Ingenium (✓) | Sherlock Holmes

🎓 14*anchor

I need it.

John hinted Rhea that something was off, but his voice was distant and blurry, a faint murmur that bypassed my ears.

I need it.

I saw the men approaching with steady, yet small steps, as they were forming a straight line. They all checked their bullets, making sure they had at least two to pierce my skull. Right between the eyebrows, I presumed.

I need it.

I searched the pockets of my pants, hoping that I might have had it after all. I did not. I pursed my lips, my scrutiny moving from the men to my palms and vice versa. My frame was meters away from them and I could practically portray Rhea and John looking at me dumbfoundedly, wondering why on bloody Earth I was hesitating.

And then I received it. Not the cocaine, but a replacement that was somehow equally destructive, yet much more tasteful. I heard steps coming from the opposite direction. As soon as the floral scent of Rhea's perfume hit my nostrils, I realized it was her that was pacing. She reached my side in less than no time, spun me around and crashed her lips on mine, cupping both my cheeks forcefully.

I had no choice but surrender to the escape route her mouth was offering. She did not even ask for my permission to lace her tongue with mine, she just plunged it in as if everyone's lives depended on the authority of her nectarous flesh. It rather did, actually.

My anger towards her evaporated just as the Angel's share did during the maturation of whisky.

Just as I was about to entangle my fingers in her hair and bring her even closer, she retreated, resting her forehead on mine.

"I have no idea why they are moving so slowly, Moriarty must have told them to prolong our misery. But right now, you need to pull your head out of your arse and forget about C."

My pupils widened and my eyebrows quirked.

"You think I cannot read you? Love, you are the most addicting book I have ever read." She responded to my reaction, her lips twitching upwards.

Her intended pun proved that she was a more adequate anchor. Actually, not adequate, for it seemed like I was objectifying her. No. Perfect. Yes, she was the most perfect anchor, even though all grammar-freaks know that such term has no superlative.

"Is the magnetic field ready?" I asked her in a whispery tone, tilting my head to reach her level.

She nodded once and then moved a step back, allowing me to put my idea into practice.

Luckily for us – me, Rhea and John – we had no metals in our possession, but they did.

"Why don't you put your guns in your holders? I am such an old-fashioned man, I would really prefer us fighting bare-handed."

The twelve men snickered, looking at each other as if I were mad – which, privately speaking, was rather true.

"You'll trick us, you always do." One of them stated, poking the air with his sharp chin.

"I am seriously helpless right now, I have no ace up my sleeve." I feigned weakness, lowering my head a tad too much.

"Al'ight. I s'ppose a good ol' fighting won't hurt." The same man as before accepted, telling the others to follow his motion. All the Glocks were in the gun holders and I smiled to myself, eager to witness the attackers' sweet falling. The field was completely functioning.

"We're ready now." One of them launched himself in my direction, but I ducked skillfully.

"You might want to reconsider your statement." I responded, watching proudly as their guns pulled them towards the wall, their bodies soon being glued to the metallic surface.