John didn't know how it happened. One moment he was nodding off in front of a late-night infomercial...or was it early morning? The next a man was bursting through his door. For a split second John thought that he may have fallen asleep. Then he felt the pain from the earlier blow to his head, and realized he was still awake. He lunged for his gun, which was thankfully nearby on the coffee table.
"I'm armed!" John said to the intruder, who was standing just inside the door.
"John Watson, you are under arrest for the kidnapping of Sergeant Donovan, Anderson, and Detective Inspector Lestrade." The voice was familiar. From the flickering light of the television John could see the outline of a man in police uniform, a gun pointed at John's chest.
How have I ended up in a standoff with a police Sergeant? In nothing but pajamas, he sighed to himself. A bit not good. Wasn't this exactly the sort of thing that should have stopped after Sherlock jumped?
He was tired, groggy, and becoming distracted by an infomercial blaring on the television behind him. Focus. Deduce the situation, a voice in his mind instructed. Realizing that his thoughts had wandered, John squared his shoulders and took a deep breath. What did he know about the man standing across from him? First, he was not a stranger. He worked under Detective Inspector Lestrade. John had met him once, just days earlier. The man had been recently transferred to Scotland Yard, and previously served in the army. A sharpshooter, if John remembered correctly. His name was Mellon? Morgan? No– Moran.
In the back of his mind, John heard sirens several blocks away. Without breaking eye contact, John let out a small sigh of relief. Mrs. Hudson must have called the police. It will all be okay soon.
As if hearing John's thoughts Moran said, "You're not getting out of this one, Dr. Watson. I know what you've done." Despite the beads of sweat forming along his hairline, John shivered.
"This is some kind of misunderstanding." Moran responded with a sharp laugh.
The sirens were louder now; just outside the window. Someone was knocking on the front door. A momentary pulse of relief ran through John before he realized his predicament. He would need to convince a room full of policemen to trust him over their colleague. Highly unlikely.
Quickly, blocking out the sound of sirens and the footsteps of what sounded like all Scotland Yard, John asked Moran, "Why in the world do you think that I kidnapped anyone?"
Moran merely smirked and pulled John's mobile out of his pocket. John opened his mouth to respond, but stopped when he heard movement outside the door to the flat, just behind Moran. He braced himself for an onrush of police. Instead the door, which had been left ajar after Moran's entrance, slowly opened to reveal a lone policeman standing in the entryway.
"Dr. Watson," the officer began, "please come with us." The man then broke eye contact with John and lowered his gaze to John's chest. Unable to resist the urge, John looked down at his chest. A small red light was wavering over his heart. A sniper, John chided himself, I should have known to move away from the windows.
John knew his situation was inescapable. He nodded quickly, dropped his weapon, kicked it to the man in the doorway, and raised his hands. Moran quickly covered the distance between them, and handcuffed John roughly. As he shoved John forward towards the doorway, Moran whispered, "that wasn't so hard now, was it?"
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