Honestly, I'm completely making this up as I go along... cheers for bearing with!
As the Doctor bent politely, the moment swelled, and time (as it were) halted, just for a nanosecond.
Sherlock blinked.
John Watson must already be inside. McIlroy had approached with the utmost confidence, meaning he was not looking for Watson, meaning his prey was already ensnared. Meaning Sherlock was somehow, ever so briefly, behind the game. His friend was in immediate dire danger. Sherlock's eyes narrowed as a reformed plan instantaneously snapped together.
And then the moment shattered.
"Holmes!" McIlroy thundered. A gnarled hand lashed towards the detective.
The Doctor turned, befuddled. "Holmes? Who's – "
Clawing fingers snatched the Doctor's coat instead. "Hey!" he cried. "That's my best bow tie!"
Sherlock wheeled and slammed open the door to the townhouse. Without preamble he leapt up the stairs. McIlroy's heavy boots thudded after him. Sounds of the Doctor's indignant rambling carried in from outside.
Top of the stairs. Sherlock glanced at the landing – dusty. Without halting he whirled and pounded up the next flight.
"Holmes!" McIlroy's voice echoed in the stairwell.
Next landing. A quick visual sweep informed Sherlock that this was the one. Judging by the markings, they'd dragged something heavy across the threshold.
The detective wasted no time throwing open the door, simultaneously drawing a gun.
The three Moriarty associates were standing idly about the room, but all were stunned by Sherlock's sudden appearance. The moment's hesitation was what the detective had been counting on.
And, of course, John Watson was there too, bound impolitely to a chair and looking quite peaky.
Without missing a beat, Sherlock swept across to Mr. Durham, swiftly striking him across the jaw and driving him to the floor. He whirled, fired a shot purposefully wide of Ms. Frasier, and danced across just in time to block a swing from Mr. Green. Feint, counter, one-two and kick, and the man had joined Mr. Durham on the floor. Silver glittered as a knife flickered close, but Sherlock contemptuously knocked the blade aside, reaching gracefully around to clamp Ms. Frasier in a tight headlock.
Mr. McIlroy huffed into the doorway, but Sherlock's gun was already trained on his sternum.
A hush fell over the room. Each player stared about angrily, absolutely still, as they caught their breath. The groan of one of the downed men on the floor seemed achingly loud.
"Alright, John?" Sherlock said calmly. His eyes never left McIlroy's face.
There was no reply. McIlroy's heavy breathing filled the musty room as he stared malevolently at his adversary from the doorway. A floorboard creaked beneath Ms. Frasier, who was shifting her weight anxiously behind the detective's elbow.
"John?" Sherlock's wintry eyes flicked sidelong towards the captive.
John Watson was in complete shock.
A dark bruise was spread across one cheek, beneath a ragged gash just above one eyebrow. Blood had spilled onto his torn shirt in a sticky stain. His arms and legs were trussed tightly to the chair with electric cables, cutting viciously into his skin.
His round face was deathly white as he stared at Sherlock Holmes, mouth working silently.
A deep buzzing noise sounded out, slicing through the tension like an angry electronic bee. Sherlock's head whipped round. A shimmer of digital light blinked and vanished, leaving behind an utterly bizarre figure.
This was one alternative the detective had to admit he never saw coming.
The new arrival was barely five feet tall, but he was built like a beach ball of solid rock. He was dressed head to toe in some kind of black jumpsuit, which ended in a wide plastic ring around his neck. Or what passed for his neck. The head and neck were smeared together in an absurd dome, dark brown in color, and completely hideous.
"A worthy attempt, human scum!" the little man bellowed cordially. "A worthy attempt! But you have been foiled."
Sherlock backed to John's side, dragging his squirming hostage. "I would not go so far."
The newcomer's voice darkened. "Release the hostage and face me, coward!"
"I'm afraid I can't do that," Sherlock said evenly. He whirled to the far side of John's chair, dragging Ms. Frasier in his wake and switching hands. The gun found her temple just as her knife appeared in his spare hand. With one quick movement the detective reached down and slashed the cables restraining his friend.
John slumped unceremoniously to the floor.
The knife blurred to Ms. Frasier's throat and the barrel of the gun stared down Mr. McIlroy once again.
"You will release her, boy!" the short, egg-headed man cried, leveling a weapon of sorts at the detective. It was a big, ugly thing, lights blinking along its heavy metal length.
Sherlock was about to reply when a fresh flash of digital light and bass, angry buzzing flared again behind the strange newcomer. Sherlock blinked incredulously as the Doctor appeared, swinging a cricket bat. He thoroughly whacked the back of the stranger's nonexistent brown neck, and the short creature dropped like a stone, thunking heavily on the hardwood.
"Probic vent!" the Doctor said delightedly. "Works every time!"
His face fell as he took in the scene before him. A long silence stretched while he frowned at Sherlock. "I don't take violence well." His voice was quiet.
"Who are you?" snarled Mr. McIlroy.
"Someone quite cross with you," the Doctor growled, stalking over to where he stood. "You struck a deal with Sontarans. To what end I have no idea. But I can guarantee you they had no intention of letting Earth go on 'undefeated.'" He said the last word slowly, chewing each syllable and spitting it out. "They are not to be trifled with."
"Who the hell are you?" McIlroy repeated, a little less confidently.
Mr. Green chose that moment to sit up and throw a kick towards Sherlock.
The detective had sidestepped to avoid the blow, but Green clipped Ms. Frasier, throwing Sherlock off balance. With a whoop, McIlroy darted past the Doctor and made for John. Sherlock struck his own captive with the butt of the gun and dropped her to the floor. Green scrambled to his knees and seized Sherlock's wrist. There was a short scuffle, and then the gun tumbled from the detective's grasp.
Unnoticed amidst the fighting, the Doctor swept forward and reached a hand down to John. The injured man was on all fours, and accepted the help. "Quickly now," urged the Doctor, helping him to his feet. "Careful."
"Sherlock…" John rasped, leaning heavily on the Doctor, who ushered him back against the wall.
Sherlock spun, locked body to body with McIlroy. The two traded vicious punches. Mr. Green slid across the floor to the dropped gun. The detective slammed a knee into McIlroy's groin and the man doubled over. Sherlock tossed him to the floor and stepped back.
Click. Mr. Green cocked the gun. "Ha," he panted. "The great Sherlock Holmes." Green bared his teeth. "I'll make sure death sticks this time."
Sherlock took one more careful step back, slowly, to stand beside John and the Doctor. Right in the spot where the Sontaran had first appeared.
"And, that's my cue!" trilled the Doctor, pulling out his mysterious silver tool. With a green twinkle and a high-pitched buzz, the device flashed about in the Doctor's hand, and a low thrum surrounded the trio. Sherlock winced as it pressed in on his ears. The thrum rose to a howl, blinding light flared, and the room vanished from around them.