One Breath: The Pool
AN: Woo, my first Sherlock fanfiction – hope you like it, feedback is welcome! xxx
The words were still ringing in Sherlock's ears. "You, ripping my clothes off in a darkened swimming pool... People might talk."
He met John's eyes as he sat, still slightly wobbly in the knees, leaning against the changing room wall. His lips quirked up in a smile. "People do little else."
John grinned, and let out a relieved chuckle, his eyes crinkling. Sherlock felt a warm jolt go through his stomach. He couldn't stop looking at John, his dark blue eyes and his features cast in an otherworldly light in the dark swimming pool. The reflecting light from the water was chasing patterns across his face. What was going on behind those strange eyes? Certainly more than most people would guess from John Watson's unassuming manner. He often felt as if he said one thing and then his face said something completely different.
A memory played through his mind. Sherlock, sitting on the back of the ambulance, seeing John and realizing he had shot the cabbie. Killed a man to protect him. And then afterwards, John seemed serene, even joking about it. Sergeant Donovan would, no doubt, classify John as a Freak for this, just like Sherlock. Others, such as Mycroft in one of his more pedestrian moments, might have pointed out that John going out on a limb like that was especially remarkable because Sherlock Holmes and Doctor John Watson had only just met. Sherlock, however, knew that it was not a question of time. It was a question of character. Either you pulled the trigger, or you didn't. Feeling remorseful about it afterwards didn't change this fact, and John knew it. He'd made a decision. There was no regret.
Why did this memory flash through his mind now? Ah, yes.
"Sherlock, run!"
He heard it replay in his mind over and over. John's eyes boring into his, willing him to get out and save himself, leaving John behind. To die for him.
Once again Sherlock realized that John Watson was a puzzle to him. And he knew, with another strange sensation somewhere in his chest, that he was never one to resist a puzzle. A small smile began spreading on his face, but it was cut short by several red dots appearing on John's body.
When Moriarty walked back into the swimming pool, a cold fear gripped Sherlock's heart. Him confronting the criminal was one thing, but not with John caught in the crossfire. His mind quickly played through all possible scenarios how this could end. Getting themselves shot without doing anything about it was definitely not an option. He pulled his gun, aiming at the jacket with the bomb. His eyes flickered to John, still crouching on the floor. He quickly assessed the tension in the man and concluded that he was no longer shaking and his knees looked steady. He appeared rather like a coiled spring, ready to jump. John gave the slightest nod, his eyes flickering to the swimming pool.
Yes. There was a chance they could make it. John trusted him with this, and he trusted John. There was certainty. Well, then, there was really nothing else to it, was there?
He pulled the trigger.