Chapter Eight
It was five minutes past the time Moriarty gave them when Sherlock and John got to the apartment. The two battered the door down and rushed recklessly into the sitting room where they found Rodger lying on the floor in a puddle of his own blood, eyes opened wide in shock and a small bullet wound in his forehead.
Sherlock stepped over the body after only one glance and moved deeper into the apartment as John fell back to cover the body. There was nothing of great interest in the kitchen, or the guestroom. But Sherlock noticed traces of evidence pointing to Harry staying over a few times. A second toothbrush in the bathroom sink, the smell of a different aftershave, two cartons of orange juice on the kitchen counter, one with pulp and one without.
He heard John moving behind him as he entered Rodger's personal bedroom and heard him gasp at what they saw.
There was nothing in the room, no bed, no desk, no furniture other than a wooden chair in the middle of the room. Sasaki was seated in it, her head hung limply and she was secured to the chair by thick bindings on her arms and ankles. But that wasn't what horrified John. There was blood running down the chair's armrests and legs to submerge into a large crimson puddle on the floor. The room's curtains were open so the sunlight illuminated the scene perfectly.
Moriarty's henchmen had slit Sasaki's wrists and had left her to bleed to death as they disposed of Rodger and made their escape.
But Sasaki was alive, she stirred and let out a soft moan. John leapt forward to aid her. "Doctor!" The girl rasped frantically, making John halt in his steps. "Doctor, you would do good to leave this place... now." Sasaki cast a glance behind her.
Sherlock narrowed his eyes. Moriarty had rigged Sasaki's chair to several pounds of explosives. He would most likely detonate if anybody got too close. Keep everyone in the area safe? Or watch their friend die. That was Moriarty's game.
Sherlock spared a glance at John's pained face. Moriarty knew John couldn't just abandon Sasaki unless physically forced to. It was Sherlock's choice to let him go or not. The police would never get here in time before Sasaki bled to death.
Sasaki stiffened, took a deep breath, and opened her mouth. "This is a turn up, isn't it, Sherlock?" she relayed Moriarty's message breathily. Sherlock and John were, for a brief moment, caught up in the situation's deja vu. But now, John knew the fear Sasaki should be feeling when she said those words.
"Moriarty, let her go." Sherlock breathed almost under his breath.
John and Sherlock watched as Sasaki tilted her black head slightly, listening to Moriarty's reply. Then she bit her lip, ignoring what words Moriarty was filling her ears with. "Sherlock," Her voice cracked. "Take John and run." she almost whispered as she began trembling.
Sherlock understood. Whatever deal Moriarty had thought to deal with them wasn't worth it, and Sasaki understood that. "John." Sherlock grabbed John's arm and dragged him out of the room.
"Sherlock, no!" John shouted back, grabbing weakly at the hand that gripped his arm. "We can't just leave her to..!" Sherlock ignored the doctor and dragged him out of the flat.
"There's nothing we can do!" he yelled back at John in frustration.
"I wouldn't be too sure about that." Sherlock and John turned in disbelief at the voice.
Mycroft walked briskly across the landing to meet them. "The detonator Moriarty is using is satellite controlled. I just needed to hack said satellite and it would be impossible to detonate the explosives."
Sherlock stared for a moment at Mycroft in shock, then shared a look with John and rushed back into the flat.
"Sherlock! I told you to...!" Sasaki's protests were abruptly cut short as John lunged at her and applied pressure to her injuries as Sherlock undertook the task of untying her. "Wouldn't Moriarty... the bomb...!" Sherlock planted a firm kiss on the girl's ebony head.
"Stop worrying about things right now. It's not needed." Sasaki slumped out of the chair and into John's arms, clinging desperately to the front of his jacket and shaking in silent sobs of relief when the bomb didn't go off.
"Paramedics are here, Sherlock." Mycroft called out calmly from outside the flat. "I'll be leaving now." Sherlock just nodded at the door and waited for the necessary help to come.
"Sasaki..!" He heard John utter, slightly panicked. "Sherlock!" Sherlock sent a quick glance at his flatmate and then lowered his gaze to the girl in his arms.
Sasaki's face was a pasty pallor and her lips were more of a pink-ish white, then a white-ish pink. There were grey rings encircling her eyes, no doubt an unhappy result of a stressing few days. "Sasaki, don't go to sleep! Can you open your eyes?" Sherlock asked, getting on his hands and knees to lower himself more to the girl's level and gripped her left hand, applying pressure to the wound in a similar fashion to John.
Sasaki blinked her eyes open heavily. "Don't worry, Sherlock!" she smiled weakly. "It takes an average of fifteen minutes to bleed to death if the artery is severed, even longer without water to help the flow. I won't die yet, you of all people should know that." Sherlock chuckled fondly at her remark.
"Sirs?" John and Sherlock both looked up with a start, not noticing when the paramedic had arrived in the room.
"Oh, sorry, we'll- ... we'll..." Sherlock gestured toward the door, unable to find his words.
But the paramedic seemed to understand and assured him that Sasaki would be in good hands.