Author's Note: This is my first Sherlock fanfic… It's pure silliness… I just couldn't get the idea out of my head. Also, I'm American, so pardon my non-Britishness.
How Sherlock Could Have Solved the Final Problem Much Quicker
"I never liked riddles."
"Learn to, because I owe you a fall, Sherlock. I owe you," with that cryptic comment, the tiny Irishman known as Jim Moriarty rose to his feet, straightened his Westwood, and sauntered off.
Immediately, Sherlock drew his attention to the object the criminal mastermind had been carving during tea. The consulting detective inspected it further. The prominent letters "I O U" were carved/bitten into the skin of the apple.
Sherlock couldn't have cared less about the meaning behind this strange riddle. After all, he didn't like riddles. What did interest him however, was the rather menacingly sharp pocket knife stabbed into the bottom of the fruit.
Without a moment's hesitation, Sherlock withdrew the weapon from the apple, took his aim at the consulting criminal who was still in the vicinity, and threw the knife V for Vendetta-style at the Westwood-wearing madman.
Of course, with Sherlock's crazy awesome skills, he hit the Irishman square in the back, causing him to fall to the ground, mortally wounded.
"Well, that was a lot easier than previously anticipated… To think that I may have had to plan out how to fake my own death, jump off a building, and go on a three-year hiatus… This was a lot less effort!" exclaimed the curly-haired detective.
"Sherlock! Sherlock, I'm back!" John called from down the stairs.
"John," Sherlock leaned his head out the doorway.
"Sherlock, Moriarty's walking free, you know he's going to come after you," said his flatmate, friend, and doctor.
"Oh, I don't think I have anything to worry about… I don't suppose you could fetch me a large bag—I have something I need to go put out in Mrs. Hudson's bins…"
And they all lived happily ever after-except Jim, of course. But hey, he had it coming.
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