The gunman aimed his gun at the door, clearly intending to fire before it opened. Anyone could be on the other side of that door. As the door crashed in, Mycroft shoved Maryanne into the gunman, causing his shot to go wide and lodge in the ceiling.
Doctor Wells, hid in the corner. He tried to make himself crawl over to Greg, but he was frozen in place. He wasn't trained for field work.
Sherlock crashed through the door, John right behind him. Seeing the henchman trying to take aim at the detective, John didn't hesitate. He took aim at the gunman and fired, hitting him in the shoulder.
Sherlock swept the gunman's legs out from under him and, once the man was on the ground, fell upon him, pinning him down.
The DI got to his knees, a bad feeling settling over him upon seeing the guns. Everything happened so fast his head swam, but when he saw the henchman's gun fly free, he threw himself on it. It was all he could do.
Once she caught her balance, Maryanne lashed out mindlessly at Mycroft. She scraped one well-manicured nail across his cheek, slicing it open. He grasped her wrists and held on tight. Not yet conceding defeat, she kicked at Mycroft's shins as she tried to twist away.
With her henchman restrained, John concentrated on subduing Maryanne. He placed the muzzle of the gun to the base of her skull. "I wouldn't move if I were you."
Anthea and a small team, having been alerted by John, arrived a few minutes later. As they took Maryanne and her cohort into custody, Mycroft rushed over to Greg who was sat with his legs bent in front of him. He looked terrible.
"Hold on, Gregory." The elder Holmes gently removed the tape from the DI's mouth whilst Sherlock picked the handcuffs that were restraining him.
Greg took the first deep breath he had managed in hours. "Mycroft, you idiot. Why did you just walk in here like that? She could have killed you." He sounded angry and physically pained.
"I had to know..." Mycroft swallowed hard. "I had to see you for myself, to know you were okay." He cupped Greg's cheek. "I'm so sorry, Gregory. This is my fault." If he had only deduced Maryanne's identity and intent before everything had gone to hell, the DI wouldn't be in this position.
"It really wasn't." The DI leant into Mycroft's touch, letting his eyes fall shut. He was tired and just wanted go home. "It was Maryanne's fault no one else's.
John crouched down by the couple. "I hate to interrupt, but the medics are here."
Greg groaned. "I don't need medics. I need Mycroft to take me home."
"Don't be thick," Sherlock said walking over. "If you won't go for yourself, go for my brother. He'll fret endlessly until you do." With resignation, the DI nodded.
Mycroft looked around the room at Lestrade's team, busy securing the crime scene. "I assume you are responsible for the presence of these individuals?" He asked.
John shrugged. "I felt I could trust Anthea and her judgment on who to include in a rescue."
"Well done, John." Mycroft moved aside for the medics. "I'll stay with you, Gregory, if you promise to let them take you to hospital and patch you up."
"Alright," the DI agreed. He stood, painfully, determined to get to the ambulance under his own power.
The elder Holmes walked close beside him. He would be there if he was needed. He wouldn't leave Greg's side, not for any reason.