Mary smiled at John's reaction, she'd got quite fond of the soldier while taking care of him in the hospital.
'Get your jaw off the floor John, never seen a nurse pistol whip someone before?'
Sherlock and John laughed, mostly out of overwhelming relief.
'You…are a surprise Mary' John smiled.
In less than a minute Mycroft's men had reached the roof, surrounding the helicopter and removing the bodies of Moriarty's henchmen. Mary took a blade from a pocket and freed John and Sherlock – just as Moriarty himself began to stir.
'Oh god…' came a groan from the floor.
With one hand, Sherlock scooped Jim off the floor by his jacket collar and dragged him out of the helicopter. John noticed with satisfaction his cheek was turning a dark crimson colour where he'd been hit, the cheekbone was almost certainly broken.
As soon as he got outside Sherlock grabbed a pair of handcuffs from one of Mycroft's men and soon had Moriarty secured, throwing the semi-conscious man down on the concrete roof.
The sun had lowered across the trees surrounding the hotel, casting an orange glow on proceedings.
John felt happier than he had in ages as he descended from the helicopter with Mary. He couldn't help feeling warm inside as he saw how beautiful she looked in the sun, with her hair blowing in the wind, her combat trousers and boots. When would he ever meet a woman like this again? Steeling himself, he got the courage to ask.
'Listen, I was wondering…if you. Mary. You know, do you get any…free time?' he coughed awkwardly. 'Sorry. Do you, um, want to…?'
She looked vaguely surprised, then understood.
'Friday at 8? I'll come to yours' She smiled.
'Yeah, that'll be great.'
Back on the ground, Moriarty was hauled into the back of an unmarked black van by two of Mycroft's men as John and Mary stood on watching from a distance. Sherlock had followed Moriarty and now stood about four feet back from the van. As Mycroft's lackeys went to close the doors he held up a hand.
'Give us a minute.'
The men nodded and withdrew, leaving Sherlock and Moriarty alone.
As Moriarty regained full awareness of his surroundings and the world came into focus he saw the silhouette of Sherlock stood at the end of the chipboard panelled van.
'Who hit me?' he asked.
'Never mind. I told you that you'd lost, and you've lost.'
'Spare the victory speech Sherlock, my head is killing me…'
'No, LISTEN TO ME' Sherlock smacked his palm against the side of the van 'what you did to John...was…Look, I don't know what Mycroft is going to do to you. I don't know what hellhole he will throw you in, or if you'll ever get out. I doubt you will ever see the light of day again, and if I have any say – you won't. But I'm telling you this now, don't you ever, ever touch him again.'
'Are we done?' Moriarty grunted from the floor.
'Yes. We're done.'
Sherlock slammed shut the van doors and tapped on the side, letting the driver know he could go.