"Tell Lestrade the plan," Sherlock ordered.
John looked at him, "No. We're not following that plan. It's complete shite."
Greg's voice came over the phone, "He's got a plan. What is it?"
"It's not a plan, It's surrender and we're not doing it." At the look on the detective's face, John continued. "Walking in there, cuffed, is not a plan." John jerked his head in the direction of the kidnapper. "He'd give you away instantly and he'd alert them I was following you." His tone softened. "Sherlock, you're not… You're not thinking clearly. You have to know that."
Sherlock tried to jerk his hand away, but the doctor held to it tightly. John was right. Sherlock felt like his brain was congealing inside his skull. He expected to hear Moriarty's mocking voice, but it was held at bay by the hand gripping his own. The detective let out a shuddering breath and spoke, trying to sound composed, "Then what do you suggest?"
John spoke into the phone so Greg could hear him as well, "We'll use the gunman like you suggested to lead us to Walsh, but we'll stop a safe distance away and assess the situation. And, Greg, you should be able to track Sherlock on that website of his. You can meet us where they're holding Mycroft."
"That's hardly a plan," the detective growled.
"It's the start of one," John shot back.
On the phone, Lestrade agreed. "Just promise you two will wait on me to catch you up."
"I guarantee it," the doctor agreed. "Good luck, Greg."
The DI came back with, "You too. Both of you, stay safe," and he rang off.
Mary had walked near. She put a hand on her husband's shoulder. "Molly and I are going, now. Please…"
Sherlock gave her a weak smile. "I'll make sure he stays safe."
Impulsively, Mary wrapped her arms around the detective. "You stay safe too."
The detective stood there, letting her hug him and not knowing what to make of it. He breathed a sigh of relief when she let go and joined Molly as they began walking away. When this was over, he would go away again and this time, he wouldn't come back. Mary didn't deserve him interfering with her life. Sherlock crossed his arms over his chest defensively as he tried to ignore the sound of Moriarty laughing.
Greg rang off and stared at his phone. Somehow he had always known he'd end up being drawn into Sherlock's insanity, well, even more so than he had been to this point. He pocketed the phone and stared at the door of his suite. Walking over, he looked through the peep hole. There were two men sitting in chairs in the hallway. They'd never let him simply walk out of this place.
The DI pulled out his pack of cigarettes and emptied it, dropped the cigarettes on a nearby table, and pocketed the empty pack. Bracing himself, he pulled the door open. "I need a beer."
The two men looked at him blankly.
Leaning up against the door frame, Greg shoved his hands in his pockets. "I don't mean to be a bother, but I tried calling room service. I was informed that they weren't allowed to deliver to this room. I imagine that's your boss' doing." He gave a shrug. "Security and all that."
One if the men gave a sigh and stood. "Would you like anything else, Inspector Lestrade?"
Greg pretended to ponder. "Yeah. I think Mr. Holmes owes me a big, juicy steak. Something nice and thick. Cooked just so with a thin line of pink running through the centre."
The standing man gave a little laugh. "I don't blame you, I'd probably ask for the same." He glanced at the other guard. "I'll be right back."
When the man reached the lift and punched the button, Greg took a couple of steps into the hallway and called out, "Steamed asparagus too! And chocolate cake." His motions had brought him close to where the second guard sat.
The lift opened and the first guard disappeared into it.
"I really need a cigarette. I don't imagine your supposed to smoke in a posh place like this, but..." He gave a shrug, reached into his pocket and pulled out the empty pack of cigarettes. "Damn! You wouldn't happen to have a cigarette on you?"
"Menthol," the guard offered.
"So long as there's nicotine behind it somewhere." Greg shrugged and put on a desperate face.
"I could use one, myself." The guard rose to his feet and reached into his jacket pocket.
Lestrade tackled the man to the ground and, after a brief struggle, managed to cuff him by one wrist to the nearby radiator. It was an advantage of being on the same side - they hadn't searched him, so he had still had his cuffs. Greg scrambled quickly out of reach. "Just so you know, I'm really sorry about this." Turning, he ran down the hall and into the stairwell. He took them two at a time.
Bursting onto the pathway, Lestrade spotted a couple about to climb into a waiting cab. He flashed his warrant card. "Sorry police business." Greg shouldered passed the couple and climbed in. With a quick flash of his card to the cabbie, he ordered, "Drive! Anywhere. And fast."
As the cab pulled into the London traffic, Greg sat back and breathed a sigh of relief. He couldn't believe he had gotten away so easily. Greg reached into his pocket and pulled out his mobile. Quickly, he pulled up the website Sherlock had specified and entered the required information. A map pulled up with a red blip at the centre. He recognised the location as he had known he would - it was the old sweet factory. Greg gave the cabbie the address and watched the screen, waiting for the dot to move.