Disclaimer: I don't own any of these characters. Except maybe the knife. I guess the knife can be my OC. Cool. Everyone else belongs to the BBC.
PART TWO- WHICH BOTTLE?
John stiffened, but said nothing. He glared at Moriarty, who grinned like he was having the time of his life... which he probably was.
He glanced at Sherlock. His face was blank and he stared at Moriarty.
"And why would we agree to that?" John asked, looking back to Moriarty.
Moriarty pointed to the little red dot hovering on John's chest. "You've got two choices. Door number one: You can refuse to play my little game, and you'll be shot on the spot. Then you'll definitely be dead. Door number two: You play along, and each take a bottle. One of you will survive." A look John could only describe as sheer, sick pleasure came across the consulting criminal's face. "And only one."
John clenched his fist, bringing it near his pocket. If he could get to Moriarty before the gunmen had time to react...
"So what do you think, Sherlock? Hm?" Moriarty stuffed his hands in his pockets and strolled forward. "What do you think of my little game? Our little game? Our final game."
Sherlock kept his face blank. "Very good." His voice sounded a bit hoarse. "But why now?"
"Why?" Moriarty shrugged. "Because I've let you get away unchecked for far too long. Why now? You figure it out."
Sherlock narrowed his eyes, scruntinizing his opponent. Moriarty took his hands out of his pocket and spread his arms wide.
Sherlock's eyes widened. "You're dying."
John started with surprise.
Moriarty nodded once. "I knew you'd figure it out. What gave it away?"
"But..." Sherlock stared at him. "It's the only thing that makes sense. Why now. Why this place. How?"
"Brain tumor." Moriarty brushed off the edge of his coat sleeve like they were talking about something casual like the weather. "I've got a month, tops."
"But you look fine," John said.
Moriarty shrugged. He wiggled his eyebrows. "All hyped up on drugs." He turned to Sherlock. "Funny thing, the brain. Even your best ally can turn on you in the end." He straigtened. "But now. Stop wasting time! You two boys have an important descion to make." He nodded towards the bottles. "I'll give you two a little space." He turned his back and started walking towards the other side of the pool.
John pulled out his knife and leapt towards him. A gunshot went off, but the bullet missed John as he knocked into Moriarty and they both fell into the pool.
Sherlock dropped to the ground on instinct, and a second bullet whizzed over his head. He ducked behind the chair with the two bottles. He looked into the pool.
John had his knife at Moriarty's throat and they both thrashed around in the water. "Call... them off!" He spat through a mouthful of the chlorine permeated water.
Moriarty stopped thrashing. "This seems a bit familiar doesn't it?"
Sherlock turned his head slightly and found another red dot aimed at his head.
"Call them off," John growled.
"Yes, well, but I'm afraid I can't do that," Moriarty said, his hair dripping into his eyes as he floated in the water.
"Call them off or I'll kill you," John repeated.
"I have no doubt that you would," Moriarty said. "But see, since I'm dying, I've started to make precautions. I've got a brain tumor, and I had no idea what that would do to my intellect and ability to make descions. So. They're under orders for by no means to change what I've told them to do. If you don't drop the knife, they'll shoot Sherlock." He puckered his lips. "And well, I suppose you could do it that way, if you'd rather not mess with the bottles."
John glanced at Sherlock. Sherlock shook his head. The red dot remained.
"Any second now..." Moriarty said.
John dropped the knife and it sunk to the bottom of the pool floor. Moriarty nodded. "Wise choice, Dr. Watson." He pushed away from John and swam over to the side of the pool wall. He climbed out and shook like a dog, spraying drops of water onto Sherlock. He brushed off his suit, then reached a hand down to John.
John hesitated, then accepted Moriarty's hand and pulled himself out of the water.
"Now, let's see if we can avoid any more heroic soldier moments," Moriarty said. He flicked still more water off himself. "Now, I shall give you some space." He walked around the pool and to the other side, where he pulled up a chair and sat down, crossing his legs and squeezing out his coat.
John turned to Sherlock. Sherlock's eyes were closed and he had his fingers steepled under his chin. He opened his eyes and stared at the bottles, eye level from where he sat on the floor.
John walked to the other side of the chair. He wondered if Sherlock could even figure out which bottle was which.
"You'll get out of here alive."
John looked up, frowning. "What?"
Sherlock looked up at him. "You'll get out of here alive. I'll figure out which is the right bottle."
John laughed bitterly. "Uh, no."
Sherlock blinked. "No?"
John shook his head. "No. You're not taking the poison pill."
Sherlock stood up. "John, I can figure out which pill is which. You can go home. You'll be safe. You can do whatever it was that you're going to do next month with Mary."
John's heart constricted. "Marry her."
"Right. Whatever." Sherlock reached towards the bottles.
"NO!"
John's shout echoed throughout the pool room, never seeming to end.
Sherlock froze and looked up in confusion.
John realized he was trembling, and tried his best to stop, but to no avail. "No. Sherlock. I can't... I can't... I don't matter. You have to get out alive."
Sherlock straighted up. "What do you mean you don't matter?"
"The world needs Sherlock Holmes," John said, amazed that his voice didn't tremble as much as he thought it would.
Sherlock frowned. "John..."
"No." John squeezed his eyes shut. "You can't... you have to..." He broke off.
Sherlock reached for the bottles again.
John heard the movement and opened his eyes, lunging forward. He placed both of his hands on each bottle protectively.
"John, get back," Sherlock said, his voice almost annoyed.
"No," John said. "You get back. And promise that neither of us will take the bottle until we come to an agreement."
Sherlock hesitated. He stared John in the eye. John didn't waver, staring back with soldier intensity.
"I promise," Sherlock said. He backed up away from the chair.
John let go of the bottles and stepped back. "Now. You figure out which one is the bad pill, and I'll take it."
"No."
John sighed. "Please, Sherlock."
Sherlock shook his head.
"Sherlock, please." Desperation crept into John's voice.
"Why?"
"People need you," John said. "Even if Moriarty dies, there'll still be his gang to deal with."
"Lestrade can handle it."
"You can't die again!" John shouted, his voice echoing through the room once more. He desperately tried to stop shaking, but to no avail. "You can't. You..." His voice quavered and he closed his eyes. "I can't watch you die again. It killed me to go on without you. You'll be fine. You're Sherlock Holmes. You can go on. I... I can't. I'm... I'm not strong enough. I can't do it again."
John opened his eyes and looked at his friend. Sherlock was staring at him with a confused and almost sorrowful look on his face. "John," he said quietly. "You are the strongest and best man I have ever met. The world doesn't need Sherlock Holmes. It will be fine without me."
"But I won't."
The two men stared at each other in silence.
"This is extremely interesting, but I don't have forever," Moriarty piped up from across the pool. He rested his chin on his hands.
Sherlock looked over at him. "How long do you have?"
"I could drop off any second if that's what you're asking," Moriarty said. "However, then I wouldn't get to see you die and I'd be a very unhappy camper. So." He lifted up his wrist and pulled back his coat sleeve in a melodramatic manner to reveal a watch. "You have one minute to make your decision."
John and Sherlock stared at each other.
"I'm not going to let you die," John said quietly. "Not if I can help it."
"And I won't let you sacrifice yourself for me," Sherlock said.
"Looks like we're at a stalemate then."
"Fifty seconds!"
"There's one option we haven't considered," Sherlock lowered his voice. "We could refuse."
John frowned. "But-"
"Obviously neither of us are going to let the other one take the bad pill," Sherlock said, his voice tense. "So either we take a random chance on the bottles, or we can die together."
"But-"
"You said you weren't strong enough to go through it twice." Sherlock swallowed. John thought he saw something akin to fear and sorrow in his eyes. "I- I'm not strong ebough to go through it once."
"Twenty seconds!"
John stared at Sherlock, saying nothing.
Sherlock looked away. "I... couldn't do what you did, John. I couldn't go on."
"Time's up!" Moriarty stood up from his chair and started walking around the pool. "Take up your bottles, gentlemen."
Sherlock looked back up at John.
John swallowed at looked at Moriarty. "No."
Moriarty stopped a few feet away from them. "No?" He raised his eyebrows. "You do know what this means."
"Yes," John said. He glanced at Sherlock, whose face was an emotionless mask once again. "And we won't play your game."
Moriarty pouted. "Aw. But what says the great Sherlock Holmes?"
"We refuse."
Moriarty sighed. "Fine," he said, drawing the word out. "It's been fun, boys, it really has." He smiled. "Too bad it had to come to an end so soon." He raised his hand.
John caught the slightest glimpse of movement up in the rafters of the room. He reacted instantly, slamming his body into Sherlock's.
Two gunshots went off.
Sherlock felt the whisper of one as it whizzed over his head, just before he hit the ground from the force of John's leap.
A flash of searing white-hot pain exploded in John's chest and shoulder, and he cried out and collapsed on the ground.
To be continued...