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Well, then…

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Chapter 13. Ambush – First step: Locate.

"Snipers took their positions." Greg just finished giving final orders on his walkie-talkie, and turned to Sherlock. The Consulting Detective was strangely pale, but holding his usual cold attitude. "Where is Dr Watson?"

"Here!" John joined them behind the police van, two bulletproof vests at hand. "Sherlock, you're putting this on."

"What? No, it will block my movements."

"And it will save your life. Put this on." Holmes mumbled something about useless things, but obeyed reluctantly. It was pointless to oppose John right now.

While John was adjusting his vest, Greg took out his gun. "I don't like the idea of you two going there, but at least I'll be with you."

The chilly answer burst forth immediately: "Do you seriously think it will change a thing?" Lestrade fought the strong urge to punch the genius detective. Happily for this little smart-arse, Donovan arrived to check on them.

"Operation starts in two minutes. Are you ready?" she said inquisitively. Watson nodded affirmatively, but suddenly Lestrade seemed to remember something.

"Sherlock, are you going unarmed?"

"I'm a civilian, remember?" was the ironic reaction.

"Well, who knows what these people are scheming. Sally, give him a gun." As Sergeant was giving him an outraged look, he had to insist: "Now." Clearly annoyed, she ended up giving the weapon, which Sherlock took casually. His mind was already in the house standing two blocks to south. To keep the ambush secret as long as possible, they were forced to take some precautions. The trio of 'negotiators' would walk to the meeting place. "Let's go."

They took off, walking straight on the desert street. Holmes was almost running, but John's brief replicas contributed to slow him down a little. It was late in the morning, and there were very little curious onlookers. Most inhabitants were already at work.

Of course, Sherlock was the first to get to the gate. John was in his tow, and Greg followed them, cautiously watching over their surroundings. A single man was staying there, hidden from snipers' sight by the metallic gate. He turned to them with a shady smile on his craggy face: "You are waited. Follow me." The building was three meters away from the gate. A time-worn two-floor house, a peeling dirty white paint on the façade, wooden boards blocking windows. Sherlock immediately spotted all the fire points, five in total. Two other criminal looking men were waiting behind the front door.

The tension was almost unbearable. Lestrade felt goose bumps under his shirt when they entered the hall. He looked at John and Sherlock. Those two were surprisingly calm. Of course, Watson was a soldier and learnt how to cope with the feeling of danger, however he wouldn't expect the highly talented but completely deprived of self-control Consulting Detective to handle the pressure so nonchalantly, knowing that all this set-up was a long-run vengeance aimed at him.

They entered a wide empty room, firstly meant to be a dining-room. Their guide politely nodded and left. There was a lot of garbage on the ground. Windows were blinded, and in the middle of a lonely sunbeam was what they came for. Oliver Mercier, alias Sorrel, stood firmly with a disgusting grin on his aristocratic face, holding a little boy in front of him. The child's eyes were full of tears but awfully void. He wasn't aware of people around, neither of the gun held near his temple.

A/N : Told you it's getting some action! I'll keep you posted very soon =)