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My, terrorists are getting rather bold. How annoying.
Mycroft sighed as he slipped out of the room, using the chaos of the gun wielding menaces and the screaming politicians (really now, where was their sense of decorum?) to cover his escape. This entire debacle was throwing his entire schedule by the wayside…though, he supposed there were more pressing issues to deal with at the moment.
It was a rather organized group, or at least, a well-informed one. They should not have known about the meeting in the Diogenes Club. That being said, such a covert operation would only allow for a limited number of participants. Which would rather play into Mycroft’s favor.
“Stop right there, you.”
Really now. Mycroft resisted the urge to sigh again as he turned to face the insurgent holding a gun level to his face. His grip on his trusty umbrella tightened, “Is there really a need for that?” He asked calmly, raising an eyebrow.
The masked man growled, “Smug bastard. Get on the floor, now!”
Mycroft twisted the handle of his umbrella, just enough to release the stiletto blade tucked in the tip of the umbrella, “No, I really don’t think I will. While I trust the employees of this establishment and their ability to clean, I’m not too keen on wrinkling this suit.”
“Why you—!”
Before the man could finish his outraged sentence, Mycroft slammed his umbrella down, driving the blade through the man’s foot and into the floor. As the insurgent bent forward and let loose a cry of pain, the British Government brought his knee up and connected it solidly with the man’s Adam’s apple. That would at least stop him from making any more noise. It was all too easy to twist the gun out of the man’s grip and, in a backward swing, club the man across the temple.
Really, the exercise only took a few moments at most.
“Did I really just see the great Mycroft Holmes pistol whip a man?”
The elder Holmes raised an eyebrow, turning to look at his doctor. John looked as unassuming as always, warm jumper and all. Mycroft gave a small smirk, “I’m sure your eyes are functioning quite well, though I’m sure that isn’t what you meant by your comment.”
John rolled his eyes, walking forward, “You never showed up for our lunch date, so I came to check on you.”
Yes, it is rather hard to go on important dates when there are terrorists about, “This is hardly the first time I’ve had to cancel an appointment with you, John.”
“Yes, but the first time you didn’t call, text, or send Anthea to tell me the news.”
Mycroft quirked an eyebrow. So John was getting more astute, “Yes, well…as you can see,” he tossed the gun in his hand (such a taudry weapon) over to John, “Things have gotten a bit…heated here.”
John nearly jumped out of his skin as he caught the airborn weapon, “Don’t throw a gun, Mycroft!”
“Oh please, I put the safety on , John.” Mycroft took hold of his umbrella, pulling it free with a firm yank. After wiping the blood off on the terrorist’s trousers, Mycroft inspected the damage, “Pity…” He muttered, spying the gouge mark on the wood floor, “That was Mahogany…”
“Mycroft!”
There was only a moment between when Mycroft looked up to see an insurgent running towards them and when he saw the man’s body crumble like wet newspaper onto the floor.
John was standing completely still, not lowering his newfound weapon from where he had fired at the enemy.
Well, it didn’t take John long to get used to being a soldier again… Mycroft shook his head, “I suppose we should deal with the rest of them…”
“I don’t suppose we can call the police?”
“No, the nature of this meeting is—”
“Classified, I get it.” John rolled his eyes, “Alright, instead of a lunch date, we get to fight terrorists…this is something I expected to do with Sherlock, not you.”
“Oh hush John, we both known this turns you on.”
John didn’t bother denying it. There was really no point. “When we get home, I show you just how much this turns me on.”
Mycroft smirked, taking hold of his umbrella, “I look forward to it. But first, shall we dismantle this terrorist cell?”