He'd been wrong- horridly, awfully wrong. It wasn't Jim, it was never Jim, that'd been too easy. Of course. John. All along it had been John, the one man he'd let truly see who he was, what kind of person he was, had been his betrayer.
All those thoughts ran through his mind in the instant before John revealed the bomb strapped to his chest and Jim stepped from the shadows. Once again, Jim had fooled him. John had tried to get Sherlock to run, but it was too late to run, couldn't John see? He was too involved in the game, the endless dance that passed for a relationship between himself and Jim. He couldn't leave now, with the game unfinished and just allow Jim to walk away. The sniper was hardly a factor.
It took every ounce of his not-inconsiderable self-control to keep from firing that gun. Had it not been for John's safety, he would have. Even knowing that both he and his only friend would perish if he pulled the trigger, his fingers twitched.
But that damn song. Even that was an affront, something designed to get under Sherlock's skin and remind him of being roused from the bed at some unholy hour of the morning to go with Jim to get breakfast. That idiotic song had been programmed as Jim's alarm, and it always blared directly in Sherlock's ear, making him groan and shove the CD clock away.
"Sorry, wrong day to die," Jim smirked, but his agitation was palatable. Good. At least something was rankling him.
"Oh? Did you get a better offer?" Sherlock spat, quoting back what Jim had said that night, the night he left and they ended. Jim either didn't notice or didn't care.
"You'll be hearing from me, Sherlock," Jim said, and then ranted threats into his phone while snapping the snipers away. Sherlock suffered the rest of the evening in a sort of fugue state, unsure of his surroundings or his own thoughts. It wasn't pleasant for him, this state of unrest, but Jim had always had the ability to wipe Sherlock's mind completely blank.