DISCLAIMER: I do not own Sherlock. I'm pretty sure everything goes back to Sir Arthur Conan Doyle. I love him. Very much actually. But that's off topic is it not?

So, this is a continuation of the series one finale. However, it is not. I get the distinct impression that there will be no explosion. This is just what would happen if it did, in my opinion.

Natural Defense

"Catch. You... Later."

Then came Moriarty's high pitched giggle, as if the very notion sent a trill of excitement through him, "No you won't."

Sherlock evaluated John for a moment, collecting his faculties before diving towards his flatmate. Sherlock evaluated quickly. No trigger. No mechanism that would cause their end the moment he touched the bomb.

"Alright? Are you alright?" he demanded of John, who was suddenly much, much paler. With the threat of becoming nothing more than pink mist less imminent now, the epinephrine that had kept John so steady through the stressful situations was ebbing away, leaving him trembling.

"Yeah..." a shaky breath from John, "Yeah, fine." John was a soldier, so he had been calm through the entire ordeal, not even the slightest tremor, but now... he was shaken. Sherlock was shaken too, which was almost more frightening than the experience itself. Sherlock ripped the thick parka from John's steady shoulders, followed by the bomb, swinging them with a significant amount of force away from them both.

He was so focused on that little bomb that he hardly acknowledged the way John was shouting his name, trying to break him from his panicked trace. Sherlock didn't know why he felt epinephrine pumping through his veins now. In all honestly, it didn't really make sense. He felt like John was somehow his responsibility, and seeing that bomb strapped to the man he had pulled into the sinister world that Moriarty had created left a slightly sick feeling in his gut. He didn't get attached to people. People were dull. John wasn't as dull as most people. Sherlock didn't like anyone touching his things. He didn't take the time to ponder the switch from flatmate to possession, because he was running for the door, in search of the man who had caused his John to have that look of fear in his eyes.

There was nothing. Moriarty was gone. He tried to calm himself by walking in long strides back to John, who had collapsed against the wall, the epinephrine finally draining away completely, leaving him breathless and hollowed. His skin was so pale that it was almost translucent. They were still alive.

Sherlock started to pace, back and forth, his mind whirring at imperceptible speeds but somehow getting nowhere. This was not something to which he was accustomed. This not being able to think. It was frightening and he hated Moriarty for making him feel this way.

"Are you okay?"

Sherlock turned his attention back to John, who had to look worse than Sherlock, perched against that wall, shaking so obviously now. Why would he ask such a stupid question?

"Me? Yeah. Fine. I'm fine," he told John with a jolt; repeating it to himself again, just to drive it home to himself.

"That, uh, thing, that you, uh, that you did... that you offered to do. That was, um," he paused, unsure what to say, but knowing that John would understand his thanks either way. John had this thing where he generally understood. He may not have been able to keep up with Sherlock's brain, but he could usually manage Sherlock's merger feelings. "Good."

"I'm glad no one saw that."

Sherlock shot John a look, an uncomprehending one, "Hm?"

John met his eyes and gave a thin lipped smile, "You ripping my clothes off in a darkened swimming pool. People might talk."

"They do little else."

John had recovered quickly and they were finally going to get out of the swimming pool, but suddenly a shower of little red lights came for them, centring on their chests, finding their hearts. Sherlock repressed the urge to curse. He would not give Moriarty the satisfaction.

Moriarty's voice flooded the quiet room again, "Sorry boys, I'm soooooooo changeable."

He sounded like he was having far too much fun. Sherlock wanted nothing more than to change that.

Moriarty was still talking, but Sherlock was rather focused on the look on John's face. Such defeat, like a child who had just found out his trip to DisneyLand had been cancelled.

Moriarty broke through Sherlock's thoughts with a shot to the only thing that really mattered, keeping John alive, "You can't be allowed to continue, you just can't."

Sherlock's mind was reeling, looking for escapes, calculating a mile a minute, but everything lead to a rather unfortunate end.

"I would try to convince you, but everything I have to say has already crossed your mind," Moriarty gave a gleeful chuckle and a skitter of discomfort ran down Sherlock's spine. Even to him this man seemed sickening. His gun reflexively found Moriarty's head.

"I imagine that probably my answer has crossed yours," Sherlock lowered his gun, directing it at the bomb laying forgotten at Moriarty's feet. He just hoped that he would not miss. He saw John was the corner of his eye. Stupidly loyal John, who Sherlock had dragged into this nodded, as if giving his consent. Sherlock was sure he would have done it either way, but he would never know for sure. He felt the cold metal of the gun trigger beneath his finger, slowly warming with the heat of his body.

The noise was so terrifically loud that it seemed his ears couldn't take it. It was so loud that it was silent. His mind was telling him so many facts at once, dragging so many things from his hard drive forward for one last fleeting glance. It was like he was in the midst of the end of the world and this was the detonation point. Ground zero. The centre of the Big Bang. Then the loudest quietest noise dissolved. He could feel something hitting the skin of his cheeks, like raindrops, but harder, maybe hail. It was cold. Then everything went completely and utterly black. So black, in fact, that there was no blackness at all. There was nothing. He felt, saw, and heard nothing.

Sherlock swam towards consciousness, his mind slowly surfacing from that utter nothingness that he had been submerged so deeply in for what seemed like an eternity. He felt like he was experiencing the world from the bottom of a murky pond. He cracked his eyes open, the light that flooded in made seemed to knock all his senses back into place. He wanted to dive back into the pond. His ears were ringing, his eyes were extremely sensitive to the light, and he felt as if he was swimming in a sea of nausea and clouded thoughts. Everything hurt. He closed his eyes tightly. Something soft and warm patted the back of his hand and he heard a murmured voice.

This opening bit is really just a recap of the ending of the last episode. From here it gets to the real story. Anyway, for those of you waiting on Golden Stare and my Merlin story, do not fear, I will one day update. Life has just been hectic. Like really, really hectic. My bad.