"Sherlock run!" John called as he wrapped an arm around Moriarty`s throat, fully intending to use himself as a distraction so that his friend could escape, even if it was at the cost of his own life. The sniper did not have a clear shot at him, there was too high a chance that the bullet could either hit Moriarty himself or set off the bomb vest, killing them both, and quite possibly Sherlock too. However, in John's eyes, avenging all those that Moriarty had caused the deaths of, and saving any future victims would be worth his life, and possibly injuring Sherlock in the process.
It was a gamble, but John had the upper hand at this current moment in time, he was a soldier and would not just play the hostage if he could help it - not with both his and Sherlock`s lives at stake. The bomb laden vest weighed down very heavily on the doctor`s chest, feeling as though he literally had the weight of the world on his shoulders and chest. The heat from the winter coat, black leather gloves, coat, jumper and shirt he wore in an already sweltering swimming pool, combined with the pressure were making him sweat. But, true to form, he was not shaking – Mycroft had been right (as usual) in his assessment of John coping better under stressful situations – he felt fear – yes, but he did not let it control him or show outwardly, though his voice had shaken slightly when he had had to repeat Moriarty's words as the Irishman fed them through the earpiece, it had been more due to uncertainty and adrenaline, rather than fear.
The world`s only consulting detective and possibly the only man who could stop Moriarty`s schemes was not going to die just because of his sentimental attachment to a mildly crippled ex-army doctor. How that attachment had been formed by the sociopathic detective, John would never know, but formed it had – the look that Sherlock had given him and the way he said his name as John had stepped out of the changing room had confirmed it.
"Oh this is goood, very good!" Moriarty was laughing, still just as annoyingly smug and casual as ever – hands in pockets - even with John`s arm wrapped around his throat and Sherlock still levelling the Browning at the consulting criminal.
"If your sniper pulls that trigger Mr Moriarty, then we both go up." John hissed into Moriarty`s ear, tightening his grip as he did so.
"Isn't he sweet? I can see why you like having him around. But then, people do get so sentimental about their pets. They're so touchingly loyal." Moriarty's head turned slightly towards John's as he spoke, making John's jaw tighten slightly at the closeness to the villain, the dark haired man noticed the older man's reaction – of course he did – and to John's disgust and disbelief, he briefly planted his lips on the doctor's cheek, grinning as John flinched away, and pulled back his face as much as he could, while still retaining his grip on the man, who chuckled at the reaction.
"But you've rather shown your hand there Doctor Watson, one teensy little thing that you didn't take into consideration Johnny-boy..." Jim practically sang, still chuckling softly.
John frowned slightly, glancing around the darkened swimming pool for something that he could have missed; it took a few seconds before he saw the red dot of a second sniper rifle, this one from an angle slightly higher and to the left of the one that was flickering indecisively over him and Moriarty. There was another sniper that now that he actually looked, was clearly visible in the viewing gallery above the pool, he was situated in such a position and stance that John knew instantly that the man was a professional, however that assessment was somewhat contradicted by the fact that when the sniper's bright blue eyes met John's, he winked and shot the doctor a grin, before pulling the trigger.
He had just enough time to curse under his breath before the click of the gun firing echoed through the room and the bullet found it`s mark. Searing pain erupted from his left knee as the bullet drove its way into his kneecap and smashing through the flesh and bone alike, shattering the tile behind him as the bullet tore straight through. However he could tell that the bullet had somehow separated as it hit so that pieces were now lodged painfully within his body. A sharp scream of utter agony was torn from his lips as his leg instantly gave out beneath him, he fell hard to the side onto the grimy tiles, releasing Moriarty as he did so.
The ex-army doctor`s hands moved down to clutch at his crippled leg, whether out of pure instinct or in some vain attempt to staunch the bleeding and stop the pain, he didn't know. He just knew that this injury was serious, and if left untreated could lead to permanent injury, maybe even amputation – even if he kept his leg, his limp would certainly no longer just be psychosomatic. He had treated less severe knee shot wounds that had still led to amputation of the entire leg – knee-cappings were no laughing matter, though that was exactly what Moriarty was still doing – straightening down his Westwood suit in an unconcerned manner.
All of this had flickered through John`s mind in the space of several seconds and he was now vaguely aware that Sherlock was shouting his name. Concern leaking through the cracks of the high functioning sociopath`s usually calm and unemotional exterior.
"John!" Sherlock took a step forward before a sniper`s red dot found its way onto his own chest, he froze, icy blue-grey eyes flicking from John to Moriarty and back again several times before coming to rest on the consulting criminal with a steely, calm hatred.
"Leave him out of this, you have me here, you have what you wanted, you have made your point, now leave him alone." The last three words were spoken with a slow and fiery determination.
Moriarty laughed, hands still in his pockets and suit barely rumpled, he had the air of a man who knew he had the upper hand and was well used to it. "But why would I do that? Oh mighty Sherlock? As you say, I have you exactly where I want you; you and your pet are completely at my mercy." He laughed yet again, but this time in a more comical villain way than he had before – he was mocking them.
"Because you aren't going to set that bomb off, if you were going to do it you would have already done it by now, and you won`t kill me – not yet, I`m too much fun, one of the few people in the world who could challenge your mind." Sherlock`s lips pulled up minutely in a slightly bitter smile. "The games we could play would keep you entertained far more than just killing us now ever could."
Moriarty`s face had slowly been lighting up with every word that Sherlock had spoken, his twisted pale features looking like a nightmare version of a child at Christmas, and even John`s gasps of pain had quietened slightly as he stared up at Sherlock from the grotty pool flooring. Sherlock eye`s had not left Moriarty`s and the Irishman had not broken the contact either.
There were a tense few moments of silence that seemed to fill the room, stretching out into what felt like years of nearly silently rippling pool water and harsh breathing.
"Well you would be right about me not intending to set the bomb off." Drawled Moriarty, his dark whiskey colored eyes still boring into detective`s. "Buuuut that might be because there was no way that I was going to have this little rendezvous end with a predictable bang – I wouldn't want to be repeating myself now would I?" Both John and Sherlock, twitched slightly as they realized that Moriarty was repeating what Sherlock had said previously about repeating the poisoning exposures in the Pip puzzles – he had obviously been tracking their every word and movement.
Moriarty looked down at John, who had shifted further away from the consulting criminal while he had been talking, a leaving a bloody trail on the tiled floor. Moriarty then made a lunge so fast and unexpected that John couldn't move away from him in time. The Irishman`s fingers gripped his sandy grey-blonde hair and used that hold to pull up John`s head so that his neck was bent at an uncomfortable angle and he was looking up at him. "I think this little game should end with a splash!"
With that, he sent a sharp and entirely overly dramatic kick into John`s chest that sent him falling backwards and into the gently rippling pool water. John sank beneath the surface of the pool with surprising speed and no matter how hard he tried, he could not seem to be able to swim to the surface, despite how much he thrashed. It was as though he was weighed down with a thousand heavy stones, the weight that had previously settled around his chest seemed to have tripled, and it had little to do with the heavy winter coat that he was wearing, it was getting harder not to breathe.
The chlorine stung his widely opened eyes and his head began to pound as he refrained from taking in water through his nose and mouth. He could vaguely hear what he assumed to be Sherlock`s voice shouting, but John was becoming far too preoccupied with the fact that the lack of oxygen was now causing him to lose consciousness fast. His arms flailed about frantically in the water around him, but his body would still not rise from the bottom of the pool, his left leg was useless and the potent combination of oxygen deprivation, pain and blood loss was enough to finally drag him from consciousness.
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Sherlock could only watch on in horror as John struggled desperately in the water, knowing that he would be shot if he attempted to help his blogger in any way. He calculated the odds to be too far out of his favour - he`d be no use to anyone dead. Instead he glared at Moriarty. There was obviously something wrong with the scene unfolding in the water, John was a soldier and should have been able to swim despite his injury, it was clear that he was struggling more than he should have been.
"What did you do?" He yelled at the consulting criminal who merely chuckled at the obviously furious detective.
"You didn't honestly think that I would dispatch your pet, the heart of Sherlock Holmes, with a mere bomb did you? I don't do predictable." Moriarty took a step towards Sherlock and his eyes sparkled with malice. "That vest wasn't just ever a bomb, all those showy little additions, and those pretty little lights – a good distraction from the obvious eh?"
Sherlock`s face twisted in realization and he took another step towards the pool - John`s splashing and struggles had stopped.
"John!" There was no response from beneath the water and John lay face down and silent at the bottom of the pool, a few air bubbles escaping to the surface, there was still time, he was still alive – for now at least.
Sherlock glanced once at Moriarty before taking a calculated chance and diving into the pool. The water was cold, but he ignored it and dove straight to the bottom, to where John was floating face down on the swimming pool floor. Reaching out a hand to grab his blogger, he tried to pull him back to the surface, but even underwater, the doctor did not move as much as he should have.
Swimming closer, he quickly tugged of the heavy coat and unzipped the vest underneath, the weight of the garment confirmed his suspicions and told him exactly why John had struggled so much – it was lined with lead, not just explosives. Sherlock`s own lungs began to feel the strain of being under water too long, so he swiftly wrapped an arm around the unconscious army-doctor and kicked off of the bottom of the pool, propelling them both to the surface.
Their head`s broke the surface at the same time and Sherlock took great gulps of air, coughing as he did so, concerned when John didn't do the same. He did not have long to worry however, when he was caught by the shirt and pulled from the water by unseen hands, he struggled, trying to get back to John, before something hard and heavy collided with the side of his head and he knew no more.
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Sherlock awoke to the sounds of various medical equipment beeping and humming away around him. Blank white walls, a metal bed frame, and a concerned looking young Asian lady in scrubs - hospital. And judging from the throbbing pain in his head and slightly blurred vision, recovering from a concussion. His body was rather stiff, but he ignored this and pushed himself up and off of the bed, the world spinning rather disconcertingly around him as a result.
"John?" Sherlock mumbled, the nurse sent him a confused look and moved forward looking even more concerned. "Where is he?" The last thing that Sherlock remembered was being dragged out of the pool, it would make sense for John to be in the same hospital as him, and his newly acquired leg injury would need serious treatment. Kneecappings were no laughing matter.
"Mr Holmes, I-I really don't think you should be-" The consulting detective silenced her with a stare and continued to make his unsteady way towards the door, disregarding her fluttering attempts to stop him. He half hurried, half stumbled his way down the following corridor, his vision wavered considerably, but there was only one thing on his mind – John, he had to find his flatmate.
"Sherlock!" He barely turned at the call, recognizing Lestrade`s voice and knowing that the inspector would only most likely irritate him and interrupt his search for John.
"Damn it Sherlock, you're going to hurt yourself." Lestrade`s hand was now on his arm, holding him back, impeding his progress down the hall. Sherlock attempted to shrug him off, but the grip tightened, instead he turned to glare at the inspector, who had a grim expression on his tanned and slightly red face.
Reddened skin where irritation has occurred - different moisturizer – using someone else`s - conclusion – new lover - rich judging by the scent of Tom Ford – familiar scent- Sherlock mentally shook himself, now wasn't the time for deducing the obvious relationship advancements between Lestrade after his divorce.
"Where is he? Where is John?" There was a distinct pause, in which Lestrade ran a hand over his face in a weary fashion."Where?"
"Listen Sherlock, we only found you in that pool, there was quite a bit of blood and you clearly had a concussion, no one has seen John since he left Baker street, Mycroft`s cameras picked him up when he first got snatched just after leaving your flat, but..." Lestrade took a deep shuddering breath. "He`s gone, John Watson is officially listed as missing."
Hi, this is my first Sherlock fic and i really would appreciate lots of feedback and followers - also I left some cheeky fandom things in there for you guys, and I plan on doing so in further chapters too. Please read and review! And a quick note to my reviewers, thanks guys for the feedback and although this is my first Sherlock fiction - I'm not new to the fandom , love the show and can't wait for more feedback from fellow Cumberbitches. PS: Do not own 'Sherlock'