FOUR SENTIMENTALITY
Sherlock Holmes was not a sentimental man. Well, he wasn't a man of many emotions. But that's beside the point. For a man who claimed things like being sentimental was a waste of precious brain space, he had a few objects that seemed to hold value to him. Not that Sherlock would tell anyone. Not even John. The man would probably blog about it and then everyone would know. Everyone at Scotland Yard read it, and Sherlock could not handle the remarks he knew what come from Lestrade and Anderson. That's why he would never breath a word about it. He shifted his weight and focussed the gun on the bomb covered jacket once more. His eyes were staring intently on Moriarty. He thought about those few things he treasure. There were only three. His mobile phone, the first on a short list. It was a present from Mycroft, not that he liked is brother in anyway. It was simply a gift, trying to manipulate him into doing something for him, again, and it had worked. But the phone was more than that now. It was like Sherlock and the device were one. Sherlock had certain buttons which were more used than others, especially the 7 and 4 buttons, and he knew exactly long it would take to deplete the battery on how much he used it in the first day. The phone seemed to chime at the right moments, informing him of something interesting to occupy himself with. Sherlock knew that if current mobile was damaged or had gotten lost (or more likely stolen. He wouldn't put it pass Anderson to do something like that), he could just buy a new one. He'd prefer not to though. Waste of time, really, if he thought about it. But, still. He liked this phone.
It was the same story with his violin. Sort of. It was actually a present from his mother, just a present. Sherlock still couldn't deduct why his mother had actually given to him, but he was glad that she did. He played it whenever he could, or whenever he felt like it. Growing up, his playing had always irritated Mycroft, and that was reason enough to treasure the stringed instrument. Nowadays, it was one of the only cures for his boredom, and something to relax after some annoying person he had to work with on a case. His third object was his skull. His only friend. He was rather fond of the skeleton; it was the first body part he had ever successfully gotten from the morgue. He had spent hours with it; consulting, arguing, abusing, even simply staring at it. Sherlock had thought that the skull was all he needed in terms of friendship. He broke his train of thought, and stared over at the man who had decided to live with a self proclaimed sociopath. The man who had put up with his experiments and moods. The man who trailed after him as soon as he had mentioned the word 'dangerous'. The man who had called him extraordinary instead of saying piss off. The man who was John Watson, the only person to have broken through any of Sherlock's barriers. A small smile danced upon Sherlock's face as he stared his companion. John turned his attention from Moriarty to Sherlock, and smiled with him. He slowly stood up, wobbly from shock, and joined the taller man. They shared a quick look understanding before turning back to stare at Moriarty. Moriarty stood there, both amused and bored. He glanced down at his watch, and that was the cue Sherlock acted on.
"This may be just a little dangerous John. Are you ready?" Sherlock asked, a slight tone of teasing in his voice, his eye still trained on Moriarty. John quickly looked at Sherlock before looking back at Moriarty with the same intensity as before.
"Oh God, yes."
Sherlock felt another smile appear on his face. He realised then that there were only four things in the world that had value to him. The fourth thing had become John Watson, the man prepared to suffer whatever consequences came from Sherlock's next actions. He gave a small, smug laugh which caught Moriarty's attention. Sherlock raised his eyebrows at him, daring him to say something. Then he pulled the trigger.