Sherlock's hands wrapped around the lapels of Mortiary's jacket. He gripped the fabric so tight that he felt his fingernails might break. Reasoning with Moriarty was like walking through quicksand. Every time he felt he has solved the riddle, the question changed.
The weather was crisp and every few seconds a gust of chilled wind slammed into them. On the roof there was no protection from the elements.
His eyes darted from side to side. Sherlock tried to figure out his motives, his end goal, but it seemed elusive.
"I can still prove you created an entirely false identity."
Moriarty shrugged.
His heart pounded as he raced to the next goal post. There was something that would make him stop. There had to be something that would change the possession. Everyone had a price. It was just a race to find out what it was.
"Oh, just kill yourself," Moriarty said, "it's a lot less effort."
Sherlock switched on the aggression. If mind games didn't work then he would use his size to stop him. He pushed him closer to the edge of the building so nearly half his body was perpendicular to the street below.
It would be so simple to let him go and let his body fall the ground. No one would argue that it was a good man that lost his life on that roof. As he held Moriarty's body in his hands he simply couldn't do it. He had to finish out the story. He had to know how it ended.
"You're insane," he said.
"You're just getting that now?" Moriarty answered.
He pushed him even further to see if his humanity would emerge. But as he looked into Moriarty's eyes he saw no fear. There wasn't even the slightest hint of panic in his face. Just then his smile turned to sneer and his hands lifted off the side of the building. His life was entirely in Sherlock's hands. Sherlock felt his breathing shorten to small bursts as he raced to figure out what to do next.
"Okay let me give you a little incentive," Moriarty said. His voice grew to a growl as he spoke further. "Your friends will die if you don't."
"John?"
His heart sank as he looked into Moriarty's eyes to call his bluff.
"Not just John."
"Mrs. Hudson?"
"Everyone."
"Lestrade?"
"Everyone," he hissed. "Three bullets. Three victims. There's no stopping them now."
"Unless—" he said with an expectant look.
Sherlock knew the rest of the sentence immediately. He had missed the answer. It had been there all along. He had walked into a trap that Moriarty had planned long before. No one knew he was here. He'd even sent John away across town. He forced his face into a neutral expression before he continued to speak. It was imperative that Moriarty not think he had gotten to him. Always be the smartest man in the room…
"I die in disgrace. Complete your story."
He nods and licks his lips.
"You're lying," Sherlock said.
Moriarty's eyes lowered. "Sherlock Holmes. Always thinking…" he taps his head and circles around his victim like a vulture. "What makes you so sure?"
Sherlock looks out to the city below. He wasn't sure, far from it. There had to be a slip-up somewhere. Even Moriarty had to have made a mistake.
"You," he said. "You can call them off. I can save them if I have you."
He walked towards Sherlock like an inquisitive professor. "What makes you think I haven't already killed them all?"
"What would be the point? If I die then there are more that corroborate your story. No reason to murder your biggest puzzle pieces."
Moriarty shook his head. "Wrong again. I thought you'd be more impressive. Very disappointing, Sherlock."
He hadn't killed them yet, Sherlock was sure of that but there was no way to tell if they were actually in danger. The longer he delayed, the more time that he bought all of them. He had outwitted Moriarty before and he could it again. It was all an intricate game of out-thinking the person in front of you long enough to gain the lead. Right now he was behind.
"You call them off…" Sherlock said as he reached into his pocket. He hoped that he could make Moriarty think he had a gun but it was a weak play.
"Sherlock, you're embarrassing yourself. Now why would I do something like that?"
He rushed towards Moriarty to attempt disarm him and fight him to the ground but he thought better of it. He needed to get a word to John.
The edge.
Sherlock turned from Moriarty and began to walk to the edge of the building. He made long steps and unbuttoned his coat, allowing it blow widely in the breeze. With the distraction of the coat he was able to take out his phone and type a message to John.
Do not go home. Come back to hospital ASAP.
If John was here and not where the gunman would assume there was a chance that he would be safe. It gave him some control. In his way he could slowly gain the upper hand once more.
"What are you doing?" Moriarty shouted.
Sherlock didn't answer. Any way to subvert the plan was a step towards defeating Moriarty.
He heard Moriarty's footsteps behind him. Sherlock stuck his phone back in his pocket and spun back around. In one swift motion, he grabbed Moriarty's left arm and snapped it back as hard as he could. There was a pop in his shoulder and he yelped in pain.
"Get on the phone," Sherlock said. "Now."
Moriarty's face softened as his arm hung limp in Sherlock's hands. "No."
He yanked again, which sent another shot of pain through Moriarty's body. "Now."
"This is unbecoming, Sherlock. What would John think?"
He yanked again. "Shut up."
"Tsk, tsk," Moriarty said. "I hoped it wouldn't come to this. Now are you going to jump or not?"
He didn't answer.
"Breast pocket. Hand me my phone, please."
"What are you going to do?" Sherlock asked.
"You'll see," Moriarty said.
Sherlock let the arm go and it hung uselessly. With his one good arm, Moriarty dialed his phone and held it up to his ear.
"Hold on," he said to Sherlock, "let me put it on speaker."
Sherlock's heart beat fast. This was not part of the plan. Moriarty was not going to call them off.
"Stop this," Sherlock said.
Moriarty gestured his head towards the edge of the building.
"Yes?" the voice on the other end of the line said.
He immediately recognized it as Lestrade. He didn't dare say a word. There was no telling what the trigger command was.
"Detective Inspector. I'd like to report a murder."
"You should call the direct—"
Suddenly there was a shout and a rustle in the background.
Then a bang.
"Wrong number," Moriarty said with a sneer.
Sherlock felt nauseous. There was no trigger. No warning. There was a man on the inside poised to shot at will. He went to grab something but there was nothing around.
"Why?" he said as he tried to catch his breath. "He did nothing."
Moriarty smiled. "I warned you. My dear Sherlock, you can save the others."
John.
He'd told him to come to the hospital.
What had he done?
"Stop this. I'll do whatever you want, just stop this," he pleaded.
Moriarty pushed Sherlock towards the side of the building. "You know. Now go."