This chapter contains violence and a fair bit of cursing.
Chapter Twenty Seven
As Colonel Moran stood propping open the door, two men, dressed all in black, squeezed past him into the room, aiming assault rifles - one at John and one at Sherlock. A third man, also in black, followed them in but walked over to Arthur and took him by the arm.
'I's OK, Arthur, you're OK. These men can't harm you now. Come, sit down.'
Arthur went with the man, passively, like a child with his carer, and sat on the bed, obediently. John watched this charade with a growing sense of outrage but he saw that Sherlock only had eyes for the 'Man in Charge', by the door.
'Who are you? What's going on?' John demanded.
'Doctor Watson, we meet again,' Moran purred.
'Do we? I'm sorry, you may have to refresh my memory.'
'Well, I suppose 'meet' is not quite the right word. I had you in my sights in a certain darkened swimming pool, several years ago, and again outside St Bart's Pathology Department, when your friend, here, decided to take a swan dive off the roof. Colonel Sebastian Moran, at your service.' He stood to attention and saluted, then relaxed back against the door.
'He usually carries a weapon,' Moran remarked, to the man with Arthur.
Blake moved over to stand in front of John and indicated for him to hold out his arms, to be searched. He found the ex-Service revolver tucked down the back of John's jeans and removed it, handing it to Moran.
Sherlock had still not said a word and John looked back at him, as concerned for his friend as he was for Arthur.
'Sherlock, he said, again. Still no reaction. The detective continued to stare at Moran.
'Er, look here,' came the cautious voice of Dr Knowles, peering round the door frame, from the corridor, into the room. 'I'm sure you people have it all covered from here. I think I'll be going. You don't need me any more. I'll send you my bill. I do take cheques or you could go through , alright?'
Moran looked at the other man and gave him a cold smile.
'Quite right, doctor, we don't need you any more. Goodbye.'
Dr Knowles nodded his gratitude at being dismissed and hastened away, toward the stairwell and freedom. Moran watched him go, with a detached sort of curiosity, until the man was just a few feet from the door to the stairs, then he raised John's pistol, with a studied nonchalance, and fired a single shot. The sound reverberated around the bare walls of the room and the corridor itself, causing everyone to flinch, Arthur most of all. He covered his ears with his hands and curled into a ball on the bed. Sherlock barely seemed to notice the noise but simply blinked.
John heard the crash as the doctor's lifeless body hit the floor and lay still, a pool of blood gradually spreading from the huge exit wound in the front of his skull.
Moran then turned his attention back to the room.
'Bring those two,' he ordered, indicating Sherlock and Arthur.
John went to protest but the man pointing the rifle at him just moved the barrel slightly, to remind him of the possible consequences of his actions, so he shut up. Blake took hold of Arthur's arm and dragged him to his feet. The young man went without objection, seeming barely aware of what was happening around, or even to, him.
The other man with a rifle approached Sherlock and went to grab his arm.
'Wait!' barked Moran. 'Give me your gun. He's tricky, that one. Don't give him any loop holes to exploit.'
The 'storm trooper' handed his rifle over to the Boss, caught hold of Sherlock's arm, twisted it up behind his back and frog marched him out of the room. He left without a word or a backward glance, leaving John none the wiser as to why the sudden appearance of Moran had had such a stupefying effect on the usually lightning-quick mind of the Consulting Detective.
Moran turned back to John and smiled that same cold smile he had used on the phoney doctor.
'Well, Dr Watson, it has been a pleasure to meet you properly, at last. Have a good evening.'
He then closed the door, shutting out all the light, and as John launched himself at the portal, he heard the key turn in the lock. He yanked at the handle but to no avail. He was trapped, good and proper.
ooOoo
Josie was sitting in the back seat of the SUV, where she had been shoved and told to sit still and keep quiet. She had realised, at some point during the walk through the hospital grounds, that these men were not Special Ops but Combat 18 and her knees had almost buckled at that epiphany. But the man's grip on her arm had kept her on her feet and moving forward, all the way to the kitchen of the cottage, where she had been dragged in front of several other men.
The one who was clearly the man in charge, since everyone else deferred to him, had looked her up and down then told her captor to put her in the car, outside, and make sure she stayed there. Her guard was now standing outside the vehicle, still pointing the gun straight at her – which she thought was rather futile since she was fairly sure that the glass in the car windows was bullet proof. The whole vehicle seemed to be armour plated.
She wondered what on earth she had gotten herself into and wished, for the umpteenth time, that she had listened to the sexist pig, Dr Watson, after all and stayed at home. As she sat, gazing out at the wilderness that had grown up around the deserted hospital, she saw a group of people approaching, down the uneven, weed-sprouting path from the main building. And as she focused on that group, she recognised three of them – Mick Robinson, Sherlock Holmes and her brother, Arthur.
Josie grabbed the handle and tried to open the door but it must have been child-locked and it stayed firmly shut. The guard outside shouted at her to sit still but, despite the gun pointed at her head from the other side of the glass, she pummeled the window with her fists and shouted,
'ARTHUR!'
The guard wrenched open the door and shoved the barrel of his assault rifle into her face.
'Shut up, you stupid bitch!' he growled.
Josie pushed the gun barrel aside and scrambled out of the open door, ducking under the guard's flailing arm as he tried to catch her, and running down the path toward the approaching group of men. The guard ran after her and grabbed her by the hair, pulling her over backwards, then he leaned heavily on her shoulder, with his knee.
'Get off me, you bastard!' she screamed, and beat at him with her free fist. 'I just want to see my brother!'
'Let her up,' Moran called out, laughing heartily.
The man got up and, the moment she felt herself free of the pin down, Josie scrambled to her feet and ran to Arthur, throwing her arms around his waist and hugging him tight.
'Arthur, lovie, are you alright?'
Arthur looked down at the top of her head, then put his hands on her shoulders and pushed her away so he could see her face. She gazed up into his ravaged features and could not believe her eyes.
'Oh, my god, Arthur! What have they done to you?' she sobbed, brought to tears by the hollow expression in his eyes.
'Josie…?' he gasped and hugged her to his chest.
'Sir!' Blake exclaimed. 'We're under attack!'
This galvanised the group into a blur of well-co-ordinated activity.
The hatchback of the SUV was opened and Sherlock was bundled into one of the rearward facing seats, his guard sitting next to him. Josie and Arthur were packed into the middle row of seats with a guard, Josie sitting between the two men. Moran jumped into the front passenger seat and Robinson into the driver's seat.
The vehicle was moving even before the doors had properly closed, bumping down the driveway, at breakneck speed, whilst the men left behind charged off in the opposite direction to engage with the forces ranged against them.
ooOoo
For the first few seconds after he found himself locked in the room that had formerly held Arthur, John pounded on the door and shouted his rage and frustration to absolutely nobody. Then his brain engaged again and he took out his mobile phone. No one had bothered to check for a phone. He wasn't sure if that was down to arrogance, stupidity or supreme confidence but – either way – he still had his phone. He dialled Mycroft's number.
It rang several times and was then transferred. The voice that answered was the annoying Irishman, again. Damn, John thought to himself, it's time to face the music.
'Where are those fucking boy scouts, Delaney?' he roared.
'Dr Watson, they are on the ground engaging the enemy, right now. Where are you?'
'I'm locked in a room on the second floor of the main hospital building and both Arthur and Sherlock have been taken, now.'
'Taken where?'
'How the fuck should I know? I'm not a bloody clairvoyant! Some guy called Moran showed up, with a bunch of heavies, and the minute he clapped eyes on him, Sherlock just lost the power of coherent speech! Then Moran shot the quack doctor, locked me in here and they all pissed off.'
'Dr Watson, we will get you out of there but, please understand, you are not our main priority at the moment,' Delaney replied, calmly, tapping away on a keyboard as he spoke.
ooOoo
'Sir,' Anthea said and was instantly afforded Mycroft's full attention. 'Bad news, I'm afraid.'
Mycroft nodded, infinitesimally, and she went on.
'It would appear that Moran was hands on but has now left Ground Zero. And, sir,' she paused, a warning that the next piece of information was the kill shot, 'he still has Alpha Beta and now, it appears, has Alpha Alpha too.'
Mycroft held his breath, gritted his teeth and said,
'Red Alert. Scramble everything.'
ooOoo
'Of course, I know I'm not your priority!' John Watson spat. 'I'm not stupid. Look, if they've left the hospital grounds, they're probably driving a black Audi Q7. There was one parked outside their billet. Didn't get the licence plate – too far away – but there can't be many of those on the road round here, surely.'
'Reinforcements are on the way, Dr Watson, and we have scrambled the police helicopter, whose priority will be to look for the SUV. Now, just sit tight and someone will come and free you, eventually.'
John cut the link and kicked out at the wheels of the bed, angry with himself, angry with Sherlock and angry as fuck with the people who had perpetrated this heinous crime against the people he loved.
ooOoo
Sitting in the back of the SUV, speeding down country lanes in the pitch dark, Sherlock was going over in his head the operation that had been the final act of his three year mission to dismantle Moriarty's international crime network. He had seen, with his very own eyes, Colonel Moran enter that building mere moments before it exploded.
He had walked through the rubble that was left, after the raging inferno had been extinguished, seen the charred remains of four bodies, one of which had been subsequently identified as Colonel Moran, from his military dental records. These things could not be faked – or so he thought. And yet, tonight he had seen the man himself and discovered that it was he who had sanctioned Arthur's abduction.
So this was all about Mycroft, after all. Arthur was just a pawn and now he was a pawn, too. Moran aimed to bring Mycroft down, to annihilate him, for masterminding the destruction of Moriarty's legacy and for causing Moriarty to destroy himself. This would be a sweet revenge, he had no doubt, and he had just made it a whole lot sweeter.
ooOoo