A/N: Sorry it took me so long to get this up. I'm not really happy with this chapter, but here it is anyway! At least it shouldn't be too long for the next update! Please leave me a review!
Sherlock pounded frantically on the door to John and Mary's flat.
"It's bloody 3 a.m.," John said crossly as he peered through the crack he had opened the door. "You've woken Mary and the baby."
"Moriarty has Ri," Sherlock said, trying to keep the panic from his voice.
John was instantly wide awake. He opened the door fully to let his friend inside.
"Give me five minutes to get dressed. I assume I'll need my gun?"
Sherlock could only nod in response. He paced the hallway, silently begging John to hurry, while simultaneously trying not to imagine the horrible things Moriarty could be doing to Ri.
"Five minutes and thirty-six seconds," Sherlock scowled when John returned.
Before Sherlock could raise his hand to hail a cab, a sleek black car pulled up to the corner. For one of the first times in his life, he was actually grateful for his brother's interference. He pulled out his mobile as they entered the car to dial his brother, but stopped when he saw Mycroft's assistant, Anthea sitting in the back seat.
"I assume you've found them?"
"Yes," she answered without looking up from her mobile. "A strike team is en route and will meet us there. Your brother left strict instructions that you are not to enter the premises until they have been cleared."
They drove in silence, pulling up to an abandoned warehouse near the Thames.
"Do not get out of this vehicle," Anthea warned ominously.
"I'd like to see you try and stop me," Sherlock growled in response as he tried to open the door.
The car door wouldn't budge.
"Let. Me. Out," Sherlock hissed.
Anthea looked up from her mobile sympathetically.
"You know I can't," she responded.
"Damn my brother, let me out!"
Sherlock was getting hysterical. He couldn't fight the panic any longer.
"Please," he begged, unable to stop the tears forming in his eyes. "She's alone and afraid. God knows what Moriarty has done to her. I need to save her."
Anthea sighed.
"I hope she's worth it," she said, knocking on the glass to let the driver know to unlock the doors. "Don't get yourself killed."
Sherlock burst from the car, closely followed by John.
"Mr. Holmes," Anthea called, holding out a handgun. "This might come in handy. Let's just keep it between us though."
Sherlock gratefully accepted the weapon, turned and began to run for the entrance to the building.
He opened the door slowly, weapon at the ready. Every bit of his formidable mind focused on saving Ri. The room was seemingly empty and dark, save for a single overhead light at the far end. He eased into the building, his blogger right behind him. As his eyes adjusted to the dim light, he searched the space for any glimpse of the woman he was so desperately trying to save.
Caring is not an advantage, he heard Mycroft's voice echo through his head. Shut up, he told the voice. Do you love her, the voice of his elder brother mocked. Sherlock stopped momentarily to consider the question, still searching the room. How would I know, he snapped in his mind. Love is a societal concoction to placate the prudish masses into justifying the biological imperative to procreate.
Sherlock cautiously approached the lighted area of the building. He could see the lifeless body of Sebastian Moran on the ground. Then he saw her, still bound to the chair that had been tipped over by Moriarty's ruthless beating. Her body was bloodied and deep purple bruises were all ready blossoming across her pale skin.
All caution was tossed aside as he rushed to her side. She was still breathing. He gently bent down and released the bonds around her wrists. She stirred slightly at his touch, her body's natural response was to try and move away from what it perceived as a threat.
"Shh," he whispered, stroking her hair. "You're safe now. I have you."
He whipped his coat off and placed it around her naked body.
Ri opened her swollen eyes at his words. She desperately tried to focus on the person speaking to her.
"Sherlock," she tried to get the word out of her battered lips.
"I'm here. You're safe. I won't let him hurt you anymore."
As Sherlock comforted Ri, John's eyes swept the room, keeping alert for any signs of danger. Out of the corner of his eye, he saw movement about 10 feet to his left. His military training kicked in and he fired at the movement.
Sherlock jumped up at the sound of the gun firing, his own weapon drawn and ready. He followed John to where he stood over Moriarty's body.
As his life slowly drained away, Moriarty smiled at the consulting detective.
"I still win," he whispered with his last breath.
Noise erupted in the silence of the empty building as Mycroft's response team descended. Sherlock returned to Ri's side, trying to calm her.
"I need a medic over here," he yelled, stroking her hair.
Sherlock felt himself being pushed aside as John rushed to his aid.
"I need to examine her," John said gently, removing the coat covering Ri.
Ri was suddenly swarmed by emergency medical personnel and lifted onto a stretcher.
"Sherlock," she whispered, reaching for him. "Don't leave me."
"I won't," he answered, taking her outstretched hand.