Sherlock sat, engrossed in his work.
"They're patterns, John. Look. See how it all comes together?" He pointed at the map where several red marks lay. "But I just can't figure it out… It's so seemingly random that I just can't get it."
He abandoned the map and got up, rooting his fingers in his own hair and pacing around the flat, only to look up and realize that John wasn't there. He looked down and saw a note:
Since I know you're probably still talking to me, I left a note this time. I'll be back at 8. Work today.
-JW
Sherlock huffed and looked around.
Text to John: I may need your help. -SH
Text to Irene Adler: Hope you're keeping out of trouble today –SH
Sherlock's phone went off.
What is it? I'm working, make it quick. Patient will be in in 5. –JW
Can't you come home? It's important. -SH
He paced around, looking at the map again.
"There has to be something!"
His phone went off again. Miss Adler.
When do I ever keep out of trouble, Mr. Holmes?
Meanwhile, a block down the road, Jim Moriarty left a medical clinic. He had planted bombs in the basement near as many explosive things as possible, then put some in different rooms to get a max explosion. He left the building, hood up to hide his face, limping with a crutch to make it look like he was a patient that had just been seen.
Sherlock's phone went off again. John.
We've had this conversation before. No, Sherlock. I need to work to earn money so we can pay rent. Can't you just text me or call?
It's about the bombings, John. It's IMPORTANT! -SH
No need to yell. I will be back at 8. I have to see my patient now.
Please, John? -SH
Jim got a safe distance away, then took out a remote and pressed the button, watching the clinic through his aviator sunglasses. The explosive fire reflected in the lenses, and a menacing smirk crossed his lips. He watched the beautiful sight with self-admiration as if he were a kid watching fireworks. "James Moriarty, you've outdone yourself this time," he said to himself. "Mr. Holmes is bound to be all over this."
John felt his phone vibrate just as he went into the lobby to collect his next patient.
"Oh, hello Miss Brown, how have you been?" he asked, smiling at the young woman.
"Fine, Dr. Watson. How-" before she could finish her sentence, the building shook and explosions were heard.
"What the hell was that?" John yelled as the floor kept shaking. Parts of the ceiling fell. John was trying to get his patients out of the building when he got hit by a slab of the ceiling, knocking him to the ground.
Sherlock heard the bomb from where he was and he froze momentarily before grabbing his coat and running out the door. Fire trucks, ambulances and police cars rushed by him and as he made his way toward the epicenter, following the emergency vehicles, his heart sank further as he realized where they were headed.
Irene was bored. Sherlock was too absorbed in his newest case that she couldn't bother him enough to play. She flipped on the telly and was watching a rerun of that Connie Prince show when the news flipped to a new bombing. Irene recognized the clinic.
Text to Sherlock: You might want to watch the news, dear.
I've seen. I'm going there now. –SH
Need company? I do know how much you like to talk when you're out.
Did you have anything to do with this? -SH
Does this seem like something I would be behind? Blackmailing the monarchy is one thing, but clinic bombings? I'm not even that sick.
I have difficulty figuring out who you work for as of late. -SH
What's my gain in bombing a clinic?
Clearly I wouldn't know. -SH
Would you like company when you find Doctor Watson?
Sherlock rushed through the crowd of people and froze when he saw the building, knowing John was still inside. He pushed past people and ended up at a road block. He ducked under and made his way fast to the building.
"John?"
Barely conscious, John tried to move but the urge to pass out consumed him. Before closing his eyes, he was sure that he heard someone calling his name.
"Sherlock…" he barely got out before losing consciousness completely
Sherlock found him quickly and got him out before the building crumbled. Paramedics took over, checking him and loading him on a stretcher to bring to the hospital.
Text to Miss Adler: John is on his way to the hospital. -SH
Irene smiled, knowing where her favorite plaything was.
Text to Sherlock: I'm headed to the hospital. See you soon.
As her private cab drove off, she thought of the fun games she could play with Sherlock.
Sherlock went to the road and hailed a taxi. A taxi slowed to a stop. Sherlock got in and told them to go to the hospital.
His phone went off. Miss Adler.
Dear me, these bombings sure have blocked traffic.
If you know where he is, tell me. -SH
Where who is?
You know who did this as well as I. Where is Jim Moriarty? -SH
He's everywhere.
It took some time, but the cab finally got to hospital. When Sherlock got out to pay, the cab driver rolled down his window and smirked. "No charge," Jim Moriarty said. Playing up his act, the car started to roll away.
Sherlock stared and grabbed at him through the window. When that didn't work he gave chase to the cab, but soon had to give up as it was lost from speed. His phone went off. Restricted.
Ah the element of surprise. Makes my get-aways so easy. M
I will stop you. -SH
Oh you think so? I'd like to see you try. M
Is that a challenge? -SH
Most certainly. I know you enjoy a good game. M
I'm growing tired of this game. -SH
No you're not. M
You're really getting very dull. -SH
Am I? Why don't you meet me, then? I'll rekindle your curiosity. M
Why don't I trust you? Oh, that's right. You're a psychopathic bomber. I do know the difference between a sociopath and a psychopath when I see one. -SH
Shame. Then you will never know the pattern of my bombings. Have fun with your dear friend named frustration. M
Why not give me a clue? -SH
Clues are no fun. Where's the thrill in that? Tsk tsk, Mr. Holmes. I'm disappointed in you. M
What are you looking for, Moriarty? -SH
Just you. M
It took a while, but when Irene finally got to the hospital, she got out of the car and headed into the lobby in search for Sherlock.
Text to Sherlock: I'm here, Mr. Holmes.
I just saw him. –SH
Who?
Moriarty. -SH
Where?
He was my cab driver. -SH
What's with you and cabbies, Mr. Holmes? Anyways, I'm in the lobby. Let's have dinner.
The first thing Sherlock did was check on John. Seeing that John was still unconscious, but stable, Sherlock met Irene in the lobby for dinner, even though he was not hungry and wouldn't eat Hospital food anyway.
Irene saw Sherlock walking toward her. Without saying a word, the two walk toward the cafeteria. Irene sat down and one of the smaller tables before she spoke.
"Glad you could make it, Mr. Holmes. How's Doctor Watson?"
Sherlock sat down next to her.
"He's stable..."
"That's good to hear." She stared at him.
"So. Has the great detective been able to deduce anything on the bomb cases?"
"There's…some kind of pattern, but I just can't figure it out!" He sounded frustrated.
"How many bombings?"
Sherlock took the map out of his jacket pocket and unfolded it in front of them, showing her all of the red marks, marking the newest one.
Irene leaned forward, a little too close to Sherlock, and viewed the map. "Eleven. Today's make twelve. All spread out across London. I see what you mean about the pattern. It's so obvious that it's hidden."
He looked at her, then back down at the map. "What do you see?" He whispered.
"If you look here, they are all near the city of Westminster, your district. Four of them are on the outskirts; this one closer to Abbey Road, this one near Somers Towne, one by High Holborne, and one in the center of Baywater. Four more are closer to the middle of town, and then these four. They seem to be making three squares, getting closer and closer to one center point, which looks like it's about here." She took a pencil and drew lines connecting the points, then circled what she deduced was the next target; Baker Street.
My thoughts exactly." He held up the phone and showed her the texts.
What do you want? -SH
Just you. M
"He's trying to get my attention."
"The last one was John's work. He was your cabbie. It all fits."
Sherlock leaned back, steepling his fingers together. "Indeed it does."
Irene leaned in, getting closer to Sherlock. "If you want my advice, I'd keep your head down, Mr. Holmes. James Moriarty is not a force to be reckoned with."
"So am I supposed to let him keep going with his bombings then? Getting closer and closer to my flat?"
"He won't bomb your flat. Not right now, at least. Then his game would be over." Irene gently grabbed Sherlock's hand. "Don't look for him, because when he wants to be found, he will find you, and when he does, you need to be ready."
Sherlock sighed and folded the map up again, sticking it in his pocket.
"You're right…"
Irene smiled. "Of course I'm right, Mr. Holmes."
He slowly stood up.
"I should go check on John.."
Irene stood up as well.
"Mind if I join? I haven't seen Doctor Watson in forever; plus, you know how much I like seeing men on their backs."
Sherlock ignored the last comment, but nodded, walking toward John's room. On the way there, his phone went off.
You're out of milk again. M
How would you possibly know that? -SH
You're the deductive expert. How would i know that? M
If you're in my flat, get out. -SH
Not kind to guests, are we? I think I'll stay. M
Do try not to mess things up. -SH
Why would I do that? M
Because it's what you do. -SH
*smirk* You know me fairly well, Sherlock. I'm impressed. M
You're not so hard to figure out, Mr. Consulting Criminal. -SH
You're not so complex yourself, Mr. Consulting Detective. M
Get out of my flat. -SH
Can't. Using your shower at the moment… Unless you want me to hang around naked? *smirk* M
Sherlock entered the room with Irene; John awake.
"I'm glad to see you're awake."
John gave Sherlock a smile and a nod.
Irene walks up to the foot of the bed. "Hello, Doctor Watson, how have you been, besides the obvious?"
"Well, a piece of what was probably concrete fell on my head, so besides the possible concussion. I'm perfect."
"At least you are awake and in a reasonably decent state of health."
"Yeah, how bad was it? I mean, were there any casualties?"
"Three." Sherlock looked at him. "Unfortunately." the detective added, realizing the news upset John.
John groaned, rubbing his face. "Who did it?" he asks tentatively, fully knowing that he probably already knew the answer.
"We suspect Moriarty."
John sighed and leaned back against the pillows set up behind him. A pain shot through his head. John covered his eyes with his arm, "God… Sorry, hurts."
Irene walked toward Sherlock.
"Try to get some rest, John." She turned to Sherlock. "Hear more from Moriarty?"
John grunted in agreement and replaced his arm with a pillow for the sake of comfort. He closed his eyes and waited for sleep to take him.
Sherlock looked at John. After making sure he was not looking, the detective motioned for Irene to step outside with him.
"He's been texting me. He may or may not be in Baker Street."
He showed her the texts.
Irene read the texts, then looked up at Sherlock.
"What are you going to do?"
"I've got to go to Baker Street to at least check on Mrs. Hudson."
"I'll go with you"
Sherlock paid the cabbie at 221b Baker Street and ran into the building. He hurried to check Mrs. Hudson's flat. She was there, untouched. He breathed a sigh of relief before he went upstairs.
Jim just finished getting dressed and was styling his hair. He smirked at his reflection in approval, then heard footsteps on the stairs.
Sherlock was the first to enter the flat. He approached the intruder.
"What are you doing here?"
Jim stepped out of the bathroom and smirked, gazing at the detective. "Sherlock, dear, I didn't expect you to come. You've made me a happy man."
Sherlock rolled his eyes. "You're so very dull."
Jim smirked. "I replaced the face on your wall with my target practice. I hope you don't mind." Pinned to the wall was a map, thick red lines connecting the same points Irene had marked, and bullet holes were all gathered in the center where 221B was.
Sherlock raised a brow, looking at it.
"Yes, thank you but I've seen the map already."
Jim slowly approached him. He began circling him, studying him, drinking in every angle of him. "Tell me, Sherlock. Deduce for me. Why would I be telling you where I am to strike next?"
Sherlock watched him with only his eyes, never moving his head to look.
"You're showing off."
"Too simple. What do bored detectives need?" Jim paused and stood before him now, smirking. He edged closer. "Distractions." His smirk grew evil and mischievous.
Sherlock inclined his head, watching him.
"What sort of distractions?"
He glanced back at Irene, then to Jim again.
"Do you really think you only have one distraction going on? Oh how wrong you are, Sherlock. Tsk tsk. You don't know me at all." Jim gave him a disapproving look.
Sherlock rolled his eyes.
"You bore me, Jim."
Jim suddenly had Sherlock by the throat, slamming him against a wall. He smirked evilly. "Are you bored now, Mr. Holmes?" He studied him. "Look at that. That flash of intrigue that action brought to your eyes. I don't bore you, Sherlock. I thrill you. The fun has just begun."
Sherlock's eyes went wide and he swallowed hard. "We do have a witness here, dear Jim," he managed to choke out.
Jim looked over at Irene and smiled. "Irene, darling, would you mind exiting for a moment? Daddy needs to have a chat with the little detective."
Irene was torn. She knew the right thing would be to save Sherlock, but then Jim would kill the both of them.
"I'm quite comfortable where I stand, Mr. Moriarty." Irene stammered out. "You know how much I love watching you play." She quickly added.
Jim's gaze grew dark and dangerous. "Don't challenge me, Ms. Adler. I said go." He then suddenly smiled. "I shouldn't be long."
Irene closed her eyes, took a deep breath, and opened them, looking straight at Sherlock, searching his face for an answer as to what she should do.
Sherlock gave one slight nod, staring into her eyes.
Irene nodded and turned toward Moriarty.
"Of course, I apologize." She gave a casual half bow before stepping out of the flat. She went down the stairs to Mrs. Hudson.
"Good girl." Jim said, before turning his attention back to Sherlock.
Irene ran to the Landlady. "Mrs. Hudson, Sherlock might be in danger. If Sherlock or his guest aren't out of there in five minutes, call Lestrade."
Back in the flat, Jim smirked and tightened his grip on Sherlock's throat a little, but not to a dangerous point. "How about we make you more comfortable?" He made Sherlock sit in his armchair. He wandered the flat briefly, then spotted Sherlock's violin. He chuckled and picked up the bow, coming up behind Sherlock with it, and using it on his throat in place of his hand. "How's this?" he breathed in his ear.
Sherlock turned his head to the side, breathing out. He closed his eyes and tilted his head more.
"What do you want?"
Jim chuckled darkly. "You really are enjoying this, aren't you?" he taunted in his ear, dragging the bow strings a little across this throat and back again to their starting place upon him. "I simply wished to discuss our … relationship." He smirked, his hot breath tormenting Sherlock's cold ear. "How alike we truly are, Sherlock. You. Me. We were made for each other. I think that calls for a little … bonding." He eased the bow off of Sherlock's neck as he came around the chair and sat on the detective's lap, pressing the bow's tip against Sherlock's chest to keep him in his place as he did so. "As in we both get a piece of each other. I think you should go first."
Sherlock looked up at him questioningly.
"And what can you possibly mean by that?" He shifted slightly, but only to get comfortable.
Jim smirked, watching him shift. "Patience." He removed his tie and gagged Sherlock so that no one would hear. Then he reached in his suit jacket and pulled out a pair of black leather gloves and put them on. "I don't like to get my hands dirty." He reached back in and produced good-sized little foldable knife. He flipped it open, a sick and menacing look in his eyes.
Sherlock controlled his breathing, forcing it to stay even as he watched the man in front of him. His storm colored eyes were trained on the knife that Jim held ever so steadily in his hand.
Jim chuckled. "You can't hide your uneven breath from me, Sherlock. It's like trying to hide a light in the dark." He trailed the blade lightly, harmlessly, over Sherlock's handsome jawline, down his throat—slowly, seductively… He ran it down to the first button on his shirt, which he clipped off easily. He grinned excitedly as a little of his porcelain skin was revealed. The consulting criminal worked his way down, until, at last, Sherlock's shirt fell open. Jim caught his breath. "My, my, Sherlock… You take most excellent care of your body…" His eyes darkened. "Don't worry. I'll take just as good care of it." He chuckled.
Sherlock shivered when the cold blade ran over his skin and his shirt fell open. His heart was pounding hard in his chest and he fought the urge to squirm away from him. He breathed in and let it hiss out through his nose, closing his eyes.