Wrapping paper and birthday cards. Not exactly what John had expected, but actually good news. He glanced at his watch. The staff down here used to take lunch at the cafeteria all together, same time every day. He had almost 30 minutes left without any civilians getting in his way. And in consideration of that fact that they were celebrating Enton's birthday and eating cakes and muffins, they perhaps even stayed a bit longer upstairs.
John's hand floated over the medical tools in the drawer, while he was thinking which one to take. Finally, he chose three objects to become his weapons and put them in his pocket. Afterwards, he paced across the room, taking a first aid kit with him, heading for the dissecting room. There was only one door in, so they couldn't surround him or sneak up from behind. Advantage. Of course, he had to win their little game in order to leave the dissecting room again as a free man. John stopped, listened for his haunters' footsteps and entered a small chamber. They didn't know on which sub level he was. Sad to say that one level upstairs the only unlocked rooms were the restrooms. It would take them five minutes, tops, to figure out that he wasn't hiding in one of the toilets. He unlocked a cabinet and skimmed over the labels. The doctor grabbed two flasks and left the chamber again. He ran down the hall, opened the last door and slid into the room. Behind one of the tables, John sat down, putting everything he had grabbed on the floor.
He began pulling up his shirt-sleeve, gritting his teeth such hard that they crunched by trying to oppress an outcry of pain. Parts of his sleeve stuck with the dried blood to his wound and he definitely had to remove the cloth. Fresh blood streamed down his arm and wrist. Using his left hand and his teeth, John opened the wrapping of the bandages and dressed the wound. Once he was done, he carefully clenched his fist. Could be better, but … John frowned. In the corner of his eyes he saw a sudden move. He leaped on his feet, turned around and stared at the the intruder. "Marvelous", the doctor mumbled and sighed. "Listen, there are some bad guys coming here to get me. You have to hide." John searched the room, paced towards a floor cupboard and opened it. "In here."
Her hair was straight, long and dark brown, almost black, her complexion white, her lips very red. She looked at his bandage with her small, dark eyes, hesitated.
"You have to trust me", John said, not sure if he had trusted a stranger telling him to creep into a cupboard being at her age. Actually, it was much more likely that he had kicked that stranger and made a quick getaway. She attentively watched him, curiosity sparkling in her eyes. If he could just explain the situation, she would understand it. Unfortunately, they had no time to spare. Most doors down here were locked so there were only about seven rooms his haunters had to search before they finally ended up in the dissecting room.
The girl, however, slowly nodded, went to the cupboard, her patent leather shoes clicking at every step.
John masked the feeling of relief which swashed over him and told her: "You have to be very quiet. Breath calmly. Don't leave, no matter what you hear, no matter how long it takes." He helped her to crawl inside the cupboard. There wasn't much room, but it would work. "If it's not me who opens the doors and pulls you out, say: Call Mycroft Holmes. Got that?"
Once again, the girl nodded. "I saw you upstairs. You examined my Granny", she whispered and added: "Kincaid, Phoebe Kincaid."
John bowed his head and smiled. "I remember you asking where all the blood samples went we took from your Granny. I promise you, if you stay in here and do as I told you, I'll answer every question you got. Deal?"
"Deal."
The doctor closed the doors of the cupboard and lowly swore. A kid! A damn kid! He was hoping for an armed Ed and what did he get? A ten year old girl! He couldn't blow anything up in here, not with the girl around. John sneaked back to his table, grabbing the flasks. He had to move to another room, to lead them away from …
"Doctor, my doctor."
Oh, crap.
"I don't have time for playing hide and seek. I brought four of my dearest friends with me. So, now there's five of us and only one of you, I guess you can do the math."
John carefully listened to the enclosing footsteps to his right. He slowly shifted his weight and turned around, a hammer in the right and a hypodermic needle in the left one. He took one last deep breath, before he rushed forwards, punched the hammer against both knees and pulled the enemy on the ground who was shouting in pain – but not for long. Johns' hands slid over the man's neck and twisted it. The bone snapped and instantly, it was quiet again. John resisted the urge to scream in pain. He let go of the hammer, blood leaking through the bandage. The next haunter cautiously approached, warned by the sudden silence. John steadied his weight, waited. Another pair of legs, dark cloth slacks, shining shoes. He pushed a needle into the man's left leg, just above his knee, inserted the fluids and backed down. 21, 22, 23. The man fell down and didn't move any more. Three enemies and only two weapons left: the ball-pen and the scalpel. A foot kicked John's shoulder, almost carried him off his feet. John grabbed the man's leg, got kicked in the back of his head by a gun, but managed and sliced his thigh. Blood spilled over his hand and once again, John backed down. The third man fell on the ground, hands on the deep wound, not able to stop the immense bleeding, and passed out. John looked at him. Even if he tried to apply a compression bandage, it was to late. Concentrate, no time for regrets, John reminded himself and pressed his injured arm against his chest.
"Look what we got here. I'm Joey and who are you, honey?"
"Call Mycroft Holmes."
John froze for one second. Then he sighed and raised his hands, standing up very slowly. "Okay, fine. You got me. You won. I'll behave and got to your van. Just let the girl go." He kindly smiled at the man who captured Phoebe. It was the knife-man. Blond, short hair, blue eyes. Joey. John doubted that this was his opponent's real name.
Another man, thin, lanky somehow, pointed his gun at John and ordered: "Put down the knife. No quick moves." He looked daggers at John, his finger on the trigger.
John obeyed the order and slowly put down the scalpel on the table, showing good will. Not that he had much to offer after he just killed three of Joey's men. "Fine. Just put the girl back into the cupboard. We'll be long gone when they find her."
Joey regretfully shook his head. "I'm afraid I can't do that. You've been a naughty boy, Dr. Watson. You have to learn that your actions have consequences. The kid's death is on you."
"Didn't you hear what she said?"
The man frowned, shifted his weight from one leg to the other, tried to remember.
"Lucinda, can you please repeat what you just said?", John said to Phoebe.
"Call Mycroft Holmes."
"I don't get it", Joey replied. "If you are only playing for time ..."
"If you harm this girl, Mycroft Holmes won't just end your life. He'll make you suffer", John interrupted him, a cold smile on his face. He would give his right hand for making the man suffer here and now. John felt his injured arm getting heavier the longer he stood there, raising both hands.
Joey laughed, shook his head in amusement. "Really? Because Mycroft cares so much about one little girl?"
"Not about one little girl, perhaps", John said, feeling his heard pounding against his sternum such hard that for a moment he thought the bone would break. His condition as well as the situation were worsening. He was close enough to immobilize the lanky chap, but not Joey. He took a deep breath, silently praying the bluff would work and added: "But definitely about his little girl."
"What …"
"The girl you point your gun at is Lucinda Serena Holmes, Mycroft's youngest."
"The Holmes brothers don't have any kids."
"None everyone knows about, indeed. He prefers not to tell every Tom, Dick and Harry." John lowered his arms a bit, shifted his weight and directly looked at Joey. "No one is supposed to know."
"But you just told me. A weird coincidence, isn't it."
"It's my job to take care for her, to protect her. Keeping her identity a secret would be contra-productive in this case. This is no coincidence at all."
Joey stepped away from Phoebe, looking her over. "Why should Mycroft Holmes entrust his daughter in your care, Dr. Watson?"
Before John could answer, Phoebe said: "When I'm grown up, I want to become a doctor."
Silence found it's way into the room, covered everything and everyone, slowing down time, turning seconds into minutes. After what felt like an eternity, Joey nodded and faced John again. "You know, you're right. Harming Mycroft's daughter is a bad idea. And I'm sure he won't hesitate to trade his brother to get his kid back. I'm sorry but that means I don't need you any longer and to be true - I'm not sorry." He grabbed the girls coat and pulled her towards the door.
"No, wait, don't!", Phoebe screamed and tried to kick Joey.
"Lucy, it's fine, sweetheart. They won't harm you. You are a Holmes, don't forget that. Straighten up, shoulders back, show no fear. Go with your head held high. Your Father is gonna be proud of you", John said and gave her a softly smile.
Phoebe pursed her lips, nodded, gritted her teeth and straightened a bit.
"You have five minutes to play with him, Bobby, then finish the doctor. I'll wait in the van", Joey told his last living associate and left the room with Phoebe.