After the pool scene. Moriarty has decided to prove Sherlock as his equal, even if it needs using extra persuasion. How well is his plan going to success? The Scotland Yard has got a new man in charge. Warnings for a character death, violence, language. English is not my mother language, so it restricts a bit my writing skills.
Disclaimers: I don´t own Sherlock, I don´t own characters, all belongs to Arthur Conan Doyle, Steven Moffat, Mark Gatiss and BBC. I am just using them.
Thank you to my wonderful Beta Reader Gryptic Nymph for turning my English into readable.
Moriarty has lured them to the trap, at the swimming pool, where Carl Powers had died many years ago. Red spots continued their dancing on their bodies, including Moriarty himself's, but at the same time he didn't cease to make his noise. The irritating noise he called his talking.
Moriarty called him an equal. That they were like twins, when it came to their intelligence, their morality… They couldn't compare themselves to ordinary people. "To ordinary average people like …. Let's take for an example….. John Watson here, a little irrelevant army doctor. Or Mrs. Hudson, by the way! Such a sweet old lady! They're hardly worth one single thought or one single emotion. Their only worth is as tools for a supreme goal." He should just understand it. But he will. Oh, he will. He will choose Moriarty.
Sherlock's incredible greenish blue eyes drilled into the consulting criminal, when the red light dots danced, probing him all over. "We are not." He was not like the psychopath killer in a front of him. "I have never killed anyone. I will never be like you. Inhuman."
Moriarty laughed. "How have you ever showed your humanity? Even his closest friends suspected his ability to care about them. Why don't you show them? What if he can´t prove it? What if people suddenly look at the brilliant consulting detective, whisper to each other, and turn away with the horror and anger readable on their faces as if they have seen a monster in front of them?"
Sherlock tried to figure out what his taunts meant. Moriarty was trying to confuse him. He had to find his and John´s way out from this situation, far away from this maniac and his insane talk.
He aimed his gun at Jim Moriarty´s head, and then back at the bomb vest, unsure what would happen next. He expected that this was a test. Despite the fact that his work included constant confrontations with criminals, he had managed to survive without ever killing anyone. Should he begin now? Moriarty might be a good start. But it would be a short-time solution. There was no doubt that if he didn't do something soon, he and John would be dead before he had time to think about what he has just done.
"Just think, Sherlock," Moriarty teased, "of poor Mrs. Hudson, your housekeeper, alone in her house, should she meet an accident. Old ladies are so fragile and defenseless. Would you be sorry, if you miss some meals in the future?"
Sherlock blinked when the red spot stopped on his pupil, and had to turn his head away.
"Or would you be ready to kill, for the first time in your life, to save your dear pet?"
The spots disappeared from Sherlock´s body, but danced yet on John´s.
"What if John ceased to exist? Would you mourn? Is it possible that you are capable to feel something as trivial as mourning?"
Sherlock suppressed his growing unease. "What is exactly your point?"
"What is your next move? Mine is this: I am threatening your little lap dog. What are you going to do to stop me?"
"Stop calling John a dog."
"What are you going to do? I'll give you five seconds to decide, then I make my move. I'll shoot him. That's a promise."
One.. two.. three.. four..
Sherlock closed his eyes. To shoot the bomb vest…or to shoot Moriarty. He lowered his gun and pulled the trigger.
There was a weak explosion, but thick smoke released to the air. It was a bluff, and Moriarty vanished into a smoke cloud, laughing like the devil.
They looked at each other as the red lights disappeared. Nothing else happened. They were alone in the quiet of the ancient crime scene. Finally he broke the silence.
"Are you all right, John?"
"I'm all right, Sherlock. Are you ok?"
"Er, yes, I'm fine."
He always said so. Maybe it was true, sometimes.
"What was this all about?"
"Mmm. I don't know... It was strange... This guy is twisted. But he was after something with this. I need to think... Oh!" Sherlock paced back and forth, and then suddenly stopped.
"We have to go, to 221b Baker Street!"