Why hello there freedom, I'd forgotten what you looked like...

I went swimming the other day, and the pool looked scarily like this one, just better lit. I took it as a sign that I should finish off this baby. If you spot any mistakes please let me know :)

Much love
Brit x

Sherlock lowered the gun and dashed to John's side. He wanted the explosives as far away from them as possible but his fingers refused to co-operate fully. His friend would be entering shock from the rapid drop in blood pressure and volume, and of course the adrenaline and glucose that had been the natural reaction to the situation. The doctor would recognise any serious or unusual symptoms in himself quicker than Sherlock could diagnose them.

"All right?" Sherlock asked. "Are you all right?" His voice was demanding, and Myrna would have reprimanded him. He saw her face wearing a disapproving look in his mind's eye and redoubled his efforts on the coat fastening.

"Yeah yeah, I'm fine." John answered as the fastenings of the bomb finally came free, and Sherlock was able to take them from John, ugly coat and all. John protested, calling his name. Probably an attempt to re-assert his independence after being held hostage, Sherlock reasoned, sliding the bomb away across the floor.

Why had he let Moriarty escape? So many questions were whirling around in his mind, many of which he could work out the answers to for himself if he knew Moriarty's connection to his sister. He ran to the door, gun still in hand and opened it, but there was no sign of the man or his minions. That would have to wait until later then. For now he had to take care of John. Because John was good and kind, and had to be protected in a way he had never managed to protect his sister.

"Are you all right?" John asked. The effects of the events had, as Sherlock predicted, temporarily weakened John, making him sit on the floor by the wall.

"Me? Yeah, fine. I'm fine." He scratched his head with the gun, and began pacing the pool side. Sherlock's head was spinning. There was so much he needed to figure out.

"That-that, erm, thing that you did, that you offered to do, that was erm…" Sherlock struggled to speak, but not just because he was breathless. John's actions were some of the very first in his life that had rendered him completely unable to think of the appropriate words. "Good." He settled with. Good was good.

"I'm glad no-one saw that." John said in a defeated tone, leaving Sherlock puzzled. Did John not like people to know that he had a habit of saving or attempting to save Sherlock's life?

He tried to ask his friend what he meant, but all that made its way out of his mouth was a single confused syllable.

"You, ripping my clothes off in a darkened swimming pool, people would talk." The bomb. The coat. Of course.

"People do little else." Sherlock imagined the look on Lestrade's face if he had seen that in the context John insinuated, and felt his face crack into a smile.

John started to stand, and Sherlock made to help him to his feet, but stopped short. There was a dot of dancing red light on John's chest. Had he passed out? Was this a hallucination? He heard John mutter a curse and knew it was neither. The doors behind them opened with a clang, and Moriarty's expensive leather footsteps announced the return of their nemesis.

"Sorry boys but I'm soooo changeable! It is a weakness with me, but to be fair to myself, it is my only weakness."

Sherlock silently disagreed. He had composed a mental list of Moriarty's weaknesses, including his vanity, ego, conceit, love of power, and a shortlist of possible mental ailments. Only the dancing red dot on his own chest kept him from voicing his point.

"You can't be allowed to continue. You just can't." Moriarty continued. Sherlock saw the horror grow on John's face as he processed the meaning of the statement, and felt his own heart-rate quicken. Was this because of Myrna? Were he and John to die because she had died? Sherlock for causing her death, and John because he would not rest until he had uncovered Moriarty's motives; any idiot with an internet connection could dig up the information and John was no idiot. "I would try and convince you, but everything I have to say has already crossed your mind." Even with his back turned Sherlock knew Jim was smirking, laughing at them. He cringed at the ability of this man to get inside his head so easily.

Sherlock looked at John, who nodded, silently giving Sherlock his permission. Even when not party to all of the information, the soldier in Watson knew what was coming and wanted to go down fighting. If they had to die here then it would be on their terms, and they would take their would-be killer down with them. "As probably my answer has crossed yours." Sherlock said, spinning around and pointing the gun at the bomb, which lay on the floor between himself and Moriarty. There was no surprise in the mad-man's eyes; he had expected this response.

If he expected this response and still went ahead, did that mean that this was what he wanted? For himself and Sherlock to die in the same fashion as Myrna? And what about John, Moriarty had placed him here, was he collateral damage, or was he here because he shared so many of Myrna's qualities? Sherlock had to know, he couldn't die not knowing. But then, if he squeezed the trigger, he wouldn't need to know, he would be thrown into blissful oblivion and know no more.

Moriarty smiled, and Sherlock almost did it.

And then the music started.

For a second, Sherlock had no idea what was going on. He glanced at John and the look on his face said that he didn't either, but that was nothing new. The sound echoed around the room, but it seemed to be coming from straight ahead, from Moriarty. The villain rolled his eyes, confirming this suspicion, and confusing Sherlock even further.

"You're staying alive! Staying alive!" the tinny voice sang. Sherlock would have to ask John about this song when they got out of here. If they got out of here.

"D'you mind if I get that?" Moriarty asked. His phone, the song was Moriarty's ringtone.

"Oh no, please. You have the rest of your life." Sherlock meant to sound threatening but over the silly music the statement just sounded cheesy. Moriarty answered the phone.

"Hello… Yes of course it is, what do you want?" He rolled his eyes and mouthed "Sorry!" which Sherlock batted away with his gun, mouthing back that it was fine. He wanted to laugh. It was so absurdly normal that it was insane. At least his final moments would be as thoroughly unpredictable to the rest of the world as the rest of his life had been. It was oddly fitting.

"SAY THAT AGAIN!" Moriarty yelled suddenly, his sudden anger making John flinch, making Sherlock tighten his grip on the gun. "Say that again and know that if you are lying to me I will find you and I will skin you."

Sherlock wondered who was on the other end, and what information they had to make Moriarty so angry.

"All right!" the mad man shouted, placing the caller on hold. Moriarty looked at the two men before him, and the two men looked back at him, before glancing at each other. Whatever had been said over the phone was about to affect their whole lives. Moriarty stepped forwards, almost too confidently considering that he, Sherlock, was the one pointing the gun at the bomb and therefore in control of all their fates at this moment. He readjusted his hold on the weapon to remind Jim of this fact, but the grey suited man wasn't even looking. "Sorry. Wrong day to die…" their nemesis said distantly.

"Did you get a better offer?" Sherlock asked. He had psyched himself up for his imminent death so much that he was almost disappointed. Moriarty looked unimpressed and Sherlock brought his other arm to steady the gun, in case it should be needed.

"You'll be hearing from me, Sherlock." Moriarty told him, before bringing the phone up to his ear, making threats to the person on the other end that could be an attempt to scare either the caller or Sherlock and John. For all the duo knew it could be Jim's mother he was talking to. Unlikely though, Sherlock decided.

Moriarty snapped his fingers as he walked through the exit, and in an instant the 16 dots of dancing red light that had been darting around all stopped. John visibly relaxed. Sherlock pointed the gun around the balcony, but there were no signs of movement. If the snipers had been there at all, they had apparently now evaporated into thin air.

"What happened there then?" John asked, voicing one of the many questions that were buzzing around inside Sherlock's head.

"Someone changed his mind." Sherlock told him. Had the timing been a coincidence or had the caller known they were in trouble? And what, if anything, did all this have to do with Myrna? All this he knew he could figure out for himself if he knew the answer to one question. "The question is: who?" Sherlock said aloud.

They stayed there in silence for a few moments more, listening for any sign of Moriarty's return and trying to wrap their heads around what had just happened. They were alive. Someone had just saved their lives. Possibly unknowingly and probably unintentionally, but the point remained.

Sherlock pocketed the gun and helped a protesting John to his feet, and the pair hastily left the pool.

Had they taken one last look around the balcony as they did, they may have noticed a woman with a badly scarred face watching them through the gloom, a proud smile playing on her lips.