Six darkly clothed men, each with a different type of lethal weapon in their possession, burst into 221B nearly ripping the door right off its hinges.
John's already overworked mind from Sherlock's sudden reappearance was slow to react. Before he had even fully comprehended what was happening, Sherlock was in his feet and had moved and was standing in a protective stance in front of John. How he was able to move that fast with a broken leg and a near concussion was a mystery to him.
"John stay behind me, whatever you do stay behind me." Sherlock whispered.
Just as John was about to reply about how he didn't need protection, he was a solider, the man who seemed to be the leader of the ominous group pointed his weapon towards them and spoke.
"Get out of the way Mr. Holmes." The mysterious man growled menacingly at them.
"Hold on, you know these people Sherlock?" John asked with surprise.
"Know them, yes." Sherlock replied, not taking his eyes off the men, "Like them, no. These are the criminals that Moriarty hired to assassinate anyone I got close to."
The assassin's eyes narrowed, "Indeed we are. You know we are not here to kill you Mr. Holmes, so step out of the way."
"Never," Sherlock said with determination.
"I'm warning you Mr. Holmes, get out of the way."
"Why, so you can make me watch as you slaughter my best friend? I don't think so."
As Sherlock said this he put his right hand behind his back and opened his fist, hoping that John would understand. In the meantime he needed to keep these maniacs talking.
"No, actually," The assassin smiled. It was not a pleasant smile; it was the kind of smile that people only use when they know that something horrible is about to happen, know exactly what it is, and absolutely love it. It made both Sherlock and John twitch with unease.
"No?" Sherlock asked in surprise.
"No, we have orders to capture this one," the killer motioned with his head in John's direction, "alive."
Sherlock stood stunned for a moment, why had Moriarty given orders to capture John alive?
"And why, do tell, is that?" Sherlock asked. He suppressed a smile as he felt the cool handle of a pistol slip into his waiting palm.
"I'm paid to follow orders, not question them." The killer replied, finally losing his patience. He aimed his gun at Sherlock's chest. "Get out the way Mr. Holmes by the count of five or I'll shoot!"
Sherlock returned the assassin's menacing gaze. "No."
"ONE!" The sinister man yelled.
Sherlock stayed exactly where he was. There was no way that he was about to let this maniac separate him from John again. He would die before he would allow that happen.
"TWO!"
The men all readied their weapons and aimed directly at Sherlock's chest.
"For God's sake Sherlock move." John whispered urgently into his flatmate's ear. The feel of John's breath on the back of his neck sent involuntary shivers down Sherlock's spine.
"Stay behind me." Sherlock whispered back, a warning in his voice.
"THREE!"
"I am not about to let you get shot trying to protect me! You already died for me once and I'm not about to hide behind you like a scared little kid as you do it again!" John whispered angrily.
"Just stay behind me John," Sherlock whispered. If his plan was going to work he needed John to stay out of the way. "I have no plans of dying today."
John's eyebrows went up as Sherlock slowly cocked the gun behind his back, trying to make as little sound as possible.
"FOUR!"
"Alright," Sherlock said in defeat, "I'll move, just don't shoot."
John glanced up at Sherlock, a question in his eyes. The taller gave him a sly wink that said, just go with it.
The tall threatening man grinned evilly. "I knew you would see sense eventually Mr. Holmes," he stated triumphantly. "Now move."
Sherlock gave John one last glance and stepped quickly to the left while pulling the gun out from behind him in one graceful movement so fast it was almost a blur. Just as quickly and fluidly as the movement before, he aimed the pistol directly at the panel of glass next to where the group of threatening men were standing in shock, and fired. The glass shattered in a shower of sharp shards and the assassin's reflexes took control, jerking him away from the threat.
"John, run!" Sherlock shouted as he bolted for the door. A millisecond later a very dazed looking John followed and began to run after the slim detective. Before he could take more than three strides, however, he felt his leg stiffen and he tripped and was sent flying into the now glass covered carpet. Damn it, he thought to himself as he was sent tumbling toward the ground. In his haste he had forgotten about his limp completely. John felt the air rush out of his lungs when he hit the floor and was left paralyzed and completely helpless on the carpet.
"Sherlock..." John managed to wheeze out.
He felt unfamiliar hands seize the back of his shirt and pull him roughly to his feet. John struggled and was about to let out a yell when a cloth was shoved over his mouth and nose. He couldn't see his attackers and blindly punched where he thought his captive's stomach was and was rewarded with a grunt of pain emanating from behind him. The pressure on his mouth didn't let up, however, and soon he was getting quite dizzy. His vision went blurry and he started to see spots. With the last of his remaining strength, John kicked out at the cabinet full of all the dishes and as his foot connected with the hard wood, there was an immensely loud crash as the fine china fell to the floor and shattered.
Sherlock was halfway down the stairs when he heard the loud crash coming from 221B and he glanced over his shoulder to ask John what it was, only to discover that John was nowhere to be seen. He skidded to a stop and turned around. Where was he? Sherlock ran back up the stairs in a panic, he could have sworn that John had followed him after he fired the shot into the glass.
When he finally reached the flat again he burst inside, prepared to have to fight off six different men at once to get John back, but the flat was empty. The only evidence that the men had been here was the shards of glass and china on the floor and an open window.
Sherlock rushed up to the window and looked outside just in time to see a sleek black car skid around the corner of the street and disappear from sight.