Note: I cannot apologise enough for the long wait. SORRY GUYS! Everything's all haywire and way too unpredictable in my life... Without much talk, there you go. I hope you enjoy it. Oh, and just as a quick reminder: I still don't own any characters of BBC's Sherlock.
The Gate area wasn't crowded. It was good, John wouldn't want to put any more people than strictly necessary in danger. But it was also bad, they could be spotted by Miller and his accomplices any time now as they were rapidly getting closer.
The doctor told the woman behind the counter to discreetly remove some people from the middle of the waiting area. It was important to be as cautious as possible. A panic amongst the passengers was not very desirable. He remembered one of Sherlock's rants about common people and the complications that arise when they are involved in arrests and/or shootings. Too many unknown variables. Thus, he had a pretty good idea how Sherlock would proceed. He'd try to knock out at least one of them without much fuss, buying him, John, time to chime in. By the time the third noticed, hopefully, they'd already be under control. Well, that was the theory.
John turned to the guard, put on some military demeanour and did his best to slip into a character he imagined being authoritatively police-like. He didn't know anyone in the force who actually behaved like this, at least not around Sherlock who constantly outsmarted everyone.
"Our targets are arriving. Don't look over too obviously please. We don't have any backing at the moment, so you may have to help us keeping them in check. They are three armed men and we are only two."
The guard nodded gravely and looked at John as if he awaited further instruction. Of course, the doctor could not really provide any such thing. After all, he had never led a crime fighting task force. He knew Sherlock was able to deal with three opponents on his own but John was worried about all the people waiting in the gate area. His friend's fights were usually not spectator-friendly.
"Err," he started, "right, my, um, my partner," too much Lethal Weapon, John, "… my colleague will try to overpower one or two of them when they don't expect it. I will try to get the third one. You will need to watch out for the, uh, the civilians. Get them out of the way and make sure they have some cover. Can you do that?" John felt a bit stupid but the guard only nodded along. Out of the corner of his eye, the doctor could see Miller and Phil with Sergej trailing behind. They were coming closer and closer. Soon they would take notice of him.
Slightly turning and glancing at where Sherlock was hiding, he continued, "Only interfere in the fighting, or whatever is to take place, if you are sure of what you're doing and consider it safe." Another nod and he went off towards a group of people gathered in a corner.
"All right," John sighed, put a hand to his gun and ducked behind the counter. He could overlook the entrance to the gate and saw the consulting detective leaning not even ten feet away from it behind a pillar. His posture was overly relaxed but his jaw was clenched and he stared at John and waited for the doctor to give him a sign when the other men entered. Still, none of them had noticed anything was wrong. Miller was smiling smugly and carrying a big hardtop case.
Shortly before they entered John quickly nodded to his friend and vanished completely behind the counter. The last thing he saw was the appearing gleam in Sherlock's eyes.
_.:0:._
John had given him a sign and immediately after, Sherlock heard the door to the gate open. It was rather close and he was now waiting patiently for the three men to come in. The voices and shifting of weight told him that Phil was the first at the door and was holding it open for Miller. The slightly laboured breathing of the overweight old man was clearly audible now. More shifting and then the door closed again. The breathing grew louder and Sherlock smirked when he realised they were walking directly towards the pillar. Just like he'd expected.
The first man sliding into Sherlock's view was Miller. He walked by the pillar without turning around, not seeing the detective. Good, he was not a first priority to bring down. Phil and Sergej were more dangerous. The next to appear was the Ukrainian, followed by the pathologist who was a few steps behind. As soon as Phil appeared in his vision, Sherlock swung around and let his elbow crash on a point on his neck. The other man immediately went limp and was about to crash to the floor. Sherlock caught him and dragged him around where he let him fall to the floor with a thump.
He knew that he had delayed the others' reaction by the fraction of a second with his silent approach and hoped this would be efficient enough. As soon as Phil's body hit the floor he heard shuffling and a surprised shout. Everything happened so quickly, and when he'd turned around again he saw John aiming his gun at a baffled Miller. So far, so good. Before the detective could pull his own gun, however, Sergej had pointed his own at him and shouted incomprehensible syllables. Then he turned towards John and did the same.
When he was starting to fling his gun around the room in a very menacing way, pointing at everybody and no one, Sherlock started to worry that the Ukrainian man would panic and shoot. When Sergej started addressing Miller, the consulting detective figured out that the elder doctor did not understand a word of it. An idea formed in the his head.
"Vy dolzhny uspokoitʹsya, Sergej," Sherlock shouted, undoubtedly with the thickest English accent. I should really work a little more on my language skills. Nevertheless, his words had an effect and Sergej turned his head in the detective's direction.
"On lezhit na vas," Sherlock continued.
The Ukrainian looked at him with raised eyebrows, his gun now focussed only on Sherlock. Finally, he reacted. „Chto?"
Sherlock smirked.
_.:0:._
Everything was chaos. John heard running and shouting and hoped so badly that gunshots would not be added to the sounds. When he saw Sherlock swing around the pillar to take down Phil he had pulled the woman from the airline to the floor and out of immediate danger. Then he'd turned and gone straight for the nearest opponent. It was Miller and before the old man could do more than press out a choked shout John had pointed his gun at him, effectively shutting him up.
The Eastern European was another matter. The doctor had thought Sherlock would take him down easily but he was a tiny bit too slow and standing too far away. Thus, Sergej was now hastily waving his gun at him and Sherlock (nothing new there). When he started to threaten the other people in the gate, who'd started to panic and hide, John was more worried. The Ukrainian man seemed very agitated and volatile. Still, the doctor did not loosen the grip on his gun.
When Sergej spoke John naturally didn't understand. Neither did Miller. But suddenly he heard Sherlock speak up and, weirdly, didn't understand him either. The Ukrainian, however, did and answered with a single syllable. He was still tense but had at least stopped maniacally waving his weapon.
A huge string of gibberish followed from Sherlock. He fucking speaks Ukrainian? The detective gestured between Miller, himself and Sergej and appeared to explain something. After about a minute Sergej turned to Miller and looked at him quizzically.
"Eto on govorit pravdu?"
„What? You birdbrained brute! I don't understand a word of it. Do something already!" Miller was becoming furious and a bit scared by Sergej's expression. The other man had slightly lowered his gun and kept talking to him more and more aggressively.
Another sentence from Sherlock and an answer from Sergej and, amazingly, the man laid down his gun and calmly walked over to the consulting detective, spoke a few silent words and let himself be handcuffed. The fleeting thought 'of course he would also steal the accompanying handcuffs from Lestrade' was quickly pushed away by 'What the fuck just happened?'
"Hey… what? Why-?" Miller sounded desperate and angry and was starting to step forward when John concentrated on him again, gave his gun a shake and barked "I don't think so." The other man froze.
Without letting his eyes leave the old professor, John addressed his flatmate, "Sherlock, how the hell-?"
"I'll explain later," came the answer while he finished cuffing a remarkably more relaxed Sergej. Then, Sherlock pulled out his phone and dialled.
"Yes, Lestrade. It's-. Yes, no worries. We stopped them…Yes, if you would just let me-. Heathrow. Thanks, we'll wait."
Sherlock ended the call and pocketed his phone. John was still staring at Miller not to give the man any chance to get away. But in his peripheral vision his saw his friend's emerging self-satisfied grin. The corners of the doctor's mouth jumped slightly at this.
"So, uh, you speak Ukrainian?"
"Of course not. It's not expedient to learn such a niche language. Russian usually does nicely for basic conversation with any Eastern European person over thirty."
_.:0:._
Molly hated it but Mike had advised her insistently to stay at Bart's overnight. The cut in her thigh was very deep and the doctors wanted to be sure that it wouldn't tear open again – which was very likely if she was to walk too much.
She spent the late afternoon and early evening waiting for some sign from Sherlock or John. She was worried about them and wanted to do something, anything. Wanted to help, even though she was sure that she wouldn't be of much assistance in full health, let alone with a semi-serious injury.
Greg had come shortly after Sherlock had sent the text, the machete safely hidden by then. He didn't know where the consulting detective and his friend had disappeared to and asked her if she knew anything. She told him no and dutifully kept her mouth shut about Sherlock's warning and the machete. After all, it wasn't needed information to find out about his whereabouts or plans.
After Greg had left again to find his missing consulting detective Molly didn't hear from any of them for hours. She wanted to inquire. Call or send a text message to Sherlock or John. But every time she grabbed for her phone she stopped herself. What if they were in the middle of a fight and a ringing phone would distract them. What if they had to hide and were in immediate danger of being found out. Again, a ringing phone was not of help. She imagined various scenarios and in every one of them she was the sole cause of Sherlock and John's violent demise.
No contacting them. I'll just wait… Everything will be fine. Right?
Molly didn't sleep. The pills they had given her were laughably ineffective. Her mind was racing and just wouldn't stop.