Many people liked my version of the pool scene from John's perspective ("All the Difference"), and for those who wanted Sherlock's view of things, I give you this. Remember, writers like to know if their work is good or crap. Enjoy!
"Evening."
It is the last voice he should hear. Of course there will be a voice (stolen or otherwise, there will always be peril present), but this voice should be safe; curled up in Sarah's flat, lilo or sofa (which one is not important), at home in the flat, watching telly or working on his laptop, or even…
Anywhere but here.
"This is a turn up, isn't it, Sherlock?"
He pauses. There's a hitch in John's voice (slight, very slight, but present), as though the words are not his own. John speaks again, but now all he hears is the smaller man's voice (more hitches, pauses—something is not right).
John's movements are very slight as well (calculated, to be precise). He inches closer, wondering what has befallen his flatmate, when John opens the thick parka (not a coat John would wear, not ever).
The flashing red light. The thick square bricks of explosive. Enough to take down a house, he remembers Lestrade commenting earlier in the week.
(Forget the house. Not important. All that matters is in front of you.)
John is speaking again, parroting words not his own. The man speaks until his voice breaks (and it does, it breaks, like hand-blown glass) and he calls out for John to stop. His eyes flitter rapidly around the confines of the pool deck, searching for his quarry (searching for the puppet-master, the clever criminal whose name mortals fear to speak).
When Moriarty finally reveals himself, he is not terribly surprised. (Well, maybe a little surprised, but not terribly.)
"Is that a British Army Browning L9A1 in your pocket, or are you just pleased to see me?"
(Strange that he sounds like a girl. No wonder he 'borrowed' others' voices.)
"Both." (Not like he wasn't going to prepare, but then, he didn't expect this).
As the criminal natters on, his eyes continue to focus on John. His flatmate looks so small, (even smaller than normal, though not physically possible) buried under layers of thick cloth and explosive. He parlays back (consulting criminal, brilliant), but all he can really see is John, trying to sink invisibly into the background (and would do so, if not for the target on his front).
"Are you all right?"
It is the only pressing concern now. He has found Moriarty; has given him a face, and a voice, and now cares only for the well-being of the only truly good man he knows (because John deserves better than this; better than to die helpless and afraid). When John tips his head in affirmation, it is as though a great weight is lifted from his shoulders.
"Take it." He hands over the plans (because that's what this is all about; classic misdirection), hoping that they are enough to stall what may well be inevitable.
"Oh, the missile plans." Moriarty takes them as though they were a lost treasure (insufferable bastard, the real treasure lies behind you). He is very surprised, then, to see them so carelessly tossed into the chlorinated water.
There are sounds, and then a blur of color and motion. All he can make of it is a voice (and what a voice it is; a steady anchor in a world of chaos) shouting at him to run (escape would lead to preservation, but not important now).
He hears Moriarty's cackling laugh (the laugh of witches, and things that frighten small children and even a brilliant genius at times), hears John lay everything out on the table. He sees John's face slacken when a small pinprick of light burns into his temple.
(Cannot do it; cannot let him sacrifice himself for nothing. There is no gain in it.)
"Do you know what happens, Sherlock, if you don't leave me alone?"
He considers this a moment. (Obvious.)
"Oh, let me guess. I get killed."
Moriarty chuckles. "No, don't be obvious."
(Even geniuses slip sometimes. Ask John, he'll tell you.)
The criminal continues: "I'll burn you. I will burn…the heart…out of you."
He smiles. (Poor thing. Doesn't realize.)
"I have been reliably informed that I don't have one."
Moriarty's eyes shift, ever so slightly, towards John. "But we both know that's not quite true."
(Damn.)
The insidious man takes his leave (finally), and he waits a moment (because, after all, the criminal loves misdirection).
Nothing.
He springs into action, peeling the layers of fabric and Semtex from his flatmate's (scratch that, his friend's) chest. It isn't until the hateful device is removed (and away, far away from John as possible) that he thinks to be certain the threat is neutralized. When he returns, he sees John curled into himself, leaning for support on a beam near the changing room wall (shock, it's shock, where's Lestrade's damn blanket when you need it?).
There is a need to speak, to voice himself. "That thing…that thing you offered…to do, that was…that was…um, good."
(Oh, yes. Very elegant. Cat got your tongue?)
He does not expect John to be so cavalier about it though. Then he realizes: John is making a joke. (Funny thing, shock. Will have to research it at some point in the near future.)
It isn't until John starts to rise that he sees them, the little dots covering two chests instead of one.
(Damn. And we were so close…)