No sooner were the words out of her mouth than John reached forward and splayed his hand across her face, pushing down and pressing her cheek into the table.
"Is he coming here?" he snarled softly.
Her answer was to try to bite him, so he moved his fingers to tangle them in her hair, his painful grip holding her still.
"What now?" Sherlock asked staring down in disgust at his brother's trusted employee.
With his free hand John pulled out his phone, hitting the speed-dial. It was answered almost immediately.
"Keith, we may be expecting company. Keep your eyes peeled." Cutting the call he answered Sherlock's question. "I need you to search for those contact names, they're your brother's lifeline."
With a hum of agreement he headed first for the lounge, rummaging through the papers near the telephone, and then turning his attention to the bureau in the corner.
An overflowing bin caught his eye and he tipped it up, quickly scanning every crumpled sheet.
He finally found what he had been looking for and bounded back into the kitchen, John was on the phone
"Barrymore's on his way, we've got to go." John said.
But Sherlock's eyes were drawn to the woman slumped limply at the table.
"What happened?"
"A mild contretemps," John explained, "I'm afraid her neck's broken."
