before the post-military man, it would complicate things.
Four hours Sherlock had been sitting in his arm chair. He began fidgeting.
Five hours; it would be dark soon. Sherlock wasn't sure the idea of being retrieved when it was dark was quite as favorable.
A text on his phone made him leap into action.
I told you no police.
Police? There were no police! Unless…
Glancing out his window, Sherlock could see nothing unusual. He couldn't see Lestrade from his vantage point, but that didn't mean he wasn't out there. His phone buzzed again.
Hope you don't care about him. I'm not waiting any longer.
Sherlock's heart very well may have stopped for a moment. Lestrade wasn't John. Lestrade wasn't who Sherlock considered a close companion, but he always had been a companion. He had been there when no one else was, or at least he'd tried to be. Lestrade was an idiot, but he was also one very intelligent man who Sherlock suddenly felt himself becoming strangely worried about.
No. Stop if you expect me to help you. I was honestly unaware of any police, but I'll get them to go away if indeed they are here. Wait only twenty minutes more.
Sherlock texted the unknown person, and didn't get a reply. Hoping he had twenty minutes; Sherlock called Lestrade.
"Hello?"
"Lestrade," Sherlock's voice was harsh. "Get out of here."
"What?"
"You're in danger. I happen to know there is an agent out there that's high above your class. My brother's people are trying to deal with him, but you're in the way."
"What? What are you talking about? You're interrupting my date!"
"Date?" Sherlock was genuinely confused. "Aren't you outside 221B?"
"No."
"Who is? There's someone from the police, and they're in danger."
Lestrade cursed softly, before he replied to Sherlock.
"Yeah, don't know what you're talking about. I've got to go."
"Lestrade!"
The line went dead.
Sherlock frowned. Lestrade was outside 221B, Sherlock was sure of it. He was in danger; stupid officer, didn't he know better than to get involved in crimes like this? These were high above Scotland Yard, only the Sherlocks of the world -of which Sherlock knew there were few- could deal with these.
Staring out the window, Sherlock saw thing unusual. He tried to look into the windows on the building on the other side of the street, but it was far too dark. Something unusual began to speed up his heart and breath, leaving Sherlock feeling almost uneasy.
Opening his window subtly, Sherlock listened for anything useful. There was a noise from what he believed to be the side alley. Sherlock's phone rang.
"Hello?" Sherlock cursed the slight waver in his voice.
"You were right, and my partner just got shot!"
"Sally?"
"No, you don't know him. He's usually not my partner, but he agreed to help me here-"
"Lestrade? Lestrade!"
Sherlock could hear talking on the other side of the line, but it was an unknown voice.
'On your knees,' the voice was rough. 'Drop the phone.'
"Lestrade!"
'Don't move.'
Sherlock evened his breath, but even he couldn't ignore his deeper-than-usual breaths or escalated heart beat.
Tearing from his flat, Sherlock turned the corner to the nearby alley. Indeed there were two shapes down there: one on his knees, the other holding a gun to the first's head. The man with the gun also had a traditional black ski mask. Good, Lestrade hadn't seen his face.
"Drop the gun. I'm here."
The man with the ski mask glanced at Sherlock before nodding.
"I have unfinished business here, Sherlock. You get on your knees too."
"No, I don't believe so. He hasn't seen your face, you can let him go. He honestly doesn't know what's going on. I did not call the police. He's a friend who, stupidly, decided to watch out for me, apparently."
"I really don't know what's going on," Lestrade agreed. "Just for the record."
The man in the ski mask hesitated, then shoved Lestrade.
"Get out of here," Ski Mask growled, "And don't even think about coming back or getting help."
Slowly, Lestrade rose, his eyes locking on Sherlock.
"Sherlock?" he asked uneasily.
"Get out of here," Sherlock agreed.
Lestrade hesitated again, then began to walk slowly out of the alley.
"What the hell have you gotten yourself involved in?" Lestrade muttered as he passed Sherlock, but unsurprisingly he got no reply.
Eventually he was gone, and the man in the ski mask turned to Sherlock.
"You have it?" The man asked, receiving a nod in reply.
"It's hidden on my person and I will give it to your boss once John is safe."
"You're coming with us."
Another man was suddenly at the end of the alley, and the first nodded.
"Come on, there's a car waiting."
"What about…"
"He should be here by now; if he doesn't show up, we leave him behind."
"I'm here."
A third ski mask man appeared, and the first nodded.
Leading the way to a car parked at the end of the alley, Sherlock was showed into the back seat. The three men entered behind him, and then the car drove smoothly from the alley. It was gone in moments; moments before a fourth ski-masked man appeared in the alley, searching for the car with a frown.
John had been stuck in the parlor for what seemed like hours. In fact, a dinner-like meal had been served to him by the Colonel. It was far more and better food than John had received during his imprisonment. According to the Colonel, he was to look good for 'his detective friend': Sherlock.
Now that he wasn't tied and drugged in some basement, this Colonel person was almost civil to him. John still didn't trust the large man, but he decided that he trusted him a little more than whoever was orchestrating the whole situation. This man didn't have the characteristics of your standard Colonel. He was a little too rough around the edges, and John wandered if perhaps he had been promoted due to some traumatic accident as was prone to happen. Perhaps that could explain this man's obvious PTSD?
John watched the Colonel carefully, trying to do some kind of Sherlock investigation of the man. Although he was sure that Sherlock could have done more, John found out that this man had been in India for at least a time. Beyond that, John was sure that this man held a strong grudge against Sherlock, but indeed he didn't seem to hold the same grudge against John. John wasn't sure why the grudge existed, but he was sure that the Colonel would not be nearly as civil with Sherlock as he had been with John.
He continued to call John 'Doc.' John discovered that the Colonel had some respect for military doctors. Perhaps John could use this to his advantage?
The Colonel had disappeared some thirty minutes ago and not returned, so John had taken to examining the beautiful painting that hung on the walls. When he heard a door slowly opening, John spun to see the Colonel approaching him with some rope.
"Sorry Doc," the man shrugged. "I have orders. Sit down there."
John uneasily sat and waited as he was tied to the chair. Moments later another man was escorted into the room. John couldn't see his face, but he appeared to be older. He was placed in a large arm chair facing away from both John and the door. Another person extracted some rope and went through the motions of tying the older man as well. John wondered who this was.
"Here," the colonel stuffed a gag into John's mouth. "Sorry Doc."
John fidgeted when all of the obviously grunt workers stood back, making room for more to appear. John's eyes widened when the door opened once again, and this time someone very familiar was escorted into the room by four masked men.
Sherlock.
Sherlock was not tied up, but three guns were trained on him. John figured this was probably enough inspiration not to run, even for the great detective.
"John?" Sherlock looked deep into John's eyes, silently asking if John was alright. John nodded slightly.
"And now?" Sherlock asked the Colonel, recognizing him immediately.
"We wait. Please sit, Mr. Holmes," the Colonel spat, and Sherlock perched himself on the edge of a chair, obviously prepared to spring into action should the need arise.
"What are we waiting for?"
"You to stop asking questions," the Colonel sneered. Sherlock quieted.
And then, a previously ignored television screen flickered to life, an all too recognizable face appearing. Monologue accompanied the slightly moving lips, a mantra filling the room.
"Did you miss me? Did you miss me? Did you miss me? Did you miss me?"
AU: So it is Moriarty?... Review please :) More will hopefully be updated sooner than how long it took to update this! Also, if you're a Harry Potter fan, please check out Hard Cold Truth by RolledUpInOne, a story co written by me and RolledUpInOne.