I can't believe how they ended 'The Great Game'! It was so mean!
This was intended as just a little one-shot of what was going through Sherlock's head at the end of the episode and has kind of spiralled off into a 'what happens next?' story.
Whoops!
Disclaimer: I do not own Sherlock and if I did I'd have written more than three episodes!
The solution was simple.
All he had to do was pull the trigger.
If he could rid the world of such an evil as Moriarty, he could call his career – and his life – complete. One tiny movement of his right index finger and it would all be over.
It would end.
He would die too, of course. But it would be a worthy death, befitting of the greatest mind the world had ever seen. And wouldn't it be better? Here? Now? Better by his own hand whilst conquering his greatest enemy than fall victim to some nameless, faceless nobody years from now.
So why didn't he do it?
Moriarty smiled, gloating. He knew why. So did Sherlock.
And as his eyes met those of the reason, he realised he knew too.
John Watson. The only friend he had in the world. Could he sacrifice himself? Yes. Could he sacrifice the men waiting in the rafters, their guns aimed at himself? Most certainly.
But could he kill John?
For the first time in his life, Sherlock was scared.
It had taken a moment to recognise the emotion when he had first seen John with that despicable device strapped to his chest. His heart had quickened, his throat clenched and a heavy weight seemed to fall in his stomach as the consequences of what might happen tonight dawned on him.
He had been an arrogant fool.
He had walked right into the lion's den and now the only person he had any semblance of feeling for in the world was teetering on the brink of death as well.
And he couldn't be the one to bring it.
So he stood, gun aimed and primed. Undecided.
His eyes flitted from John's to Moriarty's. Fear, laughter, fear, laughter. His own head was swimming with the burden of the choice before him.
Save his friend now or save victims of the future?
And John's face, impassive to all but him, was trained resolutely on the gun in Sherlock's hand.
Then one movement.
A tiny inclination of the head.
And any trace of doubt vanished.
With a smile, and a silent apology, Sherlock Holmes squeezed the trigger.
Short, I know but how much time can I spend in the guy's head without going completely bonkers? Hope to update soon but can't promise anything. Please review!