AN- Okay, this is a slightly violent chapter. Just a little warning for you all. Someone really should take the gun away from Moran until he's learned not to be a bastard.
B
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John didn't know what he expected but it wasn't this. There was a gun pressed squarely to his chest, he was sure that he would have more time that this to get himself out. The soldier fought hard to maintain a level head.
"Will they still love you with a hole in your chest?" Moran asked. The gun moved down lower, to point at his crotch. "What about a hole here? Then they can both have you at the same time." John bit his tongue to stop himself from blanching. He stared down the sniper, he was not afraid of bullet holes.
Bang.
The soldier was breathless, his ears were ringing again. Pain had been forced off of his mind in a whoosh of adrenaline. He was supposed to be looking for something; John couldn't quite remember what it was. On a whim, he looked down to find a bloody mess. For some reason, the mess looked strange to him. The soldier frowned as he tried to puzzle out what was wrong with the wound. As it hit him like a freight train, a voice sliced through his concentration.
"As if there's any point making a hole there, you won't be getting out alive." The voice sounded bored. John's euphoria came to a sudden halt as he realised he had a bullet lodged in his abdomen somewhere and was now bleeding profusely from two sections of his body. The pain set in a millisecond later and he nearly blacked out from the force of it.
John's realisation was followed by a sudden dread, he had to move now or he wouldn't be getting out alive.
Steve was worried. They had managed to stop Sherlock and Jim from fighting but now they were wholly focused on getting John back. Seeing them wholly focused was something that he hoped he never witnessed again. The TV had been turned into a computer monitor, to which Jim had brought up his network. The laptops were spread out across the room, with different images and videos. The two genii were flicking from screen to screen, point out little insignificant bits of what they saw and deduced mountains. Steve and John's other friends were trapped in the hailstorm, unable to get a word in edgeways but unwilling to leave.
"-this was precise, the kidnapped had to know exactly where John would be. Or where to find him-" Sherlock whipped round to face Victor. "Who were you with when John saved your worthless life?" He growled. Victor offered an affronted look.
"I am not wor-" The glares he received from the two genii halted his tongue. "Uh… I don't know." He finished lamely. Jim raised an eyebrow.
"You don't know. Someone has tied you to a chair with all intents and purposes of killing you and you don't know who it is?" Victor shook his head, the whole night was a bit fuzzy, probably due to the vast extent of alcohol he'd consumed afterwards.
"I think I was set up." He answered. "Because I got a text from you to go to some house for something so I did. Then I was jumped and taken to the basement. Some guy started shouting questions at me, I had no idea what they wanted. Then John showed up and shot the bloke."
Jim Moriarty had become very quiet as his client was speaking. Tim noticed and took a step back, he knew a coiled snake when he saw one. The criminal's lip curled up into a snarl, there was only one man who knew enough about his organisation to contact Victor feigning to be him.
"Moran." Sherlock stopped everything he was about to say to Victor and turned to the consulting criminal.
"Moran?" He asked, the pieces of the puzzle slotting in place. Why they hadn't thought of him before, of course Sherlock knew. He was not kidnapping John to get at them, he had a grudge against John himself. The detective scowled, an expression mirrored on Moriarty's face; they'd both automatically decided that they had to be the cause. And that had cost them twelve hours.
"Is Watson's life in immediate peril?" Steve asked. Sherlock glared at Moriarty.
"Yes. Moran is a sniper, one who was dishonourablely discharge-"
"You're talking about that Moran. Sebastian Moran? Crazy sniper that never followed orders and liked shooting people a little too much?" Connor butt in. The detective nodded.
"This would also be the 'crazy sniper' that Moriarty left alone with John once before." Sherlock growled. "And we both know how that turned out." The detective's heckles were raised now, his attentions turned to the consulting criminal. Jim's lip had curled into a snarl once more.
"Enough!" Steve ordered. He was not about to let the two men sink back into petty squabbling while John's life was on the line. "You can leave the bickering until we get John back or I swear I will kick you both out."
Both men looked as though they were going to complete disregard the threat but something made them hold back, something probably John related.
"Right. We will get back to the plan then." Steve sighed, turning his gaze to the table were the map lay. Moriarty set to tracking Moran, both through the security tapes and by using some other kind of tracker that the ex-military soldier guessed was a phone GPS but couldn't be certain. After hearing John's stories, he wouldn't put it past this 'Jim' to install tracking devices into his workers. Perhaps without their knowledge. Going by the sheer amount of equipment just in the room they know resided in, he could probably pull it off too.
John made sure not to give a single tell that he was about to move. He looked up sluggishly, taking in any weakness he could, then he attacked. As he did, the soldier yanked the blade from his shoulder and lunged forwards with it. His feet were still bound to the chair so he could only go downwards but that was okay as he would take the sniper down with him. The doctor felt the blade in his hand penetrate the skin and then hit bone before the handle flew out of his hand, Moran sank to the floor clutching at the gash. John cursed, he'd been aiming to slide the knife between Sebastian's ribs and puncture a lung or perhaps get the heart if he was lucky. Still, any wound should slow the sniper down for a bit. John went to grab the rope around his ankles, managing to loosen them up a bit before he had to bring his arms back up to defend the blows from his attacker.
The doctor noticed the gun on the floor, it had flung from Moran's grip when he'd been tackled to the floor and now was out of reach for the both of them. For the moment anyway. John pushed himself so he was on top of the sniper, his legs pinned Sebastian's arms to his side and as he was still attached to the chair, the criminal couldn't pull his legs apart and escape. That did stop Moran from trying though, kicking at both his legs and those of the chair to try and get them to break. John threw all the punch which landed squarely on the criminals nose. The crack resounded through the room, closely followed by a howl. In the corner of his eye, the soldier saw the blade was with arms reach. He didn't even have to thick before the blade was securely in his grip again.
There were many things that John could have said at this point, many ways he could have gloated and prolonged the time taken so he could further relish in the death of this foul being. He didn't. John just stabbed down, this time the blade sliced through the muscle between the ribs and hit vital organs. The soldier didn't leave it to chance, he dragged the dagger back out and slammed it down again. He stabbed and stabbed until he couldn't physically lift his arm any more. John brought the blade down and cut himself free of the chair then collapsed onto the cooling corpse, too tired to move. The blade fell from his grip and he couldn't quite find the will to pick it back up again.
The Baker Street Crew had formulated a plan to get John out. Jim had narrowed down possible locations to three sites and from there they had deduced which of the three was most probable. There was to be no outside help, the people in the room where both the break out team and the backup. Steve was in charge of the overall mission, which came as a surprise to himself especially- he had been certain that Sherlock or Jim would have taken control but they seemed content to just let him lead. Connor had the position of sniper and lookout, he would be on the rooftop opposite. Oddly enough, there were infrared goggles and sniper kit in the flat, no one asked questions. Tim was to be outside as well, but he was by the door. Sherlock and Jim were the ones who would go in. When Steve had asked them whether they had done anything like this before, they just laughed.
With everything set, the crew made to leave Baker Street but their path was blocked by an elderly woman in a purple cardigan. Steve knew she was the landlady but other than that she just looked like an ordinary old lady. What was odd was that both Sherlock and Jim treated her with the utmost respect, something that they didn't seem to bother with when faced with anyone else.
"John's gotten himself in trouble again, hasn't he?" She asked, though it was clear she knew the answer. The crew looked around the room, unable to meet her gaze. "That man is the greatest good either of you will ever come across. Lord knows he puts up with your destructive behaviour, Sherlock. And you Jim, well I can hear just fine in my old age and I know what you put him through." Jim was about to say something but thought the better off it and scratched the nape of his neck. Mrs Hudson nodded once. "So we're clear then." She hummed. "You two will look after him properly and treat him properly because he deserves it. Now, before you go on your little mission, I've packed you some tarts." Sherlock began to protest but he was shot down instantly. "You have not eaten in three days." Mrs Hudson admonished, forcing the box into his arms. There was nothing more to be said, not if they wanted to leave anytime soon, the box could be discarded later anyway.
Jim lead the way through the back streets, taking the same route as Moran had most likely taken so to avoid the CCTV. Well Jim wasn't entirely certain that his second in command couldn't view his security footage, the man had access to pretty much everything. They also didn't want to alert the British Government to their escape, just in case Mycroft decided to halt their progress in the hope that John perished before they arrived. There was no doubt that the elder Holmes knew of John's imprisonment, he knew everything that went on in the city. Sherlock swallowed the anger at his brother and turned his full attention to the task in hand. The detective took a leap between two rooftops, his enemy-turned-associate following him in a heartbeat. Tim, Connor and Steve skidded to a halt, nearly falling into each other and flying over the edge, down into the alleyway between. Sherlock and Jim turned, confused. John had never had a problem with rooftop chases, they'd thought it was an army thing. Apparently not.
The ex-military group gave each other apprehensive glances, making the mistake of looking down into the alleyway. It was a long way down and ended in a very hard landing. On the other side, Sherlock and Jim were looking at them with folded arms. They weren't going to wait much longer and Steve knew that going against the plan in such situations often ended with fatalities.
"Right lads, looking like we're taking flying lessons." He said, taking several steps away from the edge. Before he could be told that it was a very bad idea, or talk himself out of it, Steve ran. For a moment he thought he'd miss-stepped and his heart fluttered but the tiles met his foot and he took his chance to leap. It wasn't as graceful as the first two men but he managed it. Two thumps beside him alerted him to his friends joining them on the next rooftop as well.
"Took your time." Sherlock grunted. Then they were running again.