Sherlock Story
Forgotten Memories, Chapter 188
*Thanks so much for reading. Please do not forget to comment.
A disclaimer: Sherlock belongs to BBC along with the talented writers Steven Moffat and Mark Gatiss; along with the amazing Martin Freeman and Benedict Cumberbatch. No money was made. The story, however, is my original thought and comes out of my overactive imagination. Other characters introduced are also mine.
"Don't you believe it."~ Morco
221 B Baker Street
Current Day
John sat in the chair next to his bed as he smiled happily. He tried to read the adverts, but he was too distracted. One chuckle escaped from his lips before he could stop himself. He had to leave Sherlock's presence for a little while, or he would not be able to hide the Cheshire cat grin on his face.
He had done it.
Finally.
He had outsmarted Sherlock Holmes. And to think, it had only taken him four and a half years.
Ten Minutes Earlier.
A flash of lightning raced across the dark-gray sky. A roar of thunder followed on its heel. Fat raindrops pelted the windows of 221B. The gushing winds were blowing the raindrops sideways. They pelted the windows in an off-rhythm beat. They had just finished one of their, as Sherlock termed it, mental exercises. The latest case was solved, and Lestrade had been called with the results. Yet, there were a few details that needed to be clarified. During these times, it was their practice for John to try to work out the details, and Sherlock to correct him if he was in error. It was a typical afternoon at 221B, at the end and close of a case.
John sat down after depositing a fresh cup of tea next to Sherlock's chair. He picked up the newspaper resigned. It was better than watching the telly. There was never anything good on at that time of day. Sherlock's deep voice interrupted his thoughts.
"You're rudimentary powers of deduction is coming along, John." John waited for it. He knew that following a compliment, he should expect an unintended insult. "Still, you missed three key elements during your deduction on the latest case. Come - come John. You must apply yourself more. You know my methods."
And, there it is, John thought. He watched Sherlock's movements. Sherlock put the case files together in preparation for a police constable to pick them up. It would be within the next few hours. John put his tea down on the side table, and laced his fingers together, as they rested on top of one knee. A thought came to his mind. It might even work.
"I might make incorrect deductions on cases, Sherlock, but I am an expert at deducing Sherlock Holmes."
The Consultant Detective did not slow down his movements. He did, however, snort once, before several loud chuckles burst from his lips. He walked over to his chair and sat down, as he picked back up his cuppa. One eyebrow arched high on his forehead. He took the time to take a sip and leaned back in his chair, while looking at John, before he said with all seriousness, "I think not."
"I think so," John said just as self-confidently.
Sherlock's look became challenging. "You can deduce me, when I don't want you to? Really John. If you manage to get any information out of me that I don't want you to know, I'll strip naked and dance in the rain, while singing, God save the Queen." Sherlock did not try to hide the superior look on his face.
"Alright." John turned his body toward his friend. Silently, he studied him for several long seconds before speaking. "During the time that Moriarty had you brainwashed into thinking your name was Benedict, you never clearly told me if you knew that Thomas had on a bullet proof vest before you shot him."
"Didn't I?" Sherlock replied casually as he took another sip.
"No"
"Hum"
"I've learned a thing or two living with the great Sherlock Holmes. I hate to have to do this Sherlock, but you leave me no choice. Turn and look me in the eyes." John said with sudden seriousness.
Sherlock took another sip of tea then turned with amusement and looked at his friend.
John took a sip of his own and put down the cup. He looked directly at Sherlock who was careful to make his facial expression blank.
John locked eyes with Sherlock. He looked him up and down carefully as he asked. "Sherlock, did you know that Thomas had on a bullet proof vest?"
Sherlock said nothing. He did not even blink.
John looked at him for another minute then his face broke into a relieved smile.
"So you did know, thank you Sherlock." John took back up the morning newspaper, as he sipped on his tea at intervals.
Sherlock stared at him for several long minutes giving nothing away.
Irritation grew, he sipped on his tea. One of his feet started to tap without his knowledge. Finally he could not stand the quiet. "I gave nothing away." Sherlock said in what he hoped was a casual, uninterested voice.
"Yes, you did," John said just as casually, as he turned the page of the newspaper.
Sherlock irritation grew. Minutes passed until he felt he could be silent no longer.
"Alright, tell me. How did you know that I knew that Thomas had a bulletproof vest on, John?" Sherlock was exasperated.
John said nothing. He slowly took a sip of tea and commented on its flavor before he answered. The entire time he saw Sherlock's face becoming more red.
"I didn't know Sherlock, you just told me."
John expected Sherlock's face to show anger. Instead, it showed shock.
"Why John," he finally said, "that was… devious. I didn't know that you had it in you." Sherlock sounded proud.
"Very good," Sherlock added, before he resumed drinking his tea.
"I learned from the best." John said happily, as he got to his feet. He took two steps before turning and looking at Sherlock. "By the way, don't worry about stripping naked and dancing in the rain. We wouldn't want to stop traffic, now, would we? Even though, you owe me a song later." John walked toward his bedroom without saying another word.
The younger man waited until he heard John's footsteps above him. Sherlock tried to hide his smile. John was most amusing when he thought that he had outsmarted him. Of course, he would never say this out loud. The man did own a gun and was a crack shot.
Sherlock took another sip. The tea was good.
Three Days Later
Current Day
He blinked once heavily, as his fingers moved across his laptop. It had been an exhausting and busy three days, but he was finally heading home. Although he would never admit it out loud, he was looking forward to a few days of relative quiet. At least, as quiet as his life ever became. He would be landing in a little over two hours.
He glanced a few yards away at Anthea. She was talking intently to another agent. She glanced at him curiously for a second or two, before returning to her work. He returned his attention to his task. Within seven minutes, he finished typing on his Mac. Sighing lightly, he laid his head back on the cushioned seat. He looked out of the window to the scattered clouds below. They were still flying over the ocean, but he could see the outline of land straight ahead. Soon, they would begin their descent.
He blinked heavily. It took him a few seconds to realize that he had drifted into a light sleep. Something had caught his attention. He pushed himself upright. The constant movement of the last thirty days had finally caught up with him. The light volume of the voices speaking drifted into his ears. There was another sound.
His long fingers brushed against the fabric of his tailored suit, as he pulled out his Smartphone. Mycroft's normally stoic face contorted into a drowsy expression, as he put his mobile to his ear.
"Yes." He said automatically. Whoever had the private number, knew who he was.
Within seconds he was fully alert. He sat up straight, and glanced straight ahead. Anthea was already moving quickly in his direction. The aircraft jerked unexpectedly due to turbulence. Despite the need to hold on to the seats as she moved, she quickly made her way to her boss. Several staff and agents followed.
A voice that Holmes had hoped to never hear again, spoke.
"Missed me?"
"Not in the least," Mycroft replied, as he looked at Anthea.
It was unnecessary for him to tell her to investigate which of his top agents were missing. That was the only way that Moriarty could have gotten Mycroft's private phone number. It had been changed since the last time that Moriarty had called him. Anthea was on her phone as several agents gathered around. They were engaged in various activities. They would be landing soon, so they had to work quickly, before their electronic devices would be required to be temporarily shut down.
When the voice on the other end of the mobile phone line spoke again, his voice held mirth. But his voice held something else, something dark.
"Oh, but I've missed you. But there's someone else I've missed, isn't there."
It wasn't the volume of voices speaking quietly that got Mycroft's attention; it was the sudden, abrupt quiet. Although his attention never wavered from Moriarty, his eyes turned to Anthea in question. She held a typed message out for him to read on her mobile. Mycroft's breath hitched for only a second. No one could have possibly noticed, but Anthea did. She took a second to look him in the eyes. He looked back, nodded once, and then returned his full attention to the man on the other line.
"Come against me in the way that you are thinking, and you'll regret it." Mycroft's voice was as sharp as cut glass, and colder than ice.
There was a chuckle on the other phone line. But the quiet laughter held no joy.
"Well then Mister Holmes… Let's dance."
The line abruptly disconnected.
There was a sudden flurry of activity. Mycroft knew his people well enough to know that they would do exactly what needed to be done. He pulled out his mobile and rapidly pushed several numbers. He waited with uncharacteristic impatience for the other phone line to connect.
The New Scotland Yards
Current Day
Lestrade walked beside the two men. Another case was solved; it was the third in four days. Sherlock was definitely back at the top of his game. Sherlock and John laughed lightly as they walked on the ground floor to the exit of the New Scotland Yard office building. Sherlock was making observations about one of the new forensic staff. The forensic technician had made an obvious mistake at a crime scene, and Sherlock was more than happy to point it out. He had used his normal level of diplomacy, which was to say, he had used none. Lestrade raised an eyebrow and smiled, but said nothing. In truth, he had found the entire event amusing as well. Of course, he would never admit this fact out loud.
Sherlock's mobile rang. He picked it up without losing a step. "Holmes," he said automatically.
John said nothing, but he noticed the way that Sherlock steps became slightly off rhythm. John immediately stopped smiling and paid attention.
Lestrade frowned and asked quietly, "Is everything all right?"
Sherlock looked at Lestrade for a few seconds before answering. "Yes, just a little problem in the flat, the boiler has gone out. I'll call Mrs. Hudson and tell her to stay with her sister for an additional day. We'll stay with Mycroft tonight. There is nothing to worry about."
Lestrade looked at Sherlock for a few minutes, and then he looked at John who had put a small, false smile back on his face. He nodded slowly before a text alert sounded. He would be needed upstairs.
"Duty calls, mates." Lestrade took a few steps away before he turned and added, "You know where to find me if you need me, Sherlock." He looked for a few seconds longer, before he turned around, and answered his mobile phone. He precariously balanced three case files in his hands, while his shoulder held his mobile phone to his ear. The Detective Inspector disappeared around a near corner wall. His speech was forced and rushed.
Sherlock stopped abruptly when he noticed that Lestrade could no longer see his movements. He unexpectedly changed directions, before he entered the side door, and made his way down to the basement level. John followed close on his heels. There was no point in asking him what was wrong. The fact that he had not tried to lose him must have been difficult for his friend. Sherlock had given John his word that he would warn him before leaving. John considered the fact that when Sherlock gave his word, he had never known him to break it.
"Where," Sherlock spoke on his mobile, as his palm connected with the door and pushed firmly. Within a short period of time, he was exiting through the back way. The pair travelled three streets away quickly.
John said nothing as he walked by his side. When they were finally far enough away from Lestrade and Mycroft's men, John spoke. "Moriarty?"
"Yes," Sherlock glanced at his wristwatch and moved faster. John easily kept pace.
"Why are you not telling anyone?" John asked after a brief silence. He already guessed at the answer. He hoped desperately that he was wrong.
"They're at the manor." There was a slight hesitation. "Mummy is safe. She is in Dubai." Sherlock hesitated as he looked toward his friend. "However, Irene and William are there, as well as staff." He stopped as he looked intently at John. "It could be dangerous."
John thought about how his friend had an amazing ability to understate the obvious. He smiled as he said, "You'll need help then."
Sherlock punched in a code on his mobile phone to activate the tracking. He also sent out three text messages, as a precaution. Finally, he made a quick phone call. It had to be someone whom he trusted completely. One person immediately came to mind. He connected quickly. "I need you to do something for me. I need you to be precise, and do exactly as I instruct, do you understand?"
Sherlock gave quick instructions. John listened quietly without interruption. When Sherlock had finished, John asked. "I don't suppose we have time to get your weapon."
"I'm afraid not, John."
John nodded his understanding. "Will they separate us?"
"Torture and kill us is more likely." Sherlock asked seriously. "Are you sure that you want to come along?"
"Where you go, I go." John turned toward Sherlock. "Besides," John smiled, "it sounds like a party."
Sherlock looked at John. Even now, John had the ability to raise his spirits. The corners of his lips turned up into a small smile almost on their own accord.
Their attention turned to the Consultant Detective's ringing mobile.
Current Day
Current Time
Lestrade sat in the meeting. He did not notice that he repeatedly tapped the end of his writing pen on his right leg. His mind was partially distracted. He could not stop thinking about the look on Sherlock's face. To anyone else, Holmes would have appeared aloof, even bored, but he knew Sherlock longer than anyone; and better than anyone except John. Lestrade was convinced that something was wrong. Within fifteen minutes, he had dismissed the meeting. Before Greg could prepare to make a phone call, a distinct ringing sound pierced the air.
"Detective Inspector Lestrade."
The voice on the other end of his mobile phone spoke. "It's as you suspected, Sir. He never went through the front door. They disappeared out the back way. I lost them several streets away. There is a protective detail of agents sitting in a motorcar in the front of the building. They are not even aware that Holmes and Watson have left."
"Thanks Donovan."
Lestrade hissed angrily to the air. "Dash it all." He grabbed his overcoat with one hand, and his gun with the other.
Lestrade thought for a second. If not only Sherlock, but also John tried to disappear, that meant only one thing. Lestrade frowned, as he picked up his mobile to dial a number while moving. It was to be used only in the case of an emergency. Before his finger could press the first phone key, it rang. It was Mycroft Holmes. He did not give Mycroft the chance to speak. The words rushed out on their own accord.
"Mister Holmes, I think there's a problem."
Current Day
Current Time
Thomas received a phone call. He had literally just gotten off the airplane half an hour ago. He had been out the country for over a week, helping Mrs. Holmes to resettle in Dubai. She was to finish teaching, and then return to England during holidays.
One of the Agents said in a rushed voice, "Sir, we have a location within forty yards."
Thomas nodded with the mobile next to his ears. Earlier, he had quickly made several phone calls in an effort to activate the trackers, when he realized that Holmes had already activated them. Because of this, thirty minutes had been saved.
They drove quickly toward the outskirts of London.
Current Day
Current Time
They waited in the pickup location. Sherlock was careful to allow several CCTV cameras to capture his and John's images. They were currently in an alley several blocks away from Scotland Yard. He observed the motorcar, as it pulled up into the alley. Sherlock resisted the urge to roll his eyes. So, he thought, it was to be the classic abduction by a motorcar in a darkened alleyway.
Cliché… Predictable… Dull.
He moved himself backwards. John mimicked his movements. John and Sherlock positioned themselves far enough away from the wall to be in a position to fight. However, the alley was narrow, and room, limited. The adrenaline pumping through both men's bodies caused the sound of the car door opening to seem unnaturally loud.
Several rather large and dull looking men surrounded them. Five to be exact. They were all dressed in black, as if they had taken fashion advice from a crappy mob movie. It would have been comical at any other time. These were men that were unfamiliar to both Sherlock and to John.
Sherlock instantly deduced that these were men hired by Moriarty, not his regular staff. He had no doubt that Moriarty himself and his men were close by.
The smallest of the five men walked up to Sherlock. Sherlock deduced him. Leader, he thought; not very smart, still the brightest one in the group. Sherlock looked at him, and glanced at the other men. He wondered if the other men had the ability of speech. The man looked curiously at John, but said nothing about his presence. This made Sherlock's heart sink. The lack of comment about John's presence meant that they not only expected him to accompany Sherlock, but was actually planning to kidnap him. Apparently, his presence had saved them the trouble.
The man smirked, as he looked him up and down. "I'll have your coat, and your gun, if you please."
John looked at Sherlock, and with Sherlock's nod, both men started to remove their overcoats. John removed his gun from behind him and handed it to the man. He smiled and tossed the gun in the skip. The overcoats, however, he put in the boot of the car. Two of the men came close and patted both men down as they search for additional weapons. They were quick, and almost clinical. A car door was opened in the back for both men. Sherlock noted that the windows were tinted so that no one could see them in the back seat when they were driven. They were also to have black hoods placed over their heads. The entire act seemed pointless. It was painfully obvious what their destination was.
As they prepare to enter the car, an outstretched hand in front of Sherlock stopped them.
"One more thing mate. Pop your shoes off as quick as you like." His voice was almost friendly, but no one was fooled. The shorter man now looked around. Sudden realization seemed to come to the leader. They had taken too long to start moving.
Sherlock's mouth tightened slightly. He caught John's eye, before he started to remove his shoes. John did the same.
Unknown Warehouse
Forty Minutes Later
Current Time
It was empty. Thomas walked around, as he looked back and forth at the entire building. It was all misdirection. The empty and dirty building contained only three articles; two cell phones, two pairs of shoes, and two coats. Sherlock's black Belstaff wool overcoat and John's cream colored jacket. An agent was in the process of removing the items. He pressed his lips tightly together, as he looked around thinking. His movement's stopped abruptly. A thought came to the Agent's mind, a horrible thought. He picked up his phone and made a call. No one answered. He tried a different phone number. No one answered that phone line either. Thomas resisted the urge to curse.
Thomas abruptly ran from the warehouse with his men following. His mobile phone rang, while he was in the process of jogging. He answered without slowing down.
"Yes." He listened, as the person on the other end spoke.
He gritted his teeth with irritation before speaking. "Yes Miss Hooper, I know, we're on the way there. I have a man on the way to pick you up." He took his free hand and pulled the car door open.
Within seconds, several car doors slammed loudly. The sound of tires, as it fought to maintain its friction on the hard road, filled the air. Everyone drove much too fast. No one intended to slow down.
The Holmes Family Manor
Current Time
When Sherlock walked in, Irene and William sat at the opposite end of the table. Anger flashed on Sherlock's face. He pushed it aside and concentrated on the task at hand. He felt John tensed beside him, as they both prepared for anything. William was asleep. However, he could tell by the unusual way that the young child clung to his mother, that he sensed that something was wrong.
Sherlock looked Adler in the eyes. He saw anger there, but also the hint of fear. That fear was not for herself. It was for the same reason that he felt fear. He looked reassuringly into her eyes. She gave a hint of a nod. Sherlock then turned away and examined the room for any changes, possible weapons, and ways to escape. He had not seen any staff, nor any of the three agents who were assigned to the mansion. It was eerily still and quiet. He had never known it to be so quiet, or that empty.
One of the more seasoned staff brought in a tray of fresh coffee and scones. He had been in the employ of the Holmes Family for over twenty-five years. His name was Abbot. Their eyes met briefly. Sherlock gave a reassuring smile and nod before he turned his attention fully to the three men in the room. He had noticed two more men at different spots in the house.
The new mobile phone that Moriarty's employees had given him rang. "I've done all that you've asked. Let Adler, the child, and the staff leave safely." He did not bother to ask for John to leave. He knew that he would not.
"Have some coffee. Or, would you prefer tea?" Moriarty's voice held amusement.
Abbot walked over to the large wooden table, and deposited the tray, before going to stand quietly at the end of the room.
"I'd rather have my shoes. The one that were given to me isn't really my style." There was a moment of silence. "Oh, and I'd also like my mobile, and my overcoat. I'm quite fond of that coat." There was a shorter bit of silence. "And if you're taking requests, I'd also like our freedom."
The Consultant Criminal did not say a word for several seconds, before he broke into a loud, deep laugh. "I have missed you."
"Bit of a risk, isn't it?" Sherlock's voice was conversational. "Tell me, what is it like to be the most wanted man in the world?"
Moriarty's voice held irritation. "The same way it feels to have your world within my hands." There was a brief hesitation. "But, don't worry. Have your coffee. I'll be there soon." The phone line was abruptly disconnected.
Sherlock deposited the mobile into his suit jacket pocket. One of the criminal raised an eyebrow as they looked pointedly at Holmes jacket. Sherlock sighed, while rolling his eyes. He pulled out the mobile and deposited it on the wooden table. It was worth a try. One of the men cautiously picked up the mobile phone without taking his eyes from the Consultant Detective. He glanced at John briefly then Irene. John raised an eyebrow; Irene looked briefly at William, and then looked back.
The three men in the room stared warily at Holmes. Most of their attention was focused on him. Suddenly, a soft whimpering sound drew their attention. There was a terrified expression on Adler's face, as silent tears roll down. She had put the sleeping child down on the large table next to where she sat.
"Irene," Sherlock said quietly, with concern in his voice. He started to move toward her.
One of the guards stopped him; he pulled out his gun, pointing. "Don't move," he said somewhat nervously. He had heard about Holmes. He did not intend to get close enough to have the man strike him.
Adler gasped when he took out the gun. Her lips trembled. Within minutes, she was crying inconsolably. Both hands covered her face as her loose, curly hair swung to the front.
"Irene…" John called softly. "Irene…"
William frowned in asleep and turned, but did not wake. "Let me go to her," John demanded with a quiet hiss. "She's going to faint. Can't you see that she is distressed."
The Butler Abbot moved closer to Adler, and the child. The two men closest to Adler did not stop him. They did not see the older man as a threat.
One of the guards nodded his head toward John. John nodded his thanks as he started to walk toward Irene. When Sherlock started to move toward Irene and William as well, the man next to him spoke.
Moriarty's hired man had his attention pulled in two directions. He said irritably, "You, stay where you are, and raise your hands."
Sherlock frowned; his face did not hide the emotions that danced on them.
When John reached Irene, she broke down on his shoulder and cried fully.
One of the men cursed all the women since the creation of women. The other man moved in irritably toward Irene. "Shut her up," one of the men said with growing impatience, "or I will."
At that very moment Irene fainted into John's arms. The guards cursed more. John mumbled under his breath, as he held Irene, repeating. "Irene…, Come on love… Open your eyes."
All three of the men in the room's attention were suddenly off of Sherlock and onto the fainted woman. The man that had been guarding Sherlock turned his head for a moment.
Almost immediately, and explosion of sounds and gunfire filled the room. The rapid, popping resonance of gunfire sounded behind Sherlock. He grabbed the man closest to him and wrestled the gun away. One man came running into the room, and toward Sherlock. Sherlock used the body of the man who was close to him, and pushed it into the body of the man who entered the room. The sound of a bullet hitting flesh ripped through the air. The man closest to him grunted, fell, and then was still.
"Behind," someone said in a rushed voice.
An explosion of pain blossomed on Sherlock's face, as he stumbled backwards. He grabbed the corner of Moriarty's man's shirt, and pulled. Both Sherlock and the man fell to the floor. The gun clanged on the floor and slid out of view.
Both men struggled to get to their feet. Sherlock was faster.
Moriarty's man swung at Sherlock's face. Sherlock ducked and the man missed completely. The man tried to hit Sherlock a second time. As Moriarty's men overcorrected the swing of his punch, Sherlock immediately snapped his hand backward, and hit him, open palm, hard in the middle of the chest. Moriarty's men staggered backward, gagging.
Sherlock gave Moriarty's man no time to recover. Time was dangerous, and unpredictable, maybe even deadly. Another hard-hit to the man's Solar Plexus, and the man was doubled over. Sherlock added an elbow to the man's back. The momentum carried the man spiraling toward the ground. There was an audible crack as his head smacked the edges of the dining room table.
Sherlock heard steps coming toward him as the man on the floor moaned weakly.
Sherlock turned quickly to swing in the direction of the sound behind him, when John's voice stopped him.
"It's me!"
Sherlock stopped his arm mid-punch. He exhaled a breath fully, as he looked around. All five of the men were down. William was in the corner with wide eyes. Irene was comforting him. The Butler was over one man. He was tying them with anything he could find to restrain them. He looked a little disheveled as well. He had apparently hit one of the men with the metal food tray. Sherlock smirked when he realized that the men's mistakes were in underestimating how determined the older man could be.
An alarm sounded.
Sherlock ran up to Irene. "Moriarty is here."
He turned toward the older man. He handed him a gun that he had retrieved from one of the fallen men. "Abbot, I need for you to get Miss Adler and Williams safely away. Released the other staff, and take the emergency exit out."
The older man nodded, "Yes, Sir."
Sherlock looked at Adler as he handed her a gun as well. "It's a five mile walk to our closest neighbors. Abbot will show you the way. I'll hold them back. That'll give you all a chance." Irene glanced at William.
"You'll all be fine." Sherlock added with a forced smile. He knew that she would be able to tell. It was for William's sake.
Sherlock could tell by the look in Irene's eyes that she did not want to leave him or John. She wanted to stay and fight.
"If something should happen to me, William will need one of us, Irene. You have to go." He held her gaze for a second before adding gently, "You have to go… right now."
She nodded. Sherlock took a second to look at William. He kissed the young child on the forehead. The father-son relationship had grown very strong over the last four months. Whenever he felt threatened, William instinctively clung to his father. It felt almost physically painful when Sherlock had to pry his son's hands from his neck.
"It'll be all right, William." Sherlock reassured the young child softly.
There was sudden and undeniable proof that Sherlock Holmes had a heart, because the young child's soft, almost inaudible whimpers were cutting into that very heart. He kissed Irene deeply. He kissed William again for the second time. With John as the exception, he felt uncomfortable with emotional display. He suddenly did not care who saw his forbidden public show of affection.
Irene drew back from the kiss and looked at him, then at John. She closed her eyes and opened them. All emotions were suddenly wiped from her face. The same determination that Irene Adler used to almost take down the British government came to her now. Within seconds, they were gone.
John and Sherlock glanced at each other.
John and Sherlock looked at each other as they positioned themselves between Adler, William, and the fleeing staff. They both took aim at the door. They heard the footsteps as Moriarty's men moved closer. Apparently Moriarty was in no hurry, he did not yet realize that his hired men were down.
Sherlock, who knew every sound, smell, and part of the manor, knew that they had only minutes. Soon, the intruders would be close enough for them to start firing their borrowed weapons.
John took a defensive position. "Well Sherlock, I think it's time to tell Moriarty hello."
Sherlock smiled at his friend, as he mimicked his movements. Even in the worst situations, John always gave him hope. He felt something pull at his chest, as he looked at his best mate. He said, "Personally, I'd rather tell him goodbye."
Their light chuckles stopped abruptly.
For the second time in half an hour, there was an explosion of sound. Within seconds, the gunfight became serious. White sparks and flashes of light lit the area violently.
Unknown to Moriarty and his man, a small group of fifteen men and women, made their way through the backwoods, toward a neighboring estate. They took turns helping each other, and carrying the young and unusually quiet child.