Repens

Stephanie's eyes involuntarily closed at the thunderous crackling of the eight deadly weapons. But instead of her world fading to black, as she expected, multiple thudding noises came from all around her. Molly Hooper's blood curdling scream forced her eyes back open to find Moriarty's eight hit-men lifeless on the concrete floor. But how?

Her eyes flew up to Sherlock, his back still towards them.

Moriarty's stare followed the trail of dead bodies in horror. It was suddenly him against Sherlock and his two pets. His expression of astonishment faded into one of acceptance. Sherlock finally turned towards his enemy with a victorious grin.

"Oh, that is rather good. Clever, clever," the mad man sang.

Holmes began walking towards them then stood his ground, still a few paces away.

"Your men are dead," he announced as a fact with only a hint of pride.

"Yes, but not all were present. I believe you knocked them out. Unless you killed them too, they should be waking up any minute now." The last part was sang in that high animated pitch Sherlock loathed.

"Molly, go outside," Sherlock ordered with assurance that she was now safe.

"Take one more step and you're dead," Moriarty yelled, pointing his gun from Stephanie to the ridiculous Hooper woman.

"No you won't," Sherlock grinned.

"Oh? And why wouldn't I?"

He took a few more steps towards them before explaining, "Because you don't like to get your hands dirty. If you shot anyone with that gun, the bullets could be traced. They'd be traced back to that gun which would be traced back to you."

"I'm more than willing to take that risk right now. I'll get my hands dirty if it means ruining YOU!" he nearly screamed, evidence of panic in his expression and body language.

"That will be a bit difficult won't it?" Sherlock paused, taking the final steps towards James Moriarty. "There are no bullets in your gun," he announced with an arrogant hiss.

"That is a bold statement to be making with your leading ladies at stake."

"If there were bullets in your gun, she would already be dead."

Stephanie quickly put together the details of what was going on. From what she could deduce, Sherlock had been quite busy before revealing himself to her in the shadows. Every present hitman of James Moriarty had their weapons fixed to backfire. Since she was tied the entire time, she didn't know when her clever boyfriend had pulled off the stunt but he had all the same. Perhaps the idiots had their guns all laying out on a table begging to be tampered with. Either way, she was impressed. But what was more impressive was Sherlock's knowing Jim well enough to know that there was no threat in the criminal master mind's personal pistol.

Moriarty stared down the man who had finally beaten him. Or had he? He was equally as clever as Sherlock Holmes. This was not the end of his glorious criminal career.

"This gun, however," Sherlock pulled out the same gun Jim recognized from that night at the pool. "This IS loaded. And each bullet has your name on it."

Jim starred into the barrel of the gun, his beady eyes shifting in all directions before returning to the black hole that held his fate. It seemed as if he had lost but he wasn't going to give this genius the satisfaction of an easy victory. Not when the scoreboard was tied.

Sherlock moved his left hand before his gun clicked, now set to take the shot.

"Molly, get outside. Now!" A tearful Molly did as she was told.

As if on cue, many sirens could be heard- growing louder and louder.

"Called your officer friends for back up, ay? I thought that was against the rules," Jim muttered, his anger growing in his face.

The moment Molly was out of the door, John Watson burst through holding a gun of his own.

"They're in here!" he shouted as a large group of police could be heard just behind him. All guns pointed towards an unarmed Moriarty. His hands slowly raised above his head as he cursed under his breath.

Sherlock ran to a flustered Stephanie. Their eyes met briefly before he untied her. He took a small tool from his jacket and unlocked her handcuffs. The clicking sound meant freedom to the exhausted and starved woman. Her first instinct was to grab her savior and kiss him with all the gratitude and thanks he deserved. But now wasn't the time for that.

Nearly fifty London officers closed in on James as Sherlock rose to his feet. He was the one to grab her in a tender embrace of relief. She released a sigh against his neck as her body nearly collapsed from the stress and strain of being held prisoner for so long. Now that he had saved her, she found herself a bit more relaxed but completely exhausted. Her long-lived adrenaline rush was coming to a quick end.

Her hero removed his trembling arms from around her and whispered, "You aunt is in a cab outside. Go directly to her and stay put. I'll be home later." The last bit was more of a promise, assuring her that this would all be over in just a few more hours.

"I'm not leaving you," she argued, not wanting to leave his side or be left for hours without any word from or of him.

"Go," he ordered, his eyes begging her not to waste another moment.

Steph nodded in reluctant agreement. Before she could turn to run out the door John had entered from, Sherlock took her hand and quickly pressed her palm to his lips. The sweet gesture wasn't long but long enough for her to read his unspoken words of safety and assertion that this nightmare was almost over. He released her hand then she jogged a few paces away from him. John beat her to the door to usher her out to her cab.

"And Steph," the girl turned at his voice. "Stay away from media. This may get advertised and you have no need to worry."

She gave him another nod of understanding, already knowing this particular command would be ignored. The distance between her and John closed as the ex soldier pulled her into a staircase. The door closed just as the room's other doors opened. The rest of Moriarty's men came in screaming and howling, ready to kill anyone in their way.

Steph's body began to turn just before John grabbed her waist and instructed, "No. You're coming outside then going home with your aunt. Stay inside and please be reasonable. He'll be alright. I'll protect him, I promise. Soldier's honor." He was in full military mode now. She had seen the doctor but not the soldier side of John Watson, until now.

"Alright," was all she could offer in return.

They ran up the stairs then through the lobby. Their jogging didn't become a walk until they were close to the cab, emergency and police vehicles lit the streets around St. Bart's. It took a few seconds for her eyes to adjust to the sunlight, multiple days in dark rooms made sunlight almost painful at first sight. Everywhere she looked there were endless lights and sirens filled the air. John opened the door and threw her in all in one fluid movement.

"Steph!" Mrs. Hudson cried, grabbing her niece to pull her close. "Thank God. I thought the worst."

John sprinted back towards the building, ready to keep his promise to protect his best friend.

"I'm alright," the brave girl promised. They hugged a while before she looked towards the curious cabby. "2-2-1 Baker Street, please."

As they pulled away, her only thoughts were of the safety of her two main rescuers. If anything happened to either of them, she wasn’t sure what she would do.

---

They walked into Mrs. Hudson's flat and Stephanie immediately ran to the television. The old woman frowned while putting her purse and keys on the kitchen table.

"Sherlock told me not to let you watch or listen to any news of any sort," she said as if she wasn't sure what to do. Of course the intelligent girl wanted to know what was going on. She had everything to do with the reports and the life of her boyfriend was at stake.

"Try and stop me," the wide eyed woman hissed, eager for any word at all.

"Do you think you could eat?"

"Yes. Starved," Steph answered, her eyes locked onto the screen as she flipped through channels in search of local news.

"I thought you might be," Hudson sighed, a mixture of emotions filling her. She found avoiding questions or extra comments best to keep to herself for now. If Steph wanted to talk later, she would be more than willing to listen. But for now, the girl needed fed, rest, and some time to catch her breath. God only knew what horrors the poor thing had been through.

"Breaking news!" a woman at a desk announced. "A criminal arrest is being attempted at St. Bartholomew right now. Officials are keeping information to a minimum but what little we know will be shared. Three days ago, a young female was kidnapped by James Moriarty- a criminal thought to be dead until just minutes ago. Sherlock Holmes was put on the case and found the young female imprisoned in a vacant portion of the building's basement. Scotland Yard went in to arrest the famous criminal when a mob Moriarty's men unexpectedly joined the brawl. All streets around the area have been closed until the criminals are in custody. Officials say the young woman has been taken home and her identity will not be revealed at this time. Holmes and the army of officers are still down in the hospital's basement now."

The telly screen suddenly went black. Steph spun her head around to find her aunt holding the remote.

"Oy!"

"I think Sherlock is right, dear. You don't need to be watching all of that. Those boys know what they're doing."

"Yes, and the last time Sherlock was with Moriarty they both faked their own suicides. No worries at all," the girl argued and reasoned with sarcasm. Before her aunt could protest, Steph pressed the manual power button on the telly, just in time for regular programming to return. "Bollocks!" the girl moaned, slightly angry with her aunt.

"It'll come back when they get more information," the worried land lady sighed. "Until then, come in here and drink something. You’re probably just as dry as you are empty."

Steph shuffled into the kitchen, keeping her ears focused on the telly. She didn't realize how hungry she was until the plate of warm food was placed in front of her. Very rarely did she have seconds but today she asked for a third helping. Once her food was gone and belly full, the girl laid on the sofa with her full attention still on the telly. It was only a matter of minutes before she fell asleep.

But her last conscious thoughts were a prayer for the return of her brave and clever knight in shining armor. His face was the last image her mind allowed before exhaustion overcame her.