Welcome to Baker Street

18. Trapped in Wolf's Lair

John immediately points his revolver at the attacker in one fluid movement and states, "If you shoot him, I'll make sure you don't live long enough to watch him hit the ground."

"No need for that, John. This floor is filthy, and I'd very much like to avoid lying on it," Sherlock intervenes in a sarcastic tone. "Why don't we try to reason instead?"

"How did you find me?" The same female voice that pronounced the ultimatum a few seconds before echoes sharper now.

"You asked me for my last words; I imagined you would get the hint. We deciphered the code hidden in your crossword puzzle, Miss Baaral," Holmes says smugly, lingering on her last name.

The woman clears her throat uncomfortably and applies more pressure on the gun pressed against Sherlock's nape, making him wince.

"Very well. You know my name and my hideout. Next questions: why are you here and what do you want from me?"

"We are here to save you," Sherlock calmly answers.

"Do you mind if I don't believe you, sir? Given some recent developments in the intelligence system, I cannot grant myself the luxury of trusting anyone," she spits out.

"But I am not anyone." He slowly turns around to face her with his hands in the air. "I'm Sherlock Holmes, your boss's brother."

"Prove it. I've known Mycroft Holmes for ages, and I've done some research about his past. Tell me some episodes of your childhood that you shared with him." She lowers her weapon ever so little, and the muzzle of her gun is now pointing at the detective's chest, as she waits for some evidence of his alleged identity.

Even in the dim-lit hallway, she must admit that the person in front of her bears a striking resemblance to the photos of the notorious detective of Baker Street all over the papers. And yet, none knows better than her that appearances can be deceiving. She has made her whole career out of it.

Sherlock gazes at her and firmly replies, "Is this supposed to be a bluff? If you've been diligent with your research, you probably know that there aren't any. We never spent time together as kids. Mycroft thought I was too childish and slow and would rather be alone than in my company; in fact, he used to ignore me completely." His voice sounded deeper than usual. Even though he doesn't show any signs of emotion, a muscle in his cheek twitches imperceptibly at those memories.

Cathy listens carefully and grins, finally lowering her gun.

"Correct. Pleased to meet you, Mr Holmes The Younger." She is about to shake his hand when a gunshot echoes down the corridor, and a bullet flies just a few inches away from John's head.

"Get down! Get down!" He shouts, and everyone instinctively takes cover. They hear footsteps and commotion in the building's hall; they can distinguish several voices calling one another.

"They found me," Cathy breathes out, hiding behind a protrusion in the wall.

"Who?" John asks dazed, trying to catch sight of the marksman that failed to kill him.

"The terror cell. How did they—" she stops mid-sentence, spinning around and pointing an accusatory finger at them. "You. You basically led them to me. They must have tailed you lately, watching your every move."

Sherlock widens his eyes. "And we've brought them right into your lair." He curses their carelessness under his breath.

Cathy gives him a glacial, resolute look, letting out a shrewd whisper. "Wolf's Lair."

All of a sudden, a hail of bullets inundates the hallway only a few steps away from their refuge.

"Follow me," Cathy orders peremptorily. She slides along the wall, and they instantly imitate her, keeping their heads down. They peep round the corner to check if the way is clear, then sneak into a wide room. Sherlock turns his eyes everywhere to memorise the floor plan.

When a new series of gunshots resound behind them, Cathy points at what looks like an information booth next to a row of rusted ticket barriers. They duck under the counter panting for breath. John kneels down in a firing position and shoots back. Giulia stares awestruck at him. He seems a completely different man. Not the charming, caring doctor who reads the paper, sipping tea, but the brave soldier prepared to do anything to protect his friends.

"You didn't bring any police officer, did you?" Cathy whiffles, handing Sherlock a semi-automatic gun.

The detective removes the safety, takes aim, and shoots twice before answering, "Unluckily not. They are all busy at the Palestinian Mission, as we speak."

"You decoded the second message, too?" Cathy raises a brow, gaping at him.

"She did." Sherlock nods at Giulia.

Cathy cocks an impressed brow at the woman, then glances at that odd trio. What an interesting team: the mind on fire, the defensive weapon, and the human reason. She looks directly into Giulia's eyes, trying to find out her boundary line between fear and fortitude. She would swear that she was looking at her sister again. This thought strikes her, and her expression becomes unreadable as she turns to confront the three of them.

"Here's the plan: I'm going to lay down some suppression fire to let you escape. Run as fast as possible and get as far away from here as you can. I'll hold them off."

Sherlock protests, "No, we're your rescue mission."

"That's very gallant of you, Mr Holmes, but I am afraid we have very different ideas about rescuing someone," the agent lampoons him.

The terrorists are now crowding in the room, so Cathy quickly leads the group through a service door and along another succession of corridors. When clamour and blasts arise from the far end of the passageway in front of them, she comes to a halt at an intersection and looks sternly at them.

"You should go now. Run and try to stay alive."

John tilts his head. "Try?"

"What about you?" Giulia asks in a concerned tone. She doesn't like leaving anyone behind, not even a complete stranger with quite some experience with firearms, apparently.

Cathy averts her gaze, lost in thought, and murmurs, "I need to accomplish one last mission."

"Then we're coming with you. We didn't come to interfere. We are allies." Sherlock puts his foot down.

Cathy snaps out of her meditation and smiles slyly. "I couldn't have said it better myself. But you need to save yourself while there's still time. You have to trust me, Mr Holmes, and I promise you we'll win the war."

He stares into her determined eyes and nods reluctantly. "Where do we go now?"

Cathy points ahead. "First corridor to the right; then I'm sure you'll find your way out." She winks at them and swiftly disappears beyond the corner.

They don't waste a second, but the moment they step in the aisle, two armed men run towards them, firing away. Sherlock notices an open door and pushes John and Giulia inside the room, locking a solid reinforced door behind him. He places his hands on his knees, gasping for air and attempting to focus on the room. There isn't much to see, though, just a small table with city maps disseminated all over it.

No windows, no connecting doors, no weapons, his brain rapidly registers.

When their chasers kick and punch the door, Sherlock seems to wake from a trance. He lifts his eyes to John, who groans and clenches his fists, murmuring, "Wrong turn. We hit a dead end."