The Silent Banker
A Silent Saviour
Sarah quickly pulled herself together and grabbed her coat, about to head out of the door, when a flash of silver caught her eye; Rose's cigarettes and lighter. Quickly, she grabbed them, convincing herself that Rose would need them when she got out of this mess. When, not if.
With that thought, she ran down the stairs and out the door, throwing up a hand to hail a cab. She was the only one who could help them now Sherlock had run after them, and she would be damned if she just sat and cried while they needed help.
Shan leant forward, placing a small black origami flower on the lap of the silent woman.
John knew that time was running out, and in his anger and fear he just shouted. "I'm not Sherlock Holmes!"
Shan just turned to him. "I don't believe you." She said simply.
"You should, you know." Came a new voice in the dark tunnel, making John and Rose both look up in hope, and making general Shan turn toward the voice, gun raised and ready to shoot. "Sherlock Holmes is nothing at all like him."
John let out a sigh of relief, but it was short lived as he was reminded that time was running out. Rose didn't seem to care though, he noticed. There was a new light in her eyes. Hope; that they would get out alive, that Sherlock would save them, that it would be alright. How she came to that conclusion, John didn't know, but a small voice whispered in his head, it's Sherlock Holmes.
They saw a shadow move in the tunnel. "How would you describe me John? Resourceful? Dynamic?" They could hear the smile in his voice as he said the last one. "Enigmatic?"
"Late?" Replied John.
"A sod?" Threw in Rose lightly.
In the shadows, Sherlock frowned at her input and deciding to ignore the comment, he got on with it. "That's a semi-automatic, if you fire it, the bullet will travel up to a thousand meters per second." He waited for her reply, watching the man approaching from the shadows. He saw a metal pole and decide to take a little inspiration from John's date.
"Well?" Shan said, wanting to know what his point was.
He leapt forward then, whacking the man over the head with the heavy metal, causing him to drop to the floor unconscious, then leapt back into the cover of the shadows.
"Well," He started to reply. "The curvature of these walls is nearly four meters, if you miss, the bullet will ricochet. It could hit anyone." He told her, darkening his tone towards the end. "It could even bounce off and hit you."
John saw the flicker of fear in Shan's eyes, knowing her weapon was not as intimidating as it had first seemed. Then a tall shadow leapt toward a barrel of fire, knocking it over and putting the fire out with the force of it, making the tunnel a lot darker.
John saw Shan make a run for it, but Rose felt a presence behind her, trying to untie the ropes at her wrists.
But Sherlock was distracted from his task by a strip of material that suddenly wrapped around his neck, cutting off his air.
Rose guessed what had happened by the jerking shadows and the gasping sounds coming from her friend. "Sherlock!" She called out, trying to turn to see what was happening.
John saw what was happening, and tried to move forward in his chair, but only ended up going a few feet before falling down next to the crossbow. He saw the weight get closer and closer to its mark, so he tried to do what he could.
And so, kicking the contraption, just as the weight nudged the bowl, the string let the bolt fly, grazing Rose's bare arm and sending the sailing length of wood into the gut of the man strangling Sherlock.
Sherlock felt the force behind the fabric lesson, and heard the man crash to the floor, letting him pull the cloth from his neck easily. He stood there for a second, looking at the scene before him.
John lay on the floor, tired to a chair, panting heavily and trying to smile at Rose, who sat on her chair, not doing much. Next to him, lay a dead Chinese man, a bolt through his stomach. A voice brought him out of his thoughts.
"You alright back there, Sherlock?" Said Rose lightly, as if she hadn't just been kidnapped and tortured for information that they didn't have. Her voice was beyond croaky, and very rough, but she spoke anyway, knowing that it needed to be done.
"I'm good." He replied just as lightly, reaching down to undo the bloody rope at her wrists. His voice was a little rough from his fight with the man, but was not any worse than it was at Soo Lin's place. "And yourself?"
She chuckled, the sound turning into a painful cough. "Just peachy." She looked to John then, concern lacing her tone. "How you doing, John?"
John looked up from his place on the floor, taking in Rose's concerned face, and the conversation between his two impossible, insane flatmates.
He just cracked up. He laughed and didn't care that he was tired to a chair, lying in the mud with a dead smuggler not far away. He just laughed.
"I think John's lost it." Rose said to Sherlock, just as he undid the last of the bonds holding her in place. She reached out her arms, stretching them as much as possible, feeling the wound on her arm protest. Sighing she looked at the wound and looked to her wrists. They were bloody and raw, but not bleeding anymore, unlike the wound on her arm. With a heavy sigh, she carefully took off her bloody and wrecked bandanna and tied it over the wound on her arm, stopping the flow of blood until she could get proper attention.
Done taking care of herself she turned to see Sherlock straightening his scarf and smoothing out his clothes. She just rolled her eyes at him, offering a small smile which he returned with his own cold half smile.
She went to help pick John up, setting the chair straight and undoing the ropes on his own wrists. Sherlock noticed with a hit to his ego, that she undid Johns ropes faster than he had hers.
John got up from his chair, his laughing having died down when Rose picked up his chair. He saw Rose stand there smiling at him, and he just stepped forward and hugged her.
The sudden hug surprised Rose, and she stood very still for a moment before relaxing her posture and hugging John back.
Letting her go, he took the young woman's bare upper arms - being mindful of the material acting as a bandage - and looked in her eyes.
"Don't do that again." He said sternly.
Defiantly a big brother, she thought fondly. "Damn!" She replied, giving her usual sarcastic response complete with matching smirk. "There goes my plans for next week!" He just squeezed her arms and gave her a stern look. She sighed, knowing what he meant, and nodded in defeat.
Sherlock watched the two of them with interest, wondering what she had done to warrant such a response. He'd get the full story from John later.
Out side they walked past several police cars, DI Dimmock standing in front of one of them.
Rose saw Sherlock go up to him, and thought she would see what he had to say. John just carried on walking at a slightly slower pace, knowing that they would catch up.
"We'll just slip away, no need to mention us in any reports." Sherlock said lowly.
"Mr Holmes-" Dimmock started, but he was cut off by the consultant.
"I have high hopes for you Inspector. A glittering career."
Dimmock just sighed, and reluctantly replied, "I go where you point me."
Sherlock just smiled, eyes widening as the word passed his lips. "Exactly."
Dimmock just sighed, but as they turned away he spoke again. "What about her? She needs medical attention." He pointed to Rose, seeing her bloodied face, wrists and arm.
She just smiled. "I'll have John patch me up at home." Sherlock smiled internally, knowing she was blatantly lying to the DI.
"Sure?" She nodded, and he carried on. "Well aright then. The woman who came in, Sarah Sawyer, she said to give you this." He put his hand in his pocket, pulling out her cigarettes and lighter. She grinned, eyes lighting up at the sight. "I told her to go home, but don't be surprised if you find her at your flat." He said as she light up, breathing out a large puff of smoke.
Sherlock nodded, and turned away, but Rose decided hat the DI deserved a little more than that, even if he was a little uncooperative at times. She switched her cigarette to her left hand and - noting the bloody prints on the white stick - wiped her hand on the leg of her trousers a few times.
"Thanks." She said simply, holding out the relatively clean hand. Dimmock just looked surprised, and took the offered limb with a gloved hand, shaking it.
After their hands dropped, Rose turned and ran after Sherlock, who had picked up his pace and they met John at the curb a few minutes later. Hailing a cab, the three of them headed home.