AMBASSADOR'S PARTY - a story, pt 2

[milwaukeemeg]

Second part ... Now finally there's ACTION! 


PART 2
'You should have bought yourself a white rabbit' stated authoritatively Sherlock, his featured showing utter boredom, not that he had much to do right now. Being tied to a chair made it a bit hard to actively participate in majority of Sherlock's hobbies, after all. He and Mycroft made the same mistake in carelessly walking into the quiet ballroom, without checking what they can find inside; sheer stupidity, wasn't it? So it was not really surprising that they were now tied to the chairs placed in the middle f the room, with two thugs aiming at their heads from behind. Not surprising at all, considering that the rest of guests and hosts were gathered under one of the walls, guarded by at least seventeen gunmen armed in AK47.

Those evil minions were dressed from head to toe in black, tightly fitting uniforms, taken straight out from Bond, or other action films, making this quite surreal, if not completely bizarre. Theman with the plan, evil genius of the whole thing, turned out to be tall, sickly thin man, bald and pale, also dressed in black outfit that probably would be fitting better the broom handle, and was ridiculously stretched over man's limbs.

'And here I thought pop culture was lost to Holmes brothers…' laughed (evilly, of course) General Mort, as introduced himself this evil mastermind. 'you cannot imagine how happy it makes me, that I can now kill the two of you, ooooh, it's such an honour, such a joy in my old years! Mycroft Holmes and Sherlock Holmes, in my very own hands! You two, at my mercy…'

'Yes, we get it, you don't have to repeat yourself' interrupted Sherlock, who was starting to get bored, even though it was dangerous situation. 'Just give us this speech of yours, I cannot wait to hear what we did to you…'

'We, dear brother, did nothing, it's a simple matter of prestige' said Mycroft with a long-suffering sigh, and man in black laughed in amusement.

'Yes, exactly! Well done, Mycroftie-boy, well done indeed! You might be daddy's favorite boy now!' he said, in sing song voice, what caused Sherlock to mutter something what sounded suspiciously like 'oh, kill me now'. 'But I'll deal with the two of you later, much later. Now I must proceed with mu plan. Do you know what do I want?'

'Looking at your attire, manner of speech and the name you've chose, you wish to take over the world. Boring, really' stated Sherlock, what had earned him a hard punch in the face, so if it weren't for thug behind him, the chair would come crashing down on the floor. Thin, red line of blood made slowly its way down from Sherlock nose, making him even more menacing.

'Yes, I want to take over the world! But it is not boring! Not at all! I will cause world war three, you hear me, ambassadors? World war three, between Russia and America!'

'That is crazy, the Cold War ended long time ago, mister!' shouted American ambassador, James Spearson, short, old man in slightly too big tuxedo, waving is hand as if it was proving his point. Rominiecow, on the other hand, was more bemused than angry.

' Really? We have no means to fight the entire world, mister, and that should be enough of the reason for your plan to fail'

'No, no, no! You see, There will be no America and no Russia in next 24 hours. There will be nothing, and form that nothingness I shall come and take what is left!'

('That makes no sense' muttered Sherlock, but Mycroft shushed him with a piercing glare of doom)

'And you will be my audience, my sweet, overly intelligent and cultural audience. I'll get the codes to American and Russian nuclear missiles, and fire them at each other! Oh, the chaos!'

'I will tell you nothing, I do not KNOW American nuclear codes, and even if I knew, I wouldn't tell you, General' spat Spearson, defiantly crossing his arms on the chest. General Mort waved in disinterest.

'I already have those, bought them on e-bay. You Americans, are just too easy, now, the Russians, on the other hand, are a hard nut to crack'

No one could decide which of two ambassadors was funnier: Spearson, who was opening and closing his mouth at regular intervals making quite good fish impression, or Rominiecow, smugly glaring at his colleague. Mort took a few steps to the left, then to the right, and finally stood in front of the window.
'But there is one person among you, who knows all about Russian codes…'

'Not me, I assure you!' said tall Russian with the goatee, smugness all gone now. 'And neither knows my personnel!' Several people in the crowd started nodding violently, but another dismissive wave of the hand was their answer.

'General Jan Rzepicki, please come forward! Oh, no one knows what you did in Moscow, or that you still have those little contacts of yours… And that you just enjoy knowing, don't you, knowing that you can end the world as you know it, destroy Russia, destroy America, destroy peace! You're in the spotlight now! Or rather, you will be in spotlight of interrogator in a minute now. Gentlemen, escort general to his new rooms!'

Two of the thugs that were standing near the door moved swiftly and efficiently, quickly grabbing pale, round man, and started dragging him to the entrance, but Rzepicki stood his ground.

'Mort, I might hate Russians. I might hate Americans. I might even crave for the real war… but I will never tell even my shoe number to a little sniveling worm like you' said he, with dignified calmness in his voice, as he pulled his arms from the thugs' hold. 'Just point me the way, lads'

General Mort followed this departure with his eyes, smiling with joy. Then he looked at both Holmses, and the corners of his mouth travelled even further up.
'I shall enjoy killing you, I shall enjoy it very, very much'

Outside one of the many close door to the ballroom, John have heard enough.

***

'Okay, so how about a pint for each?' asked Cujam, dealing the cards among himself and two guys with AK47, who were in charge of kitchen staff. Majority of people from kitchen were General Mort's men (and women) who immediately changed into those black robes of theirs and run to do some secret and important stuff that evil minions do when they are not being killed by the hero. Only seven, including Cujam, were not in this conspiracy, what was the most important factor to assign here only two men to keep an eye on the prisoners.

Two not very bright guys, Cujam had to admit. It took him exactly ten minutes to talk them into playing a poker together. Some people (Boss included) thought that Cujam was intelligent, but slow, too calm and with no social skills; therefore their opinion on him was not really flattering, and usually was bordering between 'acceptable' and 'use as a last resort, not before you've run out of trained animals'. And they were right. Usually. Because Cujam had one talent - he was a guy, who knows what you mean!

'Oh, I'd love to, but the boss will be pissed if he catches us. He such a nag!' said short guy in glasses, picking up the card with a painful sigh. Cujam nodded in sympathy.

'I know what you mean! You should see MY boss! What are you doing, blab la bla, no watching telly while patrolling, bla, bla, bla! Terrible!'

'Yeah, completely crazy. And once he told me to sit in a damned cellar for a week, to keep some psycho kid from escaping his cell, I mean, madness!'

'I so know what you mean, buddy. Mine forces me to sit on a damned roof for 12 hours a day, watching his brother and his boyfriend…'

'You know, I think I'll drink that pint'

***

John practically run into the ladies room, shouting 'What said Anthea?'
Caph didn't even tear her eyes from her tic tac toe game, painted in blood, that she was entertaining herself with.

'Nothing, there is no signal here' she said, drawing a circle that finished the game with a draw. 'But before you say anything, I've made my way around the building - fatty went to fourth room on the right on first floor. There are two or three guys in the kitchen, I wasn't able to look in properly. The majority of those deacheaters is in the conference room upstairs, last door on the left. About… thirty people? There are several guys outside, no telling how many.'

'Nice. That's nice. How you were able to get all of this?' asked John in wonder, he had real trouble getting back to the restroom that was just a few steps away from the ballroom's door, and she just… walked around? Getting all those info?

'Easy, I looked busy. That always works. Besides, I'm an agent, I must know those things!'

'What, you had a course? How to become invisible in 5 easy steps?'

'Nah, I watched the A Team series and James Bond movies!' they both smiled, a little crazy. 'So, what's the plan, deputy boss?'

John stared at the phone, dozens of possibilities skipping in his brain. Total chaos. He buried head into his hands, thinking what Sherlock would do, and coming up only with more and more eloquent insults. He looked through the window, thinking that probably people in buildings around are sleeping soundly, while here, the tragedy can strike any minute. A window?

'Caph?'

'what, deputy boss?'

'I've got completely crazy plan.'

'Will do'

'Give me your phone and tell me, which one is your boyfriend's number?

***

'George!'
'Mhh'
'George! There is someone behind our window!'
'Lemmie sleep, you crazy old woman'
Tap, tap, tap!
'She taps on the window!'
'Oh for the god's sake, so open it!'
The window frame cracked and a woman in gold dress slipped inside.
'Thank you' she said in extremely male voice. 'There is one HELL of the party… Pease don't go to sleep, I'll be back in the moment!'

***

'C'mon, Anthea, just pick it up!' this was the third time John tied to call her, and the only answer was slight beeping of waiting signal. He stood in the back alley, near the embassy, hidden in the shadow so that two snipers in the windows wouldn't see him. Probably nothing would happened, but he wasn't Sherlock to just run into danger because there was one. No, he had to have a legitimate reason… For example a whole building of important people taken into custody by come half-intelligent psycho.

Speaking of psychos… John took the phone and dialed another number, because there were only two people who could help him right now, if the normal authorities were not to be involved.

The phone was picked after third ring with a quick 'Hello, sweetie , I can't talk now, Big M ,Tiny M and I are on small but deadly mission…'

'It's not Caph here. It's John Watson'

'Oh. OH. Er? I'm not home?'

'Just give me Moriarty, and why, if you're on a mission, I can hear Top Gun theme? I'm telling this to Caph'

'No! Please! Wait a minute… Boss! BOSS! There… There is John Watson on the line, sir, he wants to speak to you.'

'Johnnie-boy! What a pleasant surprise! But you see, I'm watching Top Gun now, then there is Grease and How I Met Your Mother! Bye…'

'If you hang it up now, you will never know what is happening in Polish embassy'

'Sebbie, darling, change to some news channel! Bye, Johnny…'

'You won't see this in the news. But it'll destroy the world in next 24 hours, if you don't listen me out.'

'I'm all ears now, babe, c'mon feed me your story. Sebbie, you naught boy, Cartoon Network is NOT a news channel! '

'There is a psycho here who wants to start world war three. He has taken about 60 hostages and it doesn't look too good right now.'

'Johnny. Johnny. I am a consulting criminal not consulting good guy at your service. I rather like the idea of third world war, don't you too, Sebbie? It could be fun, with all those fighting, guns, death and blood. Blood especially. '

'That guy captured Sherlock and wants to kill him in next few hours'

'…Seb? We're going out, get your guns darling! Just tell me where you are Johnny, we'll be there in five.'

'Thought you might feel this way'

***

Second call was easier to make.

'Who the bloody hell are you and why it couldn't wait till morning?'

'Hello Greg, it's me, John.'

'Oh, hell, what has Sherlock done this time?'

'Nothing. He's been captured, by the way. But I've got a nasty situation in the Polish embassy, some psycho took over it and wants to take over the world. We've got to keep this quiet, and it's unofficial; thing… But I need help.'

'Sure… How many people you need?'

'How many can you get to run around without getting paid?'

'Good question'.

***

'That. Is. Just. Beautiful' squeaked Moriarty in delight, eyeing John from head to toe, as if trying to memorize him in a dress, high heels, make up and ridiculous wig. Next to Jim stood two guys in loose but stylish black outfits, riffles hanging on their back; one, smaller with several horizontal scars on his face, looked green, what could be seen even in the dim light of streetlapms. 'Johnny - boy, next time I kidnap you I'm making you wear a dress, you look absolutely stunning! Even my Sebbie thinks so, don't you, sweetie? So, where is that amateur who wants to kill my Sherlock?'

'Stay right where you are, and put your hands up!' the voice rang out, preventing John from answering. 'Ha, I've finally got you, Moriarty! You and your co-workers! I knew you were behind this!'

John turned around lowly, just to come face to face with a barrel of the gun, held firmly by Lestarade, who was flanked by Donovan and Anderson, both with guns pointing at Moriaty.

'Hi, Greg'

DI almost dropped his gun; Anderson did, what earned him warned nudge from Sally.

'JOHN? What the…!'

'Isn't it just cool? Johnny, I see you're not wasting any resources, nice one!' Moriarty gave a mocking applause. Lestrade moved slightly to the left, aiming at him, but John patted him on the back soothingly.

'I's all right, I asked them to be there. To deal with this we'll all the help, we can get, so please try not to arrest them before it's over, okay? And if you say a word about my clothes, I shall make. You. Suffer. Jim, do you have a map of this place?'

Moriarty suggestively waved with a roll of paper held n left hand, pointing at the still having him on their gunpoint policemen. John just gave a long-suffering sigh, what gave them the motivation to lover their weapons.

'Okay gentleman… and lady' started doctor Watson, taking the map from winking suggestively Jim and spreading it for everyone to see.

Explaining the grand plan of his took exactly five minutes.

'Okay, so there in no time to waste, then' said Lestrade, still eyeing warily Moriarty and his men. 'Quite a good plan, I think'

'You know, I find it somewhat reassuring, Sebbie' said Moriarty, smiling cheekily to grumpy Sally Donovan, who was looking at him with barely contained disgust.
'The Scotland Yard finest, obeying some drag queen doctor. Crime has high chances here'

'Shut it, Jim, and play nice hissed John, adjusting socks in his bra (while ignoring the looks it was earning him). 'And now let's just go, okay?'

***

'So. What should I do first? Torture is such a complicated issue!' General Mort was going through tools scattered on a metal table… some of which were taken straight out of horror movies. Sherlock, keeping up appearances, just rolled his eyes. Mycroft, on the other hand, looked at the tools with genuine interest, because not every day you can see an eyelash curler used in such a context.

'First, mister, you should think. What are you doing?!'

General turned around, eyelash curler still in his hand, to see who would be stupid enough to question him. Leaning casually on the doorframe stood Jim Moriarty smiling warmly, offering a single business card to the tall military man. After a quick wink at Sherlock, before general had time to answer properly or to order his man to shoot, consulting criminal continued, still in extremely friendly way.

'My dear, this plan of yours… it could be good. Everyone, at least everyone who means something, enjoys a good, bloody world war. But you have done something very, very bad, and because of that your plan will crash and buuurn' the delight at the last world was evident.

'Who the hell are you?' demanded General, his eyes narrowing. Jim was really hurt.

'I am really hurt. I am… something like criminals' sassy gay friend, but much cooler and more funnier. And I have better scarf. I am JIM MORIARTY!' he laughed evilly, waiting for the reaction. He got none, if you don't count muffled 'oh god, the only thing missing is Anderson and music form Glee…' from Sherlock. 'I am Jim Moriarty. You must have heard about me…'

'Nope. Kill him' ordered general, turning to Holmes brothers again… or rather, wanting to, as he spotted in one of the mirrors, that on the middle of his forehead was one, single, red dot.

'Ah, yes, I've got a snipers up there, you see…' Jim made a vague wave of the hand, his smile wild and crazy. 'So if I were you, even though you brain capacity is somewhat microscopic, I'd order your men to drop their guns'.

'Why are you here, why do you want to stop me, if you like the idea of war?' asked bravely general, trying to look as intimidating as he could with a eyelash curler in hand. Jim 'tsk'ed.

'You see, you made a grave mistake. And the key word here is graaaave. You, stupid, useless amateur in completely ridiculous attire, wanted to KILL MY SHERLOCK HOLMES!' the nice, friendly smile disappeared, replaced by cold fury. 'There is only one person who can kill Sherly, and it's ME. Personally. With those hands, not even with prosthetic ones. So when I had this hysterical call from his pet doctor, I dropped everything, hell, I missed Grease for god's sake, just to come here to get you.'

Moriarty psyched out, gesturing wildly, his eyes blazing with anger.

'Grease? Really?' asked Sherlock, surprised, and Mycroft rolled his eyes. Jim just nodded. 'I'm… flattered.'

General Mort was still not convinced, as he didn't order his men to lover their guns.

'You're bluffing. If I die, you die… And you don't want THAT' said he suddenly, tilting his head up and speaking to the ceiling. 'Downey, Stills, get into those air ducts, and bring here this sniper.'

'Oh, you've got more men monitoring situation in here, wise.' Said Moriarty. 'Point for you, you bitch.'

***

'Tell me again, why do we have to liberate he kitchen?'

'Because'

'I don't want to liberate it, sweetie. I'm a sniper, not a karate kid. If something happens to my arm…'

'Shut up, were saving Cujam, you dolt! Besides, if we do it quickly, we can sneak into the second room on the left… and…He, he, he.'

'He, he, he. I love your perverted mind. I love you, Pumpkin.'

'I love you, Honey-Bunny!'

They kicked the kitchen door in unison, opening them wide, their guns pointed straight ahead.

'Okay, Everybody be cool this is a rescue mission! Any of you fuckin' pricks move and I'll execute every motherfucking last one of you!' shouted Caph, relishing in her own movie reference.

Cujam, who was sitting on the counter smoking a cigarette, applauded mockingly. Two liberators looked around, at seven completely free waiters, sitting and eating ice cream in the corner, and two of Mort's men, tied to the chairs.

'Took you long enough' said Cujam.

***

'Greg, Sally, it's forth room on the right. Take care, it shouldn't be too hard' mutterd John one last time, exchanging a quick handshake with each of them just before he and Sebastian quickly made their way upstairs to get rid of thirty Mort's man, while Lestrade and Donovan took care of Polish general,

'Take care yourself!' sneered Sally to absent friend, moving into corridor after Inspector, her gun clutched tightly. Seven steps from the searched door, they heard a baffled 'hey!' from behind, what caused her to turn swiftly around. Without thinking, really, she smacked thug's skull with a barrel of her gun, with a fluent movement of a leg tripping him; her final touch was well placed roundhouse kick, that landed straight on falling man's face, knocking him unconscious. All this, done in almost perfect silence, took less than two seconds.

'Nice one' whispered Lestrade, and Sally shrugged.

'Well, when one lives alone, one has to learns these things. Open those?' she whispered back, as they stood on the positions, flanking the door.

'Be my guest' said Lestrade, so she carefully tried the doorknob… and with slight click opened a door, allowing Lestrade to kick them and get in with his gun aimed, shouting 'Freeze'. Sally quickly followed, closing the door behind them. Inside there were three guys in black clothes, bent over one round old man, who was tied to a dentist's chair; he appeared to be unconscious, what had probably something to do with the milky substance that was inserted into his bloodstream through IV in his left arm.

The thugs froze, as was ordered.

'Good. Now, step away from this man…' Sally didn't exactly hear what Lestrade said next, as pain exploded in her skull, nearly knocking her unconscious, but making her drop the her knees, gun forgotten.

In this moment Greg saw fourth man, just behind his back, who had hit Sally over her head with a stone paper weight. Not hesitating, in fluid motion, Lestrade pinned the man to the wall, at the same time shooting one of men standing near Rzepicki in a kneecap, another in the foot; he had to drop the gun, as the pinned man sunk his teeth in detective's hand, what caused him to cry out in pain. But one well placed kick in the groin later, the situation seemed to be under control, as Sally, still dizzy and with splitting headache, managed to get a right hold on her gun.

'Don't move, fucker, or I'll blow your brains out… and believe me, they will not have much to scrape off the walls…'

***

'You know, it could probably go smoother, if you'd take off those ridiculous heels' said Sebastian, who managed to run up the stairs in three long jumps; now he was standing on the second floor, leaning casually. He managed to take down two guards that spotted them, by throwing with deadly aim two zen meditation balls, that knocked the guys unconscious. John, who had some trouble with walking in his damned heels, only grunted.

'I kinda like them, you know?' said Doctor, finally reaching the storey. 'And I'm not fighting with bare feet, ever saw 'Die hard'?'

'Well, I don't recall the scene with Willis in heels, so… Heard that?' asked suddenly sniper, turning his head to the end of corridor. Seven of Mort's men could be heard from the other part of corridor, just beside the bend. 'Shit!'
John quickly assessed the situation, and checked the nearest door, which were, unsurprisingly, closed. Then he had an idea. He grabbed Sebastian in a hug, pressed himself to the wall, and with quick 'pretend to enjoy this' kissed him forcefully on the mouth. Sebastian, after a second of panic, returned the favour, his hand groping John' buttocks. It was so bizarre and just … wrong, that John just switched off the brain, trying not to think that he is kissing the man that almost killed him on a few occasions…

The steps drew nearer, and the cat-wails started.

'wow, man, slow down a bit!'

'Heh, get yourself the room, the two of you!'

The voices and laughs continued, further and further down the stairs, so two man stumbled away from each other, shocked and a bit wary of each other.
'That was unexpected and unwelcomed' said finally Seb, panting slightly and wiping John's saliva from his lips with a tissue.

'Well, you didn't have to squeeze my ass, now did you?' hissed John angrily, glaring at Moran. But saving the Holmes' brothers was more important now than being molested (well, he started that himself, after all) so with a sigh he offered 'Let's just forget it. It didn't just happened…'

Moran nodded and opened his mouth to say something but was interrupted by a loud "Hey, the two of you! Don't MOVE' from the stairs, where stood four general's minions, their riffles pointed for Moran and John, who turned simultaneously to see how to hide in the corridor; but there they met with seven barrels of guns, pointing straight for their hearts.

'Ah, we were in the TV, weren't we…' said brightly Moran, pointing with sharp nod on a camera, placed on their left. John suppressed the urge to bang his head on the wall. 'We're in big shit now… And they say being famous is all roses.'
'Yeah, you stupid faggots, you are in deep shit, just like this psycho in suit from ballroom and his Robin with a sniper gun' said one of thugs, smiling. He started talking something about superiority of normal people over homosexuals, but John stopped listening. They had to get to the ballroom before Sherlock and Mycroft get killed, if distraction in person of Moriarty failed… besides, John wanted to kill Jim himself, god help him. They had to get down, besides there were less people there, so…

Moran nudged him slightly, pointing almost imperceptibly at the curtains adorning the hall, hanging just so, that if they were dropped, John and Sebastian couldn't be seen by the guys on the corridor, and if they…

John nodded, blinking letter R in Morse, as in right curtain; in response, he'd gotten blinked out L.

They shot simultaneously, the bullets hitting hooks and releasing curtains that screened them from being seen; second later, they dropped to the ground, bullets flying over their heads as they rolled down the stairs, while shooting the guys on landing. When they reached it, there was no one here to put up any fight - John and Moran weren't crack shots for nothing, after all. The guys upstairs finally reached the conclusion that they could aim better if they were standing in front of the curtain, not behind it, and the shots were more accurate. Luckily, the handrail was a solid clock of marble, that made a nice hiding place form bullets.

'That's quite… unfortunate' mumbled John while changing a clip. Moran leaned out a bit, and gave two shots. Two cries of pain that followed were the best indicator of his shooting skills.

'Okay, I can hold them up, while you can go and save Jim and Holmes' answered Moran, as John suddenly stood up, gave three well aimed shots, and crutched down before any of the bullets could reach him. Three bodies dropped down the stairs.

'You sure you'll manage?'

'Watson, look who you are talking to. This guys are shooting like the damned A-team. '

'Cover me on three?'

'Got it.'

***

'I knew it. If there was someone that could spoil Moriarty's plan to save me, it would be you' groaned Sherlock, seeing Anderson led in by two thugs. Jim, tied to a chair next to him smirked slightly.

'Wasn't my plan, babe, If it was, even this joker wouldn't spoil it. My plans are foolproof'

'So who… Ach' sudden realization drowned on Sherlock's face. But before he could tell the world that it's his personal flatmate who made this crappy plan, and that he is personally extremely proud of it, general Mort had about enough.

'Okay, so now I'll kill this idiot, then you, mister, and last but not least… you two' he pointed his golden gun he get from leather holster at Anderson, then at Moriarty, and lastly at Holmes brothers. 'Nothing and NOONE is going to stop me…' he added in sing song voice, aiming for Anderson who shut his eyes tight. Sherlock tried to break his bonds for a hundredth time (ninety eighth, to be exact), while Mycroft opened mouth to run some interference, maybe buy some time…
The single shot rang out, and generals gun went flying to the floor. Everyone turned to look at the door.

'Noone?' asked innocently John Watson, his hair-do a little ruffled and askew, dress crumpled and with half of the sequins ripped out, with a gun pointed straight at the general. The minions didn't exactly know what to do, some raised their riffles, several dropped them, the majority just stood not quite believing. General just stared a minute, while Anderson cheered.

'Yes! I knew you'd come, Watson!'

'Nice entrance, Johnny - boy' added Jim, and Mycroft supplied 'And you learned how to walk in the heels, bravo!' what earned him several hard as stone stares (from Sherlock and Jim, mostly, as John didn't tear his eyes from general). Mort made a long-suffering sigh.

'That is complete disgrace to my plan. A man in a dress! Shoot…'

But when general started talking, John moved with a speed no one suspected he could manage. Four shots he made eliminated people guarding tied hostages, and by the time last body dropped, he was already near the closest thugs, hitting one's head with the gun's grip, while kicking another in the groin. Throwing his own gun at another guy's head, he snatched the riffles from slumping men, Dodging the single shots that rang out, he shot, guns in both hands, a few minions who tried to overturn the table and make it a fortification of the kind. Feeling someone approach from behind, John stomped with his heel on the thug's foot, and threw a roundhouse kick that sent him flying to the floor.

Majority of the thugs (ones with self-preservation instinct, probably) left their guns and started running to the door; John didn't pay them any heed, concentrating on the general, who was fumbling for the gun in the mess made by food from overturned tables.

One of the minions tried to hit John on the head with his riffle (as if forgettong that the thing could shoot), but ex-army surgeon evaded it easily, bending down, what allowed him to draw a knife from his opponent's boot… and place an elbow in guy's solar plexus.

Second later, John held the knife to general's throat. Several of the thugs, who were still in the room, tamely dropped their guns and held their hands in the air, not wanting to be on the bad side of the doctor.

In the stunned silence that followed Johns presentation of combat skills, Moran's clapping was even too loud.

'Bravo, Watson, and here I though I'll have to help you' he said, while waking up to Moriarty to untie him. 'Say, you're that good only in a dress, or it's 24/7 thing?'

Moran threw the rope to John, who quickly and efficiently tied Mort in a nice, tight package, ignoring the question, and proceeded to tie up completely tame now thugs. . Consulting criminal stretched, made a few jumps and blew both John and Sherlock a kiss.

'See you, darlings, later!'

'I'm going to catch you one day, you know that' said Sherlock, who finally managed to free himself from the bounds and stood up, a bit unsteadily. Jim blew him another kiss on the way out.

'Yeah, yeah, see ya!'

'Jim?' shouted John after him, pausing in mid-knot 'Thanks!'

Sherlock untied Mycroft (but couldn't be bothered with Anderson, whose cries for help went unnoticed) and quickly run to John, holding him by the arms and looking intently in his eyes, as if to determine whether it was really him. John smiled.
'Next time… no dress, okay? Do you know how uncomfortable is…'

He didn't get to finish, as Sherlock hugged him. As in, held him close, eyes closed and heart beating way to fast (John thought it strange, that he could feel the steady pulse of his flatmate's)… smaller doctor, sore, tired and with his head spinning, relaxed slowly in the warm embrance.

He saw Mycroft, shoulders slumped unnaturally, turn away from the scene, heading to ambassadors and other guests, who sat on the floor, still paralyzed in fear… or, in some cases sleeping, and felt an irrational pang of guilt. He closed his eyes, lost in Sherlock's arms.

***

'Where do you think you're going' said Lestrade, gun pointed at another group of minions escaping from the ballroom. 'Guns on the ground, hands on your neck, turn to the wall. Sally?'

It was a routine now. He stood with his gun pointed, and Sally would tie the men up, using ropes found in the kitchen by the 'loyal' waiters, who, after being given a gun, made quite a good guards. One of them had stayed with polish general, who seemed unharmed and regained consciousness after unhooking him from the IV and several tries to wake him up later… Lestrade was sure he needed to be seen by a doctor, but left the decision to cal an ambulace to someone who knew what was it all about.

Sally sat down heavily. One more to hospital, thought Greg as waiters led tied men out of the corridor, but if she could function now there was great chance she didn't even have a concussion. Well, after all she had…

Sergeant looked at him, as if knowing she was on his mind.

'Don't even try to joke about my thick skull'

'I wouldn't dream of it'

***

'I've got to go!' muttered Carl, seeing Moran wave up to him. He kissed Caph on her cheek, smacked Cujam on the head and left quickly, skipping on the stairs, before he could return the favour. Both friends looked at each other, then at the screens of embassy's surveillance. After taking care of kitchen, he and Carl went to take down the snipers on the front that Watson saw, as Caph fight her way into the security room, seconds too late to prevent John and Moran form being discovered.

And while Caph saw all of those superb fight scenes (and talked about them constantly, whenever they slipped into the room to see what's going on) they were deprived of this small joys of agent's everyday life.

'So it was cool…' he started.

'Yeah, like James Bond, but with less explosions. And Bond was a llama, Watson did it all in a dress! It was so frigging cool, especially when you consider that he had kissed with Moran and cuddled with Holmes.' Caph was almost jumping up and down from excitement. She stopped, suddenly. 'Oh. And I know why Anthea didn't answer the phone. You remember our last solo mission?'

'The one in Cornwall?' asked Cujam, trying hard to remember some details. 'The one that we called her every five minutes to ask what the hell are we supposed… Oh.' Sudden realization hit him like a hammer.

'Yeah. Me too' she sighed in despair.

They sat down together, in comfortable silence, watching the screens while waiting for the other Mycroft's men to arrive to clean the mess.

'I'd give my right hand to see it all' mumbled finally Cujam, pointing at the screen. 'Those fights!'

'I don't need a hand… But you are leaving me and Carl on the roof together at least one tome a week' she answered, while watching her nails in fake interest.

'You didn't!'

'I soooo did!'

'No! You've recorded it?'

'You BET I did. You know what that means? I'M A QUEEN OF YOUTUBE NOW.'

'You want to die. But I don't mind, really, if you show me the film first.'

FIN