John was very aware of his surroundings as the three men moved around him. Packing up small overnight bags and moving equipment outside to what the assassin assumed was their vehicle. He didn't know for certain because all he remembered was being drugged and waking up in the motel. The in between time was lost on him. All that really mattered was that he was still in London, and that he didn't have his weapons anymore. He'd also been paying careful attention to his capturers. The blonde was Dimity Vazov, and he seemed to be the unofficial leader of this group. Bagrov was the bulk and brawn, but John was fairly certain he'd been fighting Vazov in the flat where he'd been taken as well. The one who posed the least physical threat was Erik Fanin, but that didn't necessarily make him less dangerous. Fanin was the technical man. The one dealing with the planning, and also the one who had drugged John earlier.

Currently, Fanin was working on undoing John's restraints. His wrists were still zip-tied together, but he'd have more mobility once his arms were freed of the back of the chair. Bagrov was glaring at him, and Vazov was generally ignoring the process. Seemingly more interested in checking over the room to ensure they hadn't missed anything. When his arms were released John moved quickly before anyone else would have a time to react. His head was thrown back into Fanin's, and he heard the man stumble back and fall with a curse. Naturally, Bagrov was quick to surge forward and try to grab and restrain John, but the assassin moved quicker. Running on adrenaline that dulled the pain from his injuries, he tucked a shoulder and drove his whole body into the larger man's gut. It succeeded only in knocking the air from the man and upsetting his balance. John was quick to use his own legs to knock Bagrov to the ground. Through this, the assassin still had his hands behind his back and as he quickly moved from the downed Bagrov as the last of the trio of Russians was seeking to capitalize on this fact. Vazov surged forward as he realized what was happening and grabbed one of John's arms and viciously yanked the assassin off balance. John just managed to ensure they would both be crashing to the ground as Bagrov got back to his feet with a curse. The largest man in the room, Bagrov easily grabbed onto John's restrained wrists and yanked him back onto his knees and off of Vazov.

"Erik" Vazov snarled, but Fanin was already scrambling forward with a sedative that he administered roughly. Shoving the needle into the side of John's neck, and after a few more moments of struggling John went limp.

The assassin didn't wake at whatever destination his capturers had planned this time. Rather, he woke in the back of a car. Bagrov driving, Vazov in the passenger seat, and Fanin beside him holding a black case he was sure held more of the sedatives in case he were to wake and become violent. Keeping this in mind, John was quick to feign that he was still in a drugged sleep. Trying to fight in a moving vehicle was dangerous, but at this point John wasn't above risking his own life. He knew that he might not get very many opportunities in the future to avoid being taken into Russia, and he'd need to take the ones he was presented with. At the same time, that meant he couldn't waste this chance and do something stupid. Fanin was a threat because of the sedatives he was likely carrying, so he'd need to be taken out first. Followed by Bargov, because if John could manage to get the driver incapacitated, Vazov would likely do everything in his power to ensure they didn't crash. Risky. Better than lying around waiting to be dosed with another sedative.

Before John could make his move, the vehicle swerved as Bagrov took a sharp turn. Tossing its occupants to the side as the car threatened to spin out, but the dark-haired Russian just managed to prevent it.

"What the hell are you doing!" Vazov snarled.

"We've got tails," Bagrov countered, and they started swerving again. John risked cracking his eyes open and recognized evasive maneuvers. They weren't subtle tails then.

"Shit, drive faster." the blonde ordered, earning himself a sharp look from Bagrov."Erik, you took his phone didn't you!"

"Course I did!" Fanin said from John's right.

"Then who the hell is after us?"

"Dramatic bastards. Black cars an' everything." Bagrov spat, and it was accented with another turn, and John worried because this was London. High-speed chases in London traffic was practically suicide…unless they weren't in London anymore. Then John was focusing further. People were coming after them? Black cars? Only two people he knew would send black cars after them to possibly be trying to get to John for one reason or another. Mycroft Holmes or James Moriarty. The fact that John already had a preferred choice to who might be gaining on his Russian capturers probably wasn't a good sign, because it sure as hell wasn't Mycroft he was hoping for. Not when that would mean the elder Holmes would know that Dr. John Watson was really an assassin.

John, taking advantage of the distraction, surged up and grabbed Fanin. The man had just enough time to look surprised before the assassin was snapping his neck. He didn't even flinch at the sound of bones snapping, and with little time wasted he was grabbing for the case slipping in the now dead Russian's hands. It opened and he managed to snag a syringe before the rest clattered to the floor of the car. Vazov had already been turning at the sound of a snapping neck and the flashes of movement, and John was already slamming the needle into Bagrov's shoulder and depressing the plunger. The dark-haired Russian shouted in surprise as the pain, and the car swerved again. This time dangerously and out of control. John could see better now, and they weren't in London. Rather they were driving somewhere in the country sides, and behind their swerving vehicle were two black ones. Nondescript. Certainly something most people wouldn't be happy to see, but John wasn't most people.

As the assassin had suspected, Vazov was quick to grab the wheel with a curse as Bagrov slumped in his seat. Not quite out, but certainly not aware enough to drive. John had enough sense the yank a seatbelt into place. Right in time, as the inevitable occurred as the Russian in the passenger seat overcorrected when they hit a ditch at the same time Bagrov's foot pressed down on the accelerator. They spun out, and John braced himself when the vehicle flipped.

For a few moments John blacked out. Senses going dark, and when they came back he was upside down and his head hurt. Fanin's limp body hung in his seat beside John, and the assassin slowly became more aware. Ears ringing and head pounding. With a low groan he was willing himself to move. His body aching and hurting, but he knew he couldn't stay where he was.

A few fumbling tries at his seat belt release had him slumping down onto the roof of the car and he ignored the sting as glass shards dug into his back. He maneuvered himself and kicked the door on his side open. Crawling out of the batter vehicle with a hiss of pain. Wet blood was dampening the back of his head. Not a good sign, but he was still alive yet. John rolled over onto his back and found he wasn't the only one getting out. Vazov seemed to have managed to make it out as well, and the black cars following after them were coming to a screeching halt. A few people jumped out with guns at the ready, and without even a moment's hesitation the blonde Russian was gunned down. The assassin let out a soft sigh of relief before trying to sit up. He needed to find out if these people were friends of foe. When a wave of vertigo threatened his consciousness however, John knew he wouldn't be doing much of anything for a few moments. Luckily he didn't have to, because his answer got out of a third car that pulled up.

Escorted by two guards, James Moriarty in a black Westwood approached John. Looking very much like he was barely restraining himself from killing something. The consulting criminal glanced at the downed assassin, and John realized that the dark eyes darting over his form were checking his injuries.

"Was it really so hard to just wait for me to get you?" Moriarty mused.

"Maybe if you'd found me faster I wouldn't have needed to wreck a car," John shot back tiredly.

"Maybe if you'd paid attention to your surroundings you wouldn't have needed a rescue at all." Moriarty countered, "You're becoming a regular damsel in distress."

John laughed shortly. "Yeah, but whose the one that left the pet of its leash?"

"Sebastian's been dealt with," Moriarty stated. "I think you'll quite like the results."

"Sir—"

"You son-of-a-bitch." the slightly slurred voice of Bagrov snarled, cutting off the guard that had been trying to warn of the Russian who'd crawled painfully out of the car. John's attention snapped to the dark-haired Russian quickly, ignoring the rush of vertigo and pain it caused. Everything seemed to slow down for him.

Bagrov drew a gun. He was barely keeping himself upright enough to aim because of the sedatives and the crash, but it was clear he was aiming for Moriarty. The criminal's guards were pulling guns themselves and aiming. Everyone fired at once. A round of bullets slamming into Bagrov even as the Russian's own headed towards it own target despite the shakiness of the man's aim. John barely realized what he'd done until he was hissing in pain as a bullet entered his back and he was standing, somehow, in front of Moriarty. The criminal's eyes having gone almost comically wide as John felt his legs give out beneath him. Blood already dripping from the wound as he collapsed at Moriarty's feet and the criminal was almost instantly kneeling beside him.

John had just taken a bullet for the man without even thinking about it, after all.

*hides in corner*

*shifts nervously*

Have a good day

Reaperess ^_^