The Devil in Devon

Chapter Ten

While John silently panicked, Elena whispered, "Damn it, Myke, you always did show up at the most inconvenient times." As she rummaged in her server apron, causing change to jingle, she hissed, "Stall him."

John had no idea what good that would do. There was no way out of the men's toilet except through the door. Still, he called out in strangely hollow tones, "A moment, Mycroft."

Mycroft's response was to tackle the lock. He was coming in anyway, it seemed. Then the door swung open and the elder Holmes stood in the narrow entrance, his entire frame taut with anticipation. Seeing John unharmed, he relaxed minutely, but when his blue eyes took in Elena, they widened.

"Dear God," he breathed.

She stepped forward, a softness mellowing her features. "Myke," she said in a voice like molten honey. "You look good."

During the millisecond that Mycroft was off-guard, Elena's arm shot out. John saw her jab a syringe into his neck, depress the plunger, and toss it to the floor in one precise and graceful motion. Whatever its contents were, they worked fast: Mycroft's eyes dulled before he could even exclaim and he pitched forward. She caught him and shoved his heavy weight toward the two bodyguards who hovered in the hallway. Then she seized John around the throat, pinching his neck in the crook of her elbow, and pressed a gun to his temple.

"Step back, gentlemen," she snapped at the guards and Lestrade, who appeared beside them. "Or I will shoot Dr. Watson."

Lestrade crouched and carefully touched Mycroft's neck, checking his pulse. The elder Holmes was slumped in the arms of one of his men, blinking rapidly and muttering under his breath. Judging by his hooded eyes and slowly relaxing limbs, he was losing the battle with unconsciousness. "What did you give him?"

"Nothing he won't sleep off. Now step back. I won't ask again."

As Lestrade and the guards reluctantly obeyed, the latter dragging their insensible boss, Elena manoeuvred into the hallway, holding John in front of her. Forced to lean against her, he detected that they were moving toward the fire exit at the end of the narrow passage. Its steel door creaked in protest as she nudged it open with her hip, and then they were in the parking lot behind the pub, the bright afternoon sun blazing down on them.

"You're going to drive away with me, John," she whispered as she pulled him along. "Once we're a safe distance away, you'll be dropped off."

Lestrade appeared in the doorway, revolver gripped in both hands. When he took aim, John cried, "Greg, don't! She's not going to hurt me unless you make her!"

Lestrade lowered his weapon, distress written all over his face.

John briefly wondered where Sherlock was. Then a car door opened behind him, and Elena slid into the back of a silver BMW. When John collapsed onto the seat next to her, she ordered, "Close the door."

When he obeyed, the car started. As it hurtled out of the parking lot into the quiet Topsham street, he turned to look at the driver. It was a young woman, aged twenty-five at the most, with black hair caught in a severe ponytail and the hard, determined expression of a habitual renegade.

"This is Petra," Elena said crisply. "She's my partner and confidante. She knows everything." She barked something in Polish to the woman, who nodded sharply and stepped on the gas.

"God almighty," John breathed. "You just took out Mycroft Holmes and abducted me in broad daylight in front of an ex-copper and two government minders. No wonder Mycroft never forgot you." Then he remembered the fierce needle jab and his lover's collapse. "What was in that syringe? What did you give him?"