Chapter 9
Freedom
It became clear how improbable it was Simon Walker was John and the others' employer. His file was simple enough to find, recent history classified, arousing suspicion. The man was cornered quite easily. They trapped him on the rooftop of a building along with the woman they'd seen in the church. A significant portion of the London police force coming down on them.
Dimmock and Lestrade arrived on scene, two other officers at their backs. It was a peculiar situation when Sherlock made it to the roof to see the man calm and composed, pistol pointing at the four policemen holding their own sidearms at him. The unidentified woman was freaking out. She wasn't panicking, but she was kneeling on the ground with her head in her hands, mumbling nonsensical words.
He had Mycroft and his sworn enemy disappear on him shortly after the brief meet with John in the church. Not-John really. He couldn't call that thing John when it wasn't. The man in the church had been like a shadow of his dear friend. Sherlock's attention was drawn to the woman who'd taken to hysterically sobbing.
"What's wrong with her?" Lestrade demanded of Simon Walker, who was in control of his faculties and a potential threat.
The man, late twenties or so, ran his hand through short, ruffled blond-brown hair. He dropped the gun. "This is what they do to us and what can happen after. She's been on the drug for a prolonged period. She doesn't know what to do now that the drug doesn't control her. She doesn't know what to do with freedom."
"Whoah, whoah, what is she doing?" Dimmock lowered his arms, uneasy.
The woman was backing up to the ledge of the rooftop.
"Stop. Careful! You'll fall!" Lestrade warned.
Her head began to turn side to side. "We're not who we are. We're not..who..we are."
"Karen. Wake up." He looked to them. "Stay back. The police don't want to be involved in this. It'll only make things..messy. I let you get us up here because I need help. I'd hoped it'd come from your brother, Mr. Holmes."
"How do you know who my brother is? How do you know I have a brother?"
He liked to keep that fact well-hidden to avoid pesky requests. In this case, he was willing to accept since it involved John. Sherlock blocked out the still murmuring woman at the roof's ledge. It was the rooftop of a flat in a part of the city not far from Bart's actually. Hm..rooftops. He didn't like those so much anymore, not that he ever had an affinity for them prior to his fall.
Now that the man tossed his weapon, Lestrade was making it his mission to edge closer. He kicked the gun in DI Dimmock's direction when he reached it, cautiously lowering his sidearm. He regarded the person of interest.
"Your name is Simon Walker, an American field agent in the CIA. Recently involved in a top secret program. Why are you in London, Mr. Walker?"
Lestrade was asking because they'd been filled in by Mycroft before the man left to attend to secretive government affairs or whatever. They knew plenty about Walker, but not exactly anything that informed them of what his connection to John was. Well, except the mystery drug. He would like to know more about this drug.
"I do need to speak with your brother, Mr. Holmes. It is of the upmost importance."
"We're not who we are."
Simon jerked forward to grab at his disturbed friend. He was too late. They were startled to witness her let herself drop backward off the edge.
"Bloody fuckin' Christ!"
Lestrade raced to the spot where she dropped as though it would make a difference. He turned to the CIA agent, disgruntled and upset. "What was that? Did you know that was going to happen? 'Cause it looked like you did."
There was a sadness in Simon's eyes, but it was brief, and he returned to business with them. "I knew it was a possibility. The ones who were injected at the beginning of the super soldier project a year ago, seem to have a lot more trouble readjusting once the doses stop. Of late, they appear to have perfected the control element of the chemical. My source in our work to stop the project has gone quiet. Still, I did get one final piece of information. A mark for assassination right here in London, tomorrow morning during an outdoor ceremony. Can I speak to your brother now?"
/
Twenty minutes later found Dimmock and Anderson dealing with the suicide. Lestrade called Donovan, Sherlock called his brother out of necessity, and Moriarty just showed up. They relocated to a crowded pub where Walker could continue his explanation of the secret super soldier project.
Sherlock listened intently as the American told them about the bank man and lawyer, Victor Sloan, and the two founders, Cal Shaw and Myra Jones. The pair of them had been recruiting candidates for testing their drug and completing missions over the last year, sworn to be in the name of patriotism. They had a leading super soldier as well, who was not under the control aspect of the drug but with all the other benefits. Essentially, he sent the test subjects on their missions and ensured operations ran smoothly.
"I escaped from the project two months ago," Walker shared with the gathered five. "A man helped me get away. Got me off the drug and made me see what they'd been doing to me, to all of us. We were told it was a project to create better soldiers, fewer casualties. The man showed me their true intentions were much less patriotic. All along they intended the drug to completely control the soldiers so they'd have their own army of assassins. Widespread dispersal would allow them complete control of a city, a country, and beyond. You get the idea."
"The target. You know who it is?" Mycroft asked.
"Yeah. Chances are, you've heard the name yourself. He's a public figure. Big time CEO of a private company and I guess a former contractor the project has decided to get rid of. Found someone cheaper maybe. It was the final information I received before my guy went dark. He must have been discovered. Probably dead, or worse, dosed heavy. I remember what that was like. Worst feeling in the world being aware of your actions, but not being able to do a damn thing to stop them."
Sherlock already suspected. Now he knew. He leaned forward to have his suspicion confirmed. "Your inside man. What was his name?"
"Oh. Accepted into the program because of his military background and notable marksman skill. When he got me out under the condition I get others out where I could under the radar, he stayed right in the heart of danger. This guy was crazy. He knew from the start the project was bad and went in pretending to go along with the rallying cry of protecting the nation bullshit. So he'd be in a position to learn more and stop it. Had a woman with connections to the government who would be able to step in when he had enough on them. Bravest man I've ever met. I hope he's alright."
He raised an eyebrow at him and tensed, prompting Walker to recall the initial question. "His name was John. Captain John Watson. Managed to make himself one of the best of the soldiers in the project."
"This assassination is important?"
"Oh yeah. The target was heavily involved in the project. Knows way too much to not be a threat."
"There's a chance someone may come to oversee the assassination?"
Walker nodded twice. "A hit like this, there'll be a primary assassin, a team, and Parker will be there for sure."
"Parker?"
"Dominic Parker, former military, current leader of operations for the super soldier project. He's the one doping himself with the drug that's got it all except for the control factor. In my opinion, he basically runs the whole thing."
"Right. Let's get this Parker and find John," Sherlock decided, standing sudden.
Lestrade glanced the detective consultant's way, bothered. "And maybe save a man as well, yeah?"
"Yes. Right. Let's go."
Now it was Lestrade's turn to shoot out of his seat without warning. "What the-? Where the hell did he go?"
Sherlock glanced about. Their recent avenue of information slipped away without notice. Well, Moriarty noticed. He was smiling at them with no small amount of amusement. A moment later and he began to hum pleasantly to himself. Fuckin' insane people.
/
The following evening, 8 p.m.
CEO Michael Radigan's speech to the public and investors on the future of his medicinal company.
"I have been reliably informed this is the heart of activity for the private team of security hired for the event."
"And you're certain this Dominic Parker and his men are disguised as security?"
"Yes, a thousand times, yes, Sherlock. It doesn't take a genius to work that out. It's the best method of moving about unnoticed and this street right here rises. Perfect spot for a sniper to set up with the street closed off from traffic. Useful for slipping away when the deed is done."
"Mm."
Mycroft was rolling his eyes at his brother's inability to believe the information provided. Sherlock ignored and watched two cars with lights flashing following Greg Lestrade and Lieutenant Donovan in his unmarked vehicle. The manner of arrival was inadvisable. Of course, it was also inadvisable to have James Moriarty present with one of his thugs. This one was tall and dark haired and his brother would have a complete file on the man within the hour. Sherlock would rather keep it simple and kill Moriarty but his control on a web of crime made that a terrible idea, his brother frequently reminded.
No sooner did the police exit their cars when they identified the men posing as security. The men found them, hampering their ambush. Hardly surprising when the police decided to show up minus the subtlety. He restrained from rolling his eyes and studied the situation at hand.
An assortment of men in black combat gear and baseball caps were standing in a line across the street from them, coming from the narrow alleys between buildings. Some used the cover of parked cars while others stood in the open. All of them maintained expressionless faces and professional demeanors as they leveled their handguns or automatics. Them versus the handful of police and assembled but unlikely team of Mycroft, Sherlock, Moriarty and his man, and two of Mycroft's suited men. The police didn't have the opportunity to draw their weapons they brought along. This had become disastrous at an alarming rate.
A man came forward from among the line of armed men. A few men continued to edge around to create a semi-circle to cover them. They recognized him from the photographs Mycroft provided after a bit of research into the secretive government project. He was one of the project heads. Sherlock looked after his brother taking it upon himself to speak to the man who came to a stop partway through the street.
"Cal Shaw," Mycroft greeted. "I'd say it was a pleasure to meet an internally well-known government figure, but well, the circumstances call for a different reception."
"Well-known? That was unintentional, I assure you. I keep my business to myself. It seems you prefer to do quite the opposite, sticking your nose where it doesn't belong."
Mycroft smiled a thin, forced smile. "I've done my research. You steal or blackmail the majority of your funding, exploit good soldiers and agents to accomplish your selfish ends, and you are betraying the very organization you swore to serve. I believe my attention is directed appropriately."
"Oh but I am defending our great country and securing the future. This nation will never be stronger."
"Right. So long as you are running things?"
"Precisely. My new drug will allow me to do that. Cities will fall under my sway and everything will be perfect harmony. No more crime, no more disobedience, and everyone who I need to do my work, will do it without question. Perfect harmony."
"No free will. How very..progressive of you," Sherlock muttered.
A loud roar of applause rose up to the street where they stood. It grabbed Shaw's attention and he glanced backward to his men. "It's time. Parker!"
His attention returned to Mycroft, scanning over the others with him. "A hit like this, I leave it to my best marksman to do the deed."
A man with light blond hair cut short, blue eyes, and black combat gear came around the side of one of the parked cars. He was the only one besides Cal Shaw who wasn't wearing a baseball cap. Perhaps it was a way of distinguishing rank. The manner in which he held himself and looked down his nose at them informed of his obvious superiority complex. He gave a cursory examination of his opposition and then looked to Shaw.
"Did you want me to take them out?"
"Absolutely not, Parker. The noise of the gunfire will alert security below and the target will be moved to safety. We take out the target, then we take out the chaff."
The police were offended their presence didn't deter the blatant criminal intent. Mycroft looked unimpressed by the threat to discard them. Sherlock thought his brother was searching for a time to get the upper hand despite the calm exterior betraying nothing.
"Okay, boss, as you wish," Parker said, glancing behind himself to one of the dark alleys. "Captain!"
He appeared almost resentful calling out to another. Sherlock realized it was jealousy. According to the CIA operative, Walker, Dominic Parker was the man in charge of the soldiers and the missions. It would seem even he was not as skilled as a different soldier. The shooter separating from the others dressed identical except for the assault vest he solely wore. He'd traded the t-shirt they last saw him in for bare skin underneath the vest, although he wore the same jacket and the same black baseball cap.
His identity was unmistakable. Even with dark rings under his eyes and a pale, thin face, he was still the same. He was still John.
John did not acknowledge the audience. He acknowledged his superior, Parker, and walked forward to the right of the cops and the others. His aim was for the highest point of the rising street, a metal case in one hand. He set to work immediately and expertly, placing the case on the ground and removing the rifle. As he began to assemble the rifle, attaching the sniper scope and altering the settings on the weapon, Lestrade made a move.
The inspector tried to quietly draw his weapon and what he got for his trouble was a reminder of the firing squad waiting to shoot them. The guns lifted to point at him specifically. Dominic Parker drew his own sidearm and aimed at the detective inspector as well, but it was Cal Shaw who forced Lestrade to back down from trying anything.
"If any of you attempt to interfere with this assassination, I will have the captain go with the contingency plan. This event is outside a storage facility where certain water barrels have been discreetly replaced with ones of an explosive type. If the contingency occurs, captain," he continued, statements informative. "Eliminate survivors of the explosion. Confirm command."
"Confirmed, sir," John responded, positioning his rifle on its stand and taking sight of his target.
In a matter of seconds, he fired twice. Screams erupted following the shots, commotion filling the area below. He stared through the scope another moment before appearing satisfied and beginning to disassemble the rifle.
Lestrade, Donovan, and the rest of the police were looking twitchy. Their sense of duty told them they should be busting into action, doing something to appease the panic and distress of the event. It was a little difficult to do so when a number of weapons were pinning them to their current position. John handed off the suitcase to Parker and started to rejoin his fellow soldiers. Shaw raised a hand to stop him and beckoned.
"Come here, Captain Watson."
He obeyed, walking over to stand by him. "These people are here for you. As you can imagine, that is quite an inconvenience for me. It appears your usefulness may have run its course. I cannot have you bringing the law-abiding members of the government down on us. Not before I'm ready for them."
As expected, John said nothing. He did nothing but stare blankly in the direction of Sherlock and the rest. Shaw continued his speech unconcerned with being caught by the police and officials surely crawling all over the place down at the event site.
"I have to say, I'm disappointed you can't be kept. When you came to me, I could see a genuine need. I gave it to you, didn't I? The rush, captain. After retiring from the army, you had nothing to give you the rush. No danger, no missions to concentrate on, to distract from the dullness of domestic life. I gave you the rush you needed. Why deny me? You know you like it."
Nothing from John. Just the empty shell standing there, ramrod straight and alert. Sherlock had enough.
"There's one thing you failed to take into account. John Watson has a great and true heart. He does not murder indiscriminately and even the necessary deaths weigh on his soul. He is pure goodness and that is why you couldn't lure him to your cause. He's not self-centered and self-profiteering like you."
Shaw laughed, grinning. "You think your man is good? He killed countless people on his missions before we were able to perfect the drug to include the control element. It was why John was so convincing. I never thought a mole would murder innocent people to keep his agenda secure."
He turned toward John standing silently on his left. "How many people was it, Captain Watson? Sixteen? Seventeen?"
"Nineteen. Twelve men and seven women."
"Aha! Lovely. Nineteen. You really are the best."
Parker grumbled in the background, bringing a smirk to Shaw's face. "Our Captain Watson, he only faltered when a child came into play. The drug took care of the hesitation. My backup man, Parker here, took care of the girl. That night was when our secret mole here understood what our intentions were to be with the drug. A control element in addition to the enhanced physical attributes the drug provided, to create the perfect, obedient soldier. When John tried to run from a mission, we searched deeper and exposed him for what he was. So..."
He waved a hand in the direction of the police standing behind Sherlock and Mycroft. "We had the police detain him. A fall man is useful that way..and then we snatched him right back, gave him our latest design of the drug, and here he is obedient and loyal. No doubts on our part any longer about whether he will obey. However, despite the drug, he fights it. Astonishing. The first to do so. But in the end it doesn't matter. He finishes the mission."
"And how well do you take care of your soldiers? Hm?" questioned Sherlock, eyes narrowed at Shaw.
He was trying to ignore the vacant stare his friend was giving him, although he threw his friend a concerned glance every other second. He couldn't help it. This was so..not John. Shaw's attention was now his though.
"Hm... How do you mean?"
"When was the last time you ordered John to sleep? To eat?"
Shaw didn't look at John, eyes for Sherlock as he gave his command. "Answer, John."
"I have not slept for seven days. Four days without food."
Sherlock was horrified. He felt an overpowering urge to do physical harm to the boastful and arrogant man. When Shaw shrugged off the mistreatment of his drugged up servant, it was hardly surprising. They were pawns to be used to achieve his goals, and John was no exception.
"Ah. Well, I'll have you do those things soon, supposing you live. Here's how it is going to go. John will kill all of you, or you will kill him."
"No. John would never kill us," Sherlock claimed loudly. "It isn't in him to murder. His heart is too good."
Shaw was laughing and it irritated. He'd rather not be laughed at. He would also rather not be proven wrong and so he believed completely he must be right. John was still in there. He could get through to him. He could save him.
"It doesn't matter who John Watson used to be. He's nothing more than a puppet now. John," He nodded to the empty man. "Go ahead and cut your arm."
"Don't!"
The shout came out before Sherlock knew it would. It proved useless and John unsheathed the combat knife from his belt. He held out his left arm, rolling the sleeve up, and cut a line across, blood welling up. Shaw was grinning again.
"Alright, stop, John. While my men pack up, John, take care of our unwelcome guests. Leave none alive."
Once the command was given, he turned and walked to his gathered men, some standing down while the rest remained with weapons up and ready. Meanwhile, John cocked his head to the side, flipped the knife up, and promptly sprang forward to attack. He went for the closest, Mycroft, who was saved by two suits leaping in front of him.
John shoved one away. He put the other to the ground, placed his hands on the sides of his head, and snapped his neck. The man dead, he moved on to Lieutenant Donovan and a pair of cops drawing their sidearms, despite the waiting armed soldiers surrounding them. The soldiers did nothing to stop the guns being drawn. They were content watching as long as they were not fired upon it would seem. Sherlock saw the pair of cops and Donovan were about to fire on John.
He yelled his anger at the very thought of it. "No! Stop! Don't you dare shoot him."
His eyes sought out Lestrade, gaze a pleading one, and he didn't do that. Well..he almost never did. Lestrade responded as he hoped.
"Non-lethal, damn it! Put your guns away. Non-lethal attacks only. The goal is to disarm and apprehend him! Now!"
"Shit!" Donovan swore. John was just about on her.
He was fast. Flexible too, apparently, when one of the police tried to shoot him anyway. John responded by swinging his foot around behind him, knocking Donovan back with a kick to the chest and latching onto the gun arm of the cop shooting. An audible snap of a broken arm and he punched the same man in the face, causing blood to spray everywhere from a probable broken nose. The cop fell and John's focus went on to the next target.
"John! Stop! Stop this!"
Lestrade gave it a try himself. "This isn't you, John! Come on, wake up!"
Some of the armed men had gone. Five men remained along with Parker and Shaw. The soldiers held their positions, guns positioned on their would-be targets if they chose to strike. Sherlock's attention was for John, but he could see Mycroft was still searching for that opening. He was moving to the left, away from the fight, edging past Moriarty and his tall companion.
"Someone get hold of him!" Mycroft yelled in annoyance.
Immobilize the man if they were going to try to reach him with words. Obvious. Surprisingly, the tall man with Moriarty followed the suggestion, lumbering toward the man shoving Lestrade against a car by the throat. The knife was in hand and he brought it up to stab the detective inspector. Sherlock was there to stop him, knocking the knife out of his hand and punching John in the face.
The blow caused John to stumble. Seeing Lestrade and Sherlock ready to take him on, Moriarty's guy drawing near, he thought they might have him. They did not. The enhanced John responded with ease, throwing his body backward into a back-flip away from them. He knew John couldn't do that ordinarily. It explained the speed, flexibility, and impossible levels of energy after days without food and sleep.
John ran up onto the front of the car in order to flip over Moriarty's man. He slammed a spread palm against his back. The man fell hard against the car but recovered quick to attack John. Sherlock watched carefully, making sure his friend wasn't in danger.
The pair exchanged a few blows and John was overpowering him impossibly so, putting him to the car. Hand to hand, he pushed the much more muscular and bigger man away from him, bringing his knee up into his stomach. He extended the leg to strike him in the face. The man slid to the ground cursing, and Sherlock called out desperately.
"John!"
A most unexpected result followed the emotional outcry. John halted and turned to Sherlock, who looked close. Dilated pupils. John, the real John, heard him. He got through. Sort of?
John was stumbling, clutching at his head. He let out a strangled cry and fell to his knees. He was fighting the control. The drug was more potent than he imagined. How fascinating. He fought off the smile from his eagerness to learn about the project's drug. Timing. That's what John would be saying right now. Timing, Sherlock.
A rasping scream tore from John's throat as he clawed at it. Suddenly he ceased the frantic motion and his arms dropped to the side, head falling back. Sherlock could see veins in his neck as dark fluid pumped through them to the brain. The drug working overtime to regain control, chemicals doing its job as it was designed.
John's head dropped forward. He lifted his face level to look at Sherlock, Lestrade, and Moriarty's man climbing to his feet. For a moment his eyes were shrouded in black, but that faded. He bared his teeth, a low, primal growl emerging.
He attacked Sherlock this time, possibly blaming him for his temporary pain, hand locking onto his neck and squeezing. Lestrade tried to pull John off and was punched in the face. Moriarty's man was there, freeing Sherlock from the death-grip on his throat. He threw John, who hit the ground and rolled smoothly up to his feet.
One of the police was aiming his gun in response to John coming at Lestrade. The drug-fueled assailant lashed out at the inspector, not noticing the weapon until a bullet passed dangerously close by his ear. The bullet missed hitting him because Anderson shoved the gun-wielding arm sideways.
"Stop! The orders were non-lethal methods only! Don't use your gun, you idiot!"
"But he's kicking our asses!"
"Non-lethal!"
Sherlock was surprised Anderson managed to make himself useful for once. He saved John's life and created a distraction. He was shifting his angered gaze to Anderson and the cop who shot at him. This provided an opening for an old foe to enter the fight.
"John. Hi!"
He adjusted to face Moriarty, who punched him. John's head jerked to the side, slowly turning back, the minor cut on his face closing up. Huh. Healing factor? Sherlock made a mental note. Moriarty feigned a second punch and pushed his fingers into the old wound in his shoulder.
John released a grunt of pain and angry eyes locked with Moriarty's. A backhand drew the inflictor of his pain away. Sherlock and Lestrade moved in on either side, pulling on him and pulling him down. He lashed out but Moriarty returned to lend a hand and the three of them wrestled him to the ground. He screamed fury at being held in place and Sherlock released his arm in favor of grabbing his face, staring into the vacant gaze.
"John, please hear this. I'd be lost without my blogger."
There it was again. The dilation of pupils. This time instead of chemical rushing through him, it was followed by speech. Actual, beautiful words.
"Sher..Sherlock... Sheeerrr-lock!"
"John." He smiled warmly down at his friend.
"Am..I..free?"
Three words that about shattered his soul. How could a seemingly insignificant man affect him so? Consciously, he pushed inward all the emotions threatening outward. He answered when he was steady.
"Yes."
"Oh..." John's face darkened. "Not good."
He sat partially up, finding Moriarty opposite him, and moved his gaze to the left side of his suit jacket. "Your gun. Give it to me. Now."
John spoke low, quiet, keeping his face neutral. They realized he was waiting for the moment his former masters became aware of his freedom. Another second and Moriarty was opening his jacket, revealing he'd been carrying the entire time. John reached to grab the weapon and swung his legs around to get up on one knee. Five shots, five targets, armed soldiers falling at the near exact same moment, clutching their gun arms or shoulders.
/
The police took over from there, hurrying to secure weapons and apply restraints. Sherlock pulled John to his feet and away from Moriarty at the same time. John let the gun drop out of his grasp and let his friend move him. He was shaking off the effects of the drug or at least trying to, and noticed the fresh cut on his arm. It was healing well by now, almost erased. Scary, powerful drugs.
His gaze lifted and he saw where Sherlock accidentally moved them. They were on the side where the soldiers had been and where Shaw was lurking. He didn't see Parker.
"Sherlock!"
Too late. Sherlock was ripped away from him and shoved to the ground by Parker. He had a gun drawn and he was putting it to Sherlock's head. Oh, hell. John saw Shaw waiting, knife in his grasp. Lestrade and the police hadn't seen what was amiss yet. Mycroft had positioned on the edge of this chaos with his remaining suited agent, talking on his mobile. The knowledge that if he acted it would mean pain or death and that no one else was near enough to act who cared, told him everything. He saw his good friend in immediate danger and the rest just fell away.
"Sherlock!"
He ran forward and tore the gun from Parker's hands, smashing it against his skull. He fell off Sherlock but managed to snatch his weapon and scramble back. He put himself between Sherlock and him, and a slight smile flitted across the military man's face. John knew an attack was coming from behind. It was either move and let Sherlock struggling to shake the dizziness away get shot, or take it.
Shaw moved up, a few steps more, and stuck the knife under his vest and into flesh. He clenched his teeth to keep the scream in, aware Sherlock was seated on the ground before him watching his stupidity. When Shaw shoved the knife in a second time in the same spot, well, who could fault him for screaming then?
It got the attention of everybody. Something he really rather had hoped his shouting of Sherlock's name would accomplish. A gunshot rang out and the grip on the knife released, Shaw dropping from a bullet to the head. Good riddance. A glance backward told him he had Moran to thank for his saving. How about that.
He'd already felt the drain on his body once he overcame the drug's control element. Now with a fresh stab wound, he was exhausted. His legs gave out on him but thankfully Sherlock was there wrapping his arms around him. He carefully laid him on the street. All he wanted to do was sleep but his jacket was taken off, his vest unzipped and removed as he was turned over to his stomach.
A giggle leaked out.
"John... Are you laughing?"
"Drug-induced, exhaustion-induced laughter, I swear," he replied, following it with another giggle. "You know, taking my clothes off like this. People will talk."
The fingers prying at his wound, tugging the knife out in a single motion, stilled. They resumed in the next moment.
"Yes, well, people do little else. I can't seem... There's a lot less blood than there should be."
"Drug has healing properties... Bleeding should be slowing... It'll be fine. Listen, I can't go to hospital. Nowhere public. Is there somewhere to hide?"
Sherlock looked to his brother. "Mycroft?"
"Yes, I can have a safehouse prepared for your use."
"You can use one of mine," Moriarty offered. "I have a place not far, very secure. Who knows who can be trusted in the government these days."
He waggled his eyebrows at Mycroft. "The government has been very bad, bad, bad." Seriousness came over him in the next second as he returned his attentions to John. "I promise to keep you safe, Johnny. I'll even let the Iceman know where we are, so long as he keeps it to himself. Sound good?"
"Okay. Okay..." he said, letting his head rest on the ground. God, he was so tired. "Sherlock... You there?"
/
Sherlock eased his friend into his arms, cradling his head against his shoulder with one arm. The other hand he kept pressed to the bleeding wound in his back.
"I'm here, John. Everything's okay. Your mission's done."
"Not..finished. Not yet. But..I think a rest..would be..."
He didn't complete the sentence, exhaustion probably causing him to pass out. Sherlock shook him, concerned it was his wound. An examination of the stab wound informed it was nothing serious and John was merely tired. Shifting him a bit, noting how the man really fit well in his arms, he picked him up and stood.
A deep sigh passed his lips. "Inform Mycroft of the location and we will go to your safehouse. Your help better be sincere, Moriarty, or you will have me to answer to."
"Myself as well," Mycroft added, giving Moriarty a stern look.
"That goes for me, too," Lestrade voiced, glaring at the criminal.
Moriarty didn't seem particularly bothered. In fact, he was..singing?
His man did the confirming for him. "The deal has been made. We will uphold it and hide John Watson while Mr. Holmes cleans up the internal catastrophe that is supposedly legitimate government. We should go. The transportation is this way. Let's move out!"