Isla closed her eyes as the man swung the blade, her mind racing. She waited for the precise second before throwing herself out of its way, kicking out with her bound legs. She connected, hard, and the man went flying into the camera, knocking it from it tripod. She pulled furiously at the bonds tying her hands, but it was no use, they wouldn't budge. The others advanced on her, four in total as their comrade struggled to his feet. There was a deep gash under one of his eyes that was bleeding profusely.
There was no escape now. She couldn't free herself, couldn't run. She closed her eyes and steeled herself, trying to remember the faces that mattered, so she could hold them in her mind's eye until the end. Mycroft and Sherlock stared back at her, rare smiles on their faces. Mummy and Daddy too, looked on, along with Alfie.
There was no pain, no white light. Just ringing as if from bells. She kept her eyes closed, wondering (or perhaps hoping) that her brother had been wrong, that there was something after other than nothingness and decay. But after a moment the ringing continued and she opened her eyes. But it wasn't angels. It was her ears reaction to gunshots. Five precisely aimed gunshots that left her captures dead upon the floor, their blood slowly pooling around them. She struggled backwards as she spotted the gunman still in the door. He too was foreign, with short hair and bright, intelligent dark eyes. He stared at her, but didn't say anything. He pocketed the gun, cocking his head to the side.
"Thank you," she said warily, still struggling against her bonds.
He turned and walked down the hallway, his hands shoved in his pockets, whistling as if he hadn't just killed five men. She struggled forward but fell, next to the man who had wielded the sword. It lay by his side. She grabbed it and sawed through her restraints the best she could. She heard a door slam shut as they fell away.