Sherlock story
Deleted Memories, Chapter 147
Warning: post Reichenbach spoilers. Hope you enjoy
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A/N: I hope you enjoy these chapters. Thank you for your comments and review. To those of you who are new to commenting, I have noticed (Smile). To my regular family, all my love :)
Love and Teddy bears, Zacha
"Perhaps everything terrible is in its deepest meaning provides steel and strength
to our bones."~ Grace Freeman
Present Day
Two soldiers were dead and the other wounded with a stab to his abdomen. Mycroft and Anthea were held in the lower level being shot at as they took cover near a room behind a short cement barrier. The place seemed abandoned except for the three soldiers that were shooting at them. They had managed to open the door and release the twelve adults that were locked into a room. The room was guarded by one now dead soldier.
However, they had to engage the remaining soldiers to give the hostages time to escape. Mycroft confessed that there were three problems with their little impromptu plan. The first was that they had to hold off the soldiers who were better armed. The second was that they were running out of bullets. The third was that even though one soldier was persuaded to tell them where the bomb was, it was straight ahead, right pass the other soldiers who were now shooting at them. There was also the fact that Mycroft was hit with a bullet.
"Ok," Mycroft corrected his thoughts, "so there was four not three things wrong with the plan."
Sherlock would never let him forget that last little fact.
Nevertheless, the idea to distract the soldiers away from the fact that their boss might be in trouble, and give Sherlock a fighting chance was working judging from the bullets flying their way. At least, that part seemed to have worked. Mycroft would congratulate himself, if he lived through the experience. He now remembered the downfall of fieldwork.
Mycroft had a gun. They had two more in reserve that were collected from the downed and fallen soldiers.
"How close are the agents?"
"Twenty-three minutes, Sir."
They were a bomb shelter with a tunnel leading to the outside. A tunnel that was not supposed to be public knowledge. Mycroft suspected that that is how the other soldiers disappeared and had his men stationed at the exit, with the instructions to let them exit the tunnel, then engage and arrest them. With the hostages still in the tunnel, he did not want a repeat situation with the hostages caught between a gunfight, and a ticking bomb in a tunnel with no other exits.
If he looked logically at his current situation, it did not look good.
The elder Holmes allowed himself to wonder for a brief moment at the irony of the fact that he was in a situation that if Sherlock were in, he would have given him a stern lecture on acting emotionally instead of with pure logic. He frowned at the consideration that he had acted even remotely as Sherlock would have acted.
Ridiculous.
He dismissed the thoughts and prepared to return gunfire. The soldiers were starting to shoot again.
A soldier lay moaning on the ground after being shot. Sherlock still had his arm extended. Thomas nodded thanks to Sherlock before making a suggestion.
"Mr. Holmes I think our attempt at discretion has failed," Thomas looked nervously in all directions.
"And you would suggest, Thomas?"
"Run, Mr. Holmes!"
Sherlock nodded their agreement and they ran.
Lestrade looked at his watch. They should be there soon. He hoped it would not be too late to get the codes for the bomb, and save John, and save Sherlock and countless people from the fallout.
He would need a holiday when this was over.
John watched Ayyad carefully. He had been gagged the moment that the shots started. He tried to work his hands free but whoever tied the knots was a professional. He knew that it was useless but still had to try.
Something was happening but he did not know what exactly. If this were Mycroft, there would have been more explosions and something more dramatic occurring. John had been through a war. Mycroft knew war.
The scattered shot patterns were not one of an organized tactical team who were trying to gain control of a building floor by floor. They were the patterns of someone who was trying to pick off men, as they quickly moved trying to stay far enough ahead of the enemy not to be shot.
Ayyad had been talking to Mycroft. He had dropped the phone the moment the gunfire started. He called his men and ordered them into the room. The fact that they had not arrived comforted John. That meant that Sherlock was still alive and fighting. That was Sherlock; he would fight until his last breath.
John hoped that, that last breath was not today.
The gunfire had died down. He hoped that Sherlock had some help with him. He also hoped Sherlock did not get himself killed. A few minutes passed. The scattered gunshots started again in earnest.
Sherlock was close now.
Mycroft and Anthea were down to their last bullets.
"How many do you have Anthea?"
"Four Sir, and you."
"Three."
Mycroft did not want to mention the fact that he was starting to feel lightheaded. He deduced from the way that Anthea was looking at him, he did not have to; she already knew. She took a moment to tear the edged of her skirt to add another layer to his makeshift bandages. Mycroft raised an eyebrow as he commented.
"I don't think that you can afford to sacrifice much more of that skirt."
"Seeing a little leg won't hurt you Mr. Holmes, you may even enjoy it," Anthea responded with a smirk as she continued her quick movements.
Mycroft mouth formed a real smile. That was a close to a joke as he had ever seen her come. She smiled back as she tried to pack the wound tighter.
"Are you ready?" She asked before she pushed down and prepared to pull the cloth that held the makeshift dressings tight.
Mycroft nodded as he bit his lips.
As she pulled quickly and pushed as hard as possible, she felt Mycroft's body tense and he closed his eyes. He had a death grip on her hand. He took a few minutes to even out his breathing and blinked away the fog. He swallowed hard as nausea hit him for the first time.
"Well," Mycroft said a little weaker than a moment ago, "back to the matter at hand."
Anthea looked at him and frowned. His last bandaged was already soaked through. She could not see what could be done. Anthea knew that if she told Mycroft to lay still and not move, he would never do it. He knew that she needed help to hold off the soldiers. She frowned and nodded as she picked back up her gun and waited for them to shoot again. There was no point in wasting bullets. She did not comment on the fact that Mycroft hands were starting to shake.