Disclaimer: all characters belong to their rightful owners. As usual.
My special thanks to Valkyrie Of The Dead for following and favouriting! =)
A short chapter again… Now that I think about it, they've never been long. Sorry about that.
Be my guest and review! Critics, feedback, anything!
Thank you for reading, and here we go…
Chapter 14. Ambush – Second step: Confront
"Hello... It's nice of you to have come, Holmes. And thank you for bringing friends. I LOVE big parties!" The laughter sounded absolutely crazy. Despite John's forebodings, Sherlock didn't react to the provocation. He was analyzing the room. A wide space. No furniture, only some litter. Two doors – they used the one facing north, the second one was exactly at Oliver's left. It was a prepared stage for their drama. He heard a distant fall noise upstairs but didn't attach importance to it.
Suddenly focusing his attention at his opponent, Sherlock realized that this man was drugged. That wasn't necessarily a good thing; this kind of criminals would always do something stupid and unpredictable. "So tell me… What was that for, Oliver?"
The man winked: "Don't you know?"
"I'd like to hear your point." Lestrade discretely slipped his hand in his pocket. A single pressure on his phone and the order to assault the building would be sent to Donovan.
Oliver talked in a superior manner, full of his own power: "So you don't get it, do you?" John saw Sherlock holding his breath, fists clenched. Even if his friend was stoically hiding it, the anger was about to burst out. Very slowly, carefully, Watson made two steps to stand just near the younger man. "I wanted, no, I had to prove that I'm the best. Better than you, and especially better than Mycroft. See? I did it. You can't stop me. No one can!"
"What have you done to the girl?"
She came down stairs half-broken. Her body hurt, but her mind grew clearer. She managed to knock out the idiots who were supposed to kill her. Her fighting lessons fully paid off, but it still hurt. There was a dark corridor on the ground floor. Some voices reached her ears. Got to hurry.
An opened door. Oliver holding the boy, right ahead, only three meters from her. He didn't notice the trembling shadow on his left. Then she realized there was someone else in the room. This voice! This deep, angered baritone... Images were emerging and flying chaotically inside her head, memories of the accident and of the happy days prior to it. She listened to Oliver's little speech with growing rage.