John Watson; there was something about that man that even Holmes' brilliant brain just could not figure out; something strange. Yes, there was the fact that Watson had moved in with him only two days after meeting him for the first time, knowing only that his name was Sherlock Holmes and he was a "consulting detective" whom, according to others, gets a kick out of murder cases. There was the fact that John was the only person ever to have stuck by Holmes - the only person ever whom Holmes had even considered calling his friend; John had even saved Holmes' life on several occasions in the short space of time they had known each other. There was also the fact that John didn't seem to find Sherlock remotely strange or frightening – not like Anderson and the others, he thought bitterly – on the contrary, John thought Sherlock was "brilliant" and actually seemed to enjoy spending time in his company; something which was new to Sherlock, but not unpleasantly so... But no, there was something else. Even after months of living together Sherlock still could not figure John out; Dr. John H. Watson was the one mystery that The Great Sherlock Holmes could not solve.
John was fascinating, Holmes would find himself thinking about the man for hours at a time and he wouldn't know why. He thought about John a lot. Not only was he kind, loyal - and many more good things - he was also a lot smarter than Holmes had first given him credit for; he had helped Sherlock solve a number of mysteries, and had even sometimes helped out with his experiments. Sherlock found that the more time he spent with John, the more he grew to like him. This may sound a rather normal concept for most but Sherlock wasn't normal; in most cases in Sherlock's life the more time he spent with someone the more he grew to dislike them, until eventually he grew to hate them so much that he would be quite pleased if they disappeared off the face of the earth and he never saw them again...! But not only did Sherlock like John, he found that if John went away for a couple of days to "visit family" and other such things, Sherlock would actually miss him! This was another new concept for Sherlock, as for his entire life he'd preferred to spend his time alone, and often shut others out who tried to help him because they were concerned for his wellbeing, or other similar things; Mycroft was a perfect example of this.
But John wasn't like anyone Sherlock had met before in his life. John was brilliant - a lot more brilliant than Sherlock would ever tell him to his face. John was different; and Sherlock liked him, Sherlock liked him a lot. But it wasn't until that near fatal incident with Moriarty that Sherlock realised quite how much he liked John.
/
"Will caring about them help save them?" "Nope" "Then I'll continue not to make that mistake."
Sherlock didn't care about anyone. Become emotionally attached to the victims and you spend time thinking about them rather than solving the case; you put them at risk by caring about them. This was why Sherlock made sure he didn't think about them, didn't let himself care; caring makes things difficult. It clouds your vision and distracts you from finding the important data. It makes you make rash decisions. This was what happened that one terrible night at the pool.
'Found. The Bruce-Partington plans. Please collect. The Pool. Midnight.'
Sherlock should have known it was a bad idea, his instinct should have told him so; this man was a killer – a lunatic! And he was brilliant, oh so brilliant, Sherlock should have known it would be some sort of trap... But still he had gone along, because he was curious. He needed to know who was brilliant enough - who was bored enough - to do this. He needed to know who was as clever as him. But when he saw John come through that door his heart missed a beat and he froze in his tracks, what the hell was John doing there? But before he'd even finished asking himself the question everything fell into place, he had a bomb strapped to his chest, of course. Of course it was a trap! How could he be so stupid?Moriarty wouldn't let someone as smart as Sherlock just walk away freely! Sherlock could destroy him. Sherlock had wanted to find out about this man, this criminal mastermind. He'd wanted to know why he done what he'd done, how he'd done it. He'd had so many questions. But now all he could think about was John. Sherlock was trying to listen to what Moriarty was saying... He was trying to think of what to do, but he just couldn't. All he wanted to know now was was John okay?
Eventually Moriarty paused and Sherlock took the silence to whisper the only question he had in his head at that moment in time "You okay?" Moriarty grinned like a maniac from behind John, edging his way closer and closer to the terrified man and laughing in a ridiculously high pitch. John was too scared to speak, and his face drained of all colour as Moriarty walked up and stood beside him.
"You can talk, Johnny boy!" The man teased him cruelly, but still John didn't say a word. Sherlock could see the fear in John's eyes, something he's never seen in his companion before. In the end John managed a small nod in answer to Sherlock's question, but from the expression on John's face Sherlock could tell that it was a lie. He may be okay physically but he was scared to death. He had to figure a way to get John out of that coat.
And then John did the stupidest thing; he actually grabbed Moriarty from behind and, holding him in an arm lock, he screamed at Sherlock to run. Sherlock was frozen in fear and amazement at his friend's compassion and new found courage, and couldn't bring himself to move – he couldn't leave that wonderful man to the mercy of a monster like Moriarty. But he didn't have to, Moriarty had his snipers, and at that moment in time they all had their guns aimed directly at Sherlock. John let go of Moriarty in defeat. His eyes screamed 'sorry' to Sherlock before focusing on his feet. Sherlock wanted to hold John in his arms and comfort him, to make sure he was okay. He wanted to tell John it wasn't his fault, but Moriarty had once again begun to speak.
Moriarty talked and talked, and talked a bit more - it was nothing of interest to Sherlock, he'd heard all he'd wanted to know - and then, suddenly, he left. Just like that. Sherlock was relieved, to say the least; he immediately lunged forward and with a cry of "Are you okay?" ripped the coat from John and threw it across the room.
"Are you okay?" He shouted again; worry filling his voice as he gazed at the severely shaken-up man in front of him.
"Y-yes, Sherlock, I'm fine." John muttered, leaning against the wall and rubbing his head.
Sherlock still had his gun in his hand, he ran to the door and looked outside, checking Moriarty had left, he was nowhere in sight. Sherlock returned to find John sitting on the floor, his head resting against the cold tiles covering the walls. Sherlock smiled, John was safe. But they had to get out the building, although all the evidence showed that Moriarty had indeed left the building, he was a madman, and there was always the chance he could return at any moment to finish them off. The thought frightened Sherlock; he couldn't risk John's life again.
"We're lucky no one saw that." John smiled up at Sherlock.
"What?" He replied, not sure if been so consumed in his own thoughts he'd missed something John had said.
"You - ripping my clothes off in a darkened swimming pool; people might talk." John joked.
"People do little else." Was Sherlock's witty reply. He chuckled; he really was extremely relieved that John was safe.
But something was wrong, John wasn't laughing with him. His eyes were wide with shock, or fear - or both maybe – his mouth hung open slightly and he was staring at Sherlock's chest. It didn't take a genius to work out what he was looking at. Glancing downwards Sherlock saw the bright red dot - which before had been directed at John – hovering just below his sternum. He sighed loudly and the sound reverberated off the walls of the empty room and echoed all around him, as if mimicking him.
"I'm sorry!" Moriarty cried as he entered the room, flinging his arms up into the air. "I'm so-oo changeable..."
Sherlock didn't bother listening to what Moriarty was saying, there was no point: it wouldn't help him save John. He glanced around the room for a way John could get out without risking his life, his eyes scanned the place from top to bottom, from left to right and came back to rest on John. He was at a loss; he had no idea what to do. The gun was still in his hand and he looked down at it, up to Moriarty and the discarded coat lying a few feet in front of him. His eyes found their way back to John again and he silently asked 'should I do it?'. John smiled slightly and nodded in encouragement, Moriarty could not be allowed to walk free, and he understood this. Sherlock could not be held responsible for what he was about to do, John wanted him to know this; he wanted him to know that it wasn't his fault. Sherlock smiled back; winking at John, he raised his gun. There was no other way, nothing else he could do; he couldn't save John, but he could save so many more innocent people from dying if he killed the brilliant, terrible man standing in front of him. He lowered his gun towards the bomb-ridden coat and prepared to pull the trigger. Moriarty giggled manically and clapped his hands together like a child, grinning from ear to ear. Sherlock's trigger finger twitched, he desperately made one last search of the room for an escape route when all of a sudden something caught his eye. A small, hovering, red something.
"Sherlock..." John whispered, and when Sherlock looked at him he found John was once again staring at Sherlock's chest.
"I know." He replied; his eyes focusing back on Moriarty.
"What?" Moriarty screamed gleefully "Am I missing something here? I thought you were going to kill us, Sherlock!" His brow furrowed and his mouth dropped open slightly in mock confusion, "Don't tell me the great Sherlock Holmes is too scared to pull the trigger?" He laughed loudly, running a hand through his short hair. "Well... If you're too scared to do it, I can always have one of my snipers do it for you...?"
"I wouldn't count on it." Sherlock replied, flashing Moriarty a wry smile, his eyes still fixed on his enemy's chest... Somewhere just below his sternum.
Moriarty followed his gaze and his eyes widened as he once again began to laugh, shrill and high pitched; Sherlock felt like shooting him there and then.
"Alright Lestrade, you can come out now!" Sherlock cried, grinning widely as he steadily aimed his gun at Moriarty's chest.
"How did you know it was me?" Lestrade smiled as he stepped into the room, gun at the ready, Anderson and Donovan at his heel.
Sherlock ignored the question, choosing instead to pick up the coat containing the bomb and hand it carefully to Lestrade.
Lestrade, smiling smugly, nodded to Sherlock then turned to Donovan, "Sally, get rid of this." he instructed, passing her the coat before kneeling next to John and beginning to check him over.
"Anderson, look after him." he pointed at Moriarty who was still laughing quietly to himself.
Anderson took hold of Moriarty's arm and held on tight, pointing his gun at the madman's head.
"I wouldn't give Anderson such an important job to do, Lestrade, he'll only mess it up." Sherlock sneered as he pocketed his gun and kneeled next to John and the inspector, eyes worriedly darting over John's body, analysing every inch of him; his amazing brain checking every detail to make sure the other man was alright.
"Piss off, freak!" Anderson snarled, letting go of Moriarty and turning to face Sherlock "I'm perfectly capable of doing-!"
It all happened very quickly; Moriarty made a dive for Anderson's gun, snatching it from his hand and shoving him over in the process.
"Ouch!" Anderson groaned, rubbing the arm he had fallen on "Was that really necessary? I'll have-"
Anderson's eyes widened as Moriarty aimed his gun at the policeman, once again laughing shrilly, "Let me go, or I'll shoot him!" he cried, grinning gleefully.
"Oh, you've got to be kidding!" Sherlock shouted, jumping up and flinging his arms into the air dramatically. "Let you go or you'll shoot Anderson? Like I care about him - he's more of a nut job than you!" Anderson whimpered quietly as Moriarty pulled him off the floor and held the gun to his head.
"Shut up, Sherlock." Lestrade growled, standing up and slowly edging towards Moriarty.
"Okay, c'mon, let him go."
"Ha, ha, ha! NO!" Moriarty giggled, grabbing Anderson's arm tightly and beginning to back towards the swimming pool's exit. Anderson looked like he was about to cry, he was staring at Lestrade, pleading with his eyes for the inspector to do something.
Sherlock ran his hand through his already messy hair, sighed angrily and pulled his gun from his pocket.
"Sherlock..." John muttered in a warning tone as he noticed what the younger man was doing. Sherlock ignored him and moved forward, his eyes fixed on Moriarty.
John wasn't the only person to notice; Moriarty had seen what Sherlock was up to and the young genius had made it perfectly clear that he didn't care whether Anderson lived or died; therefore he would not waver in shooting Moriarty, despite the fact that he had Anderson as his hostage. He laughed quietly to himself and, without hesitation, violently pushed Anderson forward into the deep swimming pool, before sprinting out the exit – Sherlock close on his heel.
"Sherlock!" John cried, jumping up and attempting to run after his comrade but, finding himself too weak, fell almost immediately to his knees.
A shot rang out loud and clear in the small corridor outside the pool, the loud bang of the bullet echoed in John's ears as he realised what it could mean. Panicked, John once again cried out to the younger man and, fuelled by his sudden fear and determination to protect Sherlock from any harm, he followed him into the corridor; he was just in time to see Sherlock exit through the double doors at the end of the corridor at an inhuman speed. John raced towards the door as he heard the sound of another shot, and Moriarty's insane laughter, from outside. Crashing through the doors John found himself in the pool's car park.
Sherlock was still running after Moriarty, even though it was clear to anyone that he had no chance of catching him; Moriarty was giggling like crazy and clumsily firing shots over his shoulder every now and then as he ran towards his waiting car. As he Moriarty reached the car Sherlock cried out in anger realising he had no chance of catching him he furiously threw his gun to the floor and tore at his hair. John was just feet from Sherlock by now but his attention was still focussed on Moriarty, who was standing in the open door of his car and had aimed his gun at Sherlock; Sherlock hadn't noticed – he was too busy with his childish temper tantrum. Everything played out in slow motion to John; it was like a scene from a movie as he saw the bullet speeding towards Sherlock.
"Sherlock, move!" He screamed as he dived forward, knocking Sherlock to the ground.
He heard the sound of an engine start up and a car speed away and he carefully rolled off Sherlock, making sure not to hurt him. Sitting up he checked himself over, he was fine, a bit dizzy but physically he was okay. Sherlock gazed up at John, a strange look in his eyes as John pulled him into a sitting position and checked him over too. There was blood dripping from his arm – the bullet must have grazed him – but it was nowhere near as bad as it could have been... All of a sudden John felt very faint, he wobbled slightly and Sherlock placed his arm around him, resting John's head against his shoulder and holding him close. In the distance John heard the piercing sound of the sirens of an ambulance, getting closer and closer until they stopped and suddenly a small man was dragging John away from Sherlock. John protested loudly and the man kept repeating to him again and again 'just for a bit, you're in shock'; John couldn't think straight, he couldn't comprehend what the man was saying - he was too worried about Sherlock.
"He'll be fine," The paramedic said to John as he sat him down in the ambulance, "Don't worry, you're in shock. I just need to check you over and you can go see him."
/
Sherlock tried to sit still as the paramedic checked him over, but she was terribly irritating - she kept smiling at him and telling him not to worry!
'I'm not worried' he was thinking, 'it's just a scratch, why the hell would I be worried about this? It's unimportant. Completely unimportant.'
He really did try to stay calm as she sympathetically told him it 'might sting a bit' as she cleaned the wound up, he tried not to yell at her when she told him once again not to worry as she attempted to bandage his arm, but she really was extremely annoying. And very, very stupid.
"Okay, that's enough, thank you." He hissed angrily as he snatched his arm from her grasp and, grabbing his coat, stepped out of the ambulance.
"Wait!" She cried, "It really isn't advisable for you to leave yet! I haven't finished tending to your wound. It could get infected or-"
"Yes, that's very considerate of you, but I'm sure I'll be fine." Sherlock interrupted, flinging on his coat "Have a nice day!" He cried as, ignoring the young girl's protests, he quickly walked away from the ambulance, towards where he could see Lestrade standing by his car with Anderson, his hair dripping wet, draped in a huge towel.
"You okay?" Lestrade asked as Sherlock approached him.
"Of course." Sherlock replied, "Just a scrape, nothing too much for me to handle... It's not like I got pushed in a swimming pool or anything." Sherlock jibed, smiling sarcastically at Anderson who did his best to ignore the comment. After a short pause he continued, "Well Lestrade, come on then! I know you're dying to tell me; how did you know where I was?"
"You're not the only once capable of deduction, you know. Sarah reported you and John missing. From all that stuff you posted on your site it didn't exactly take a genius to figure out where 'the pool' was." Lestrade stated proudly.
"Clearly." Sherlock smirked. "You seemed to find us easily enough..."
"Oi!" Lestrade shouted, "Enough of that, I just saved your life!"
"It wouldn't have been much of a loss." Anderson muttered.
"Piss off, Anderson." Sherlock retorted, "Because of you we've now got a criminal mastermind on the loose, so I'd keep your mouth shut if I were you. Seriously Lestrade, why did you even bring Anderson with you? He's not exactly-"
"That was hardly my fault!" Anderson interjected, "You shouldn't have distracted me!"
"Ahh, and you shouldn't be an idiot." Sherlock responded simply as he noticed John exiting an ambulance, covered in a blanket for shock. "Excuse me, Lestrade," Sherlock smiled as he walked away from the two policemen "There's someone I've got to go see..."
"'Not much cop, this 'caring' lark'" John mimicked as Sherlock came closer to him.
Sherlock laughed and punched him lightly on the arm, "Here's two things I don't tell you often enough," he began "and I won't repeat them so you'd better be listening the first time. One – you're brilliant. And two – thank you."
"You're in a good mood considering what happened!" John snorted, "Never heard those ones before."
"I mean it, thank you so much. You've saved me in more ways than you'll ever know."
The older man was taken aback and slightly confused by this confession and his confusion only increased when Sherlock tentatively pressed a small kiss to his forehead. John looked shocked for a second but then pulled Sherlock into a warm hug, gently stroking his back.
"I'm so glad you're safe." he muttered into the thick material of Sherlock's coat.
"And I you," Sherlock beamed.
Maybe, he thought as he rubbed John's back lightly, maybe he could afford to care about just one person in this world.