Disclaimer: I don't own Sherlock
Backfire
The hunter observed his prey.
Like much of the game he tracked, this one had made too much noise while returning to its den. It made it easy to follow it to its roost and set his sights on it, as he did now.
Too easy.
The shadow in the window was to clear and distinct, and for the last three minutes, it hadn't moved at all. Conclusion: this was a trap.
But Moran had known that the moment he walked in the door.
Spinning quickly, he struck out with the butt of his gun toward the darkest corner of the room. He struck flesh and heard a cry.
In moments, the scuffle was over and Moran had Sherlock Holmes at gunpoint.
"Evening, Mr. Holmes," the gunman smirked.
"Moran," the detective replied.
"I'll take that," Moran said, quickly snatching the phone from Holmes' hand. Glancing at the screen, he saw that the consultant had failed to send his text for backup to the police.
"I'm a little disappointed, Mr. Holmes," the hunter continued. "From the trouble you gave my former employer, I thought you'd be more of a challenge. But this is one of the sloppiest set-ups I've seen in a long while. Your trap is obvious, and you've come with no backup at all. No one's here to save you."