"John," James Moriarty said with faux-pity in his voice, "now you cant even," he tied John's hands behind his back, "resist"
"Get off me, you... psychopath," John struggled with the rope, trying to break free. Jim then pushed him to the ground and stood over him. "Oh John," he chimed, "Sweet, innocent little John," Moriarty knelt down next to the doctor. "But you really aren't that sweet and innocent are you?" he continued, "we both know it was your fault that poor Fred died that night." A wave of horror rushed over John.
John could feel that flashbacks creeping to the front of his memory. There Fred was smiling, and laughing when suddenly a shot was fired out of nowhere and lodged itself right in Fred's chest. Suddenly, a large group of men armed with guns ambushed and attacked them. With all of the commotion that was going on, John didn't get a chance to save Fred, or even say goodbye. John had always blamed himself for his friend's death and had never completely gotten over it.
John was brought back to reality by Moriarty speaking once more, "Oh you're so loyal, John, but never when it counts." The conceited scumbag stood up. "All those people, they died because of you," Moriarty said, "and Sherlock will too." The doctor started pulling frantically against his bonds, "WHAT HAVE YOU DONE WITH HIM?" John demanded. Moriarty said, "Oh don't worry, my dear Watson, he won't die for quite some time." "WHERE IS HE?" John ordered. "Well, he should be on his way, we should get you dressed up now, shouldn't we?" Moriarty reached down and untied his bonds. He roughly pulled John to his feet, and with that reached down into a black duffel bag and pulled out a bomb. He then proceeded to strap the explosive to John's chest.
"What the hell-"
"Now, now John, calm down, go stand over in that shower until Sherlock arrives."
"What are you going to do with him?"
"That's for me to know and you to find out," Moriarty sing-songed as he walked away, "I'll be over here waiting for the show to begin."
"Brought you a little getting to know you present," Sherlock said, holding up a memory stick as be walked into the pool, "Oh, that's what it's all been for isn't it? all your little puzzles, making me dance. All to distract me from this."
Doctor John Watson walked out of one of the shower stalls. "Evening. This is a turn up, isn't it, Sherlock?" the doctor said. "John. What the hell?" "Bet you never saw this coming," Watson continued, "What would you like me to make him say next?" John said opening his jacket just enough for Sherlock to see the explosive attached to John, and a bright red spot moving around his chest, "Gottle o' geer. Gottle o' gear Gottle o' g-" "Stop it," Sherlock interrupted, stepping closer to John, looking worried. "Nice touch, this pool," John said, "the one where little Carl died. I stopped him. I can stop John Watson, too. Stop his heart," his voice cracking. "Who are you?" Sherlock asked, looking around. A door opened from across the pool, a man half-hiding behind it, not showing his face. "I gave you my number," a voice whined, "I thought you might call." Sherlock's eyes frantically searched the room for the owner of the slick, creepy voice. "Is that a British Army Browning L9A1 in your pocket? Or are you just pleased to see me?" the mysterious man purred as he walked out across the tile.
"Both," Sherlock answered, his voice monotonous.
"Jim Moriarty." the man introduced himself. "Hi. Jim? Jim from the hospital?" Moriarty gasped, feigning surprise. "Oh. Did I really make such a... fleeting impression?" He stepped closer and closer to Sherlock and John. "But then I suppose that was rather the point," Jim said. Sherlock eyed the glowing red on John's chest and kept his firearm steadily aimed at Moriarty. "Don't be silly," Moriarty smirked, "Someone else is holding the rifle. I don't like getting my hands dirty. I've given you a glimpse -just a teensy glimpse- of what I've got going on out there in the big, bad world." Moriarty continued to pace the floor, smiling occasionally, as if what he was saying was humorous. "I'm a specialist, you see. Like you," the criminal mastermind finished, his eyes bore into Sherlock's.
"'Dear Jim," Sherlock said pointing a handgun at Moriarty, "Please will you fix it for me to get rid of my lovers nasty sister.' 'Dear Jim, please will you fix it for me to disappear to South America.'"
"Just so," Moriarty replied, as if he were speaking to a child.
"Consulting criminal. Brilliant."
"Isn't it?" Jim replied, "No one ever gets to me. And no one ever will," he sighed, shaking his head.
"I did," Sherlock told him.
"You've come the closest. Now you're in my way."
"Thank you."
"I didn't mean it as a compliment."
"Yes you did."
"Yeah, okay I did," said Moriarty, scrunching up his shoulders into a shrug. "But the flirting's over, Sherlock. Daddy's had enough now!" he sing-songed and stepped even closer to the other two men. "I've shown you what I can do. I've cut loose all those people, all those little problems. Even thirty million quid just to get you to come out and play. So take this as a friendly warning," the man paused for a beat, "my dear. Back off." he said simply. "Although," he said with a smirk, "I have loved this. This little game of ours," he said with a playful tone, although he made it seem morbid, "Playing Jim from IT. Playing gay. Did you like the little touch with the underwear."
"People have died," Sherlock said, his gun still aimed right at Moriarty.
"That's what people DO!"
"I will stop you."
"No you won't," Jim said, in his trademark sing-song voice.
Sherlock turned to John. "You all right?"
"You can talk Johnny boy," Moriarty teased, "Go ahead."
Sherlock offered Moriarty the memory stick. "Take it," he said.
Jim took the memory stick from Sherlock and said, "Hm? Oh that.The missile plans. He slowly held it up to his lips and kissed it. "Boring! I could've gotten them anywhere," he said, and he tossed them into the pool.
John grabbed Moriarty from the back and ordered, "Sherlock run!"
"Oh!" Jim laughed, "Good, very good."
"If your sniper pulls that trigger Mr. Moriarty, and we both go up," said the doctor
"He's sweet," Jim drawled, "I can see why you like having him around. But then again, people get so... sentimental about their pets." He craned his neck so he could see John. "They are so touchingly loyal. But oops!" Moriarty exclaimed. "You've rather shown your hand there, Dr. Watson."
A bright red spot appeared on Sherlock's head.
"Gotcha" Moriarty sniggered as John loosened his hold on the man.
Jim unruffled his suit. "Westwood," he said, gesturing to his suit. "Do you know what happens if you don't leave me alone, Sherlock? To you."
"Oh, let me guess. I get killed."
"Kill you," Jim made a face. "Eh? Oh, no. don't be obvious." "I mean, I'm going to kill you anyway, someday. I don't want to rush it, though. I'm saving it up for something special. No no no no no. If you don't stop prying, I will burn you. I will burn the heart out of you," the madman said maniacally.a q1
"I have been reliably informed that I don't have one," Sherlock said softly.
"We both know that's not quite true," Moriarty shrugged and looked around. "Well I'd better be off. So nice to have a proper chat."
"What if I was to shoot you now? Right now."
"Then you could cherish the look of surprise on my face," Jim answered, making a mock-surprised face. "Because I'd be surprised, Sherlock. Really I would. And just a teensy bit... disappointed. And of course you wouldn't be able to cherish it for very long. Ciao," Moriarty turned to walk away, "Sherlock Holmes."
"Catch you... later."
"No you won't," Moriarty sing-songed as he walked out.