The ambulance was a mess, but still solid, by and large. John heaved a sigh of relief as he checked over his sister. Unconscious, possible slight concussion, but still alive and breathing.
He looked at Sherlock. "Stay. Here." It was said in a no-nonsense tone.
The other man yawned, "John, again, you don't have a chance -"
"Shut up!"John snapped. "For goodness' sake Sherlock, just shut up! Maybe for once, it's not about you, did you think of that?"
Sherlock just gave him a look before rolling his eyes dramatically, "John, the only way he even knows about you is through me. Logically, if this is a game he is playing, he will be setting up rules much like he did with me. That means odds are high I will be brought in regardless. So -"
John turned, silently dismissing the other man, as an ambulance arrived. Mycroft smiled, "I'll arrange for her to be in a private hospital, Doctor Watson."
"Thank you."The doctor turned to leave before saying, "And keep your nose out of my business, Mycroft. I don't appreciate your actions."
"I don't have the slightest -"Mycroft began, a bit insulted at the fact that the man didn't even look at him as he walked away, in the opposite direction of everyone else.
Mycroft watched with no small amount of concern. Where was the doctor going? Sherlock had the same look of confusion. Mycroft shook his head, silently telling his brother to just meet the doctor at the obvious place of St. Bart's.
So imagine his surprise about twenty minutes later when he received a text stating that no one was there.
Where had John Watson gone? Taking another cab would have only made him a few minutes behind. Mycroft went to his assistant, who looked confused. "I... I lost him."
"You lost him? How?"
"He went to the nearest Tube station,"she answered. "I can't make it out but it's as if all of the cameras were pointing away from him. I can't find him."
Mycroft wondered if Moriarty had hacked into the cameras or if the doctor had just blended in well. Where was he? His cell phone was on but no messages had been sent or anything...
He had no idea that John Watson was currently sitting in a rather busy espresso bar by St. Paul's, having borrowed a cell phone after claiming his reception was horrible. Mike Stamford was with him, in the downstairs area of said espresso bar.
"You called, said it was important?"Mike asked, looking at the other man. "You all right John?"
He didn't look all right. John looked stressed and more worried than Mike could remember having ever seen him before.
"Just... no, no I'm not all right,"John answered honestly. "Someone is messing with my head. Making me worry. You might be a target, since we're friends."
A flash of understanding in the other man's eyes, "Thank you for the warning. I'll try to not be alone."A flash of a grin, "And I won't trust any cabbies either."
John chuckled, unable to help it, "I had no idea how many people decided to read my blog but it's still surprising."He looked up, "You brought it?"
"Yes, the code books."Mike put a rather large book next to John. "Why didn't you just use your phone to look it up?"
"I don't really trust the phone,"John answered honestly. "Sherlock."
"Ah, say no more,"Mike said, chuckling. "He's intense sometimes. So what are the codes?"
John took out said untrustworthy phone and the the other man took a look at the quickly made video and photos. Soon he said, "You noticed it seems to repeat?"
"Ah, yeah, between the same what... I think it's like twenty numbers?"
"I know a few of them, but... I see why you needed the book. I brought a copy. Let's get cracking."
"Feels like old times,"John muttered, amused. "Just need our old study group."He managed somehow to smile, "Remember how Pierce always came in disheveled trying to make us think someone always had a go at him?"
Mike began to laugh and the two reminisced for a bit before both blinked, confused. "SE15 isn't a diagnosis code,"John said.
"I know,"Mike muttered. "It's always next to 874.9. Complicated open wound of neck..."He took out his phone and entered in SE15. "Hell. John, that's a post code."
John looked over the phone's little map area. Who did he know that lived near there? Who... he racked his brain before swearing softly and standing.
Clara. The one person who he had actually liked out of Harry's various dates and people before, who had been on a futile mission from the beginning.
Had he been the same way with Sherlock? Doomed from the start, that there was no way to change someone that stubborn and intelligent?
Couldn't spare the time to think of that now.
But how had Moriarty known about Clara? Well, probably research. It wasn't as if most people kept their lives private after all.
"Mike, please be careful. And thanks again."
"Anytime. But you should heed your own advice, I think. Be careful."Mike went to leave before pausing. "You sure Sherlock can't help?"
"He doesn't understand that I'm not willing to risk people in this little game mindset of his,"John murmured quietly. "To him it's just a game, just a bluff. I'm not willing to risk it. Sherlock is brilliant, yes, but he is also incredibly selfish. Just... I don't want to have to deal with him, not right now. I need to get going."
"Take care then."Mike Stamford watched John Watson leave courtesy of the Tube station. Mike noticed he had left some money behind for his share of their coffees and shook his head. Even in the midst of worrying, John didn't forget other people.
Said man was on the train, hoping that he was working within his time limit. He got off at the stop he knew was closest to Clara and was soon knocking at her front door.
Her red hair was a bit past her shoulders, she was freckled and had such a great sense of humor that to see her now, pale and afraid, in her robe over her pajamas, made John upset and worried. She must have been having a lie-in today and this happened.
"Hello John." She didn't seem angry at him, just worried.
"Are you all right?"John asked quietly.
"Bet you saw this coming,"Clara said quietly, opening her robe. John wanted to cry. He had been in the same situation before, covered in semtex. "What…would you like me…to make her say…next? Gottle o'geer, gottle o'geer, gottle o'geer-"
John said quietly, "I'd like for you to make her say, 'He's letting me go John, I'm safe, don't worry.'"He didn't take his eyes away from the sniper dot on her head.
But the angle... it was strange. He wouldn't say it was possible to recognize someone from the angle, but Sherlock was all about little details...
In the military, he had been taught how to rely on the unit, to know them better than he knew himself sometimes. That angle, that twist...
Nobody sees a good sharpshooter.
John had been taught to shoot, something he was good at. But most doctors weren't. He knew that twist, that angle, that shooting style. It was similar to his own, an odd mix of professional, survival, and comfort.
Training that had kept him sane and alive, just like he had done for his unit.
"And what... do I get in return?"Clara asked.
"What do you want?"John answered back.
"I told you, I just want to play a game. But it's funny, isn't it... we distinctly said for them to leave us be and yet your friend's on his way right now and so are others. People just don't listen, do they? But then, why would they listen to boring old John Watson? They're so brilliant and you... you're just so ordinary."
John didn't say anything.
"Well, here's my game Johnny Boy. Who dies? Clara or Harry? Both are your sisters, dear to your heart. Pick one. Or lose both."
He shook his head, not knowing what to think. Clara's eyes had widened and it was obvious she didn't want to say the next bit, but she gritted her teeth and said, "Clara is a good worker, going somewhere with life. It's why you liked her, wasn't it? A good influence on a sister that's nothing but a drunk. It's logically a no-brainer, really. Go with the one that isn't a waste."
Her voice spoke the words of Moriarty, but Clara was shaking her head, unshed in them. John knew that she still cared about his sister.
His phone went off and he instinctively looked at the text message.
Well, if the logic doesn't work, then save your sister. She's your only family left, isn't she? And she's slowly getting better, isn't she? You noticed it, obviously. Really hasn't drunk in weeks! She's trying hard to get her life together. How can you deny her that chance?
It was obviously Moriarty.
John couldn't think. Choose? Choose between lives?
Tick tock, Johnny Boy. You'll have more time if your friend actually listens. Actually, if he does, both of them will live.
Good luck.
John didn't think, he grabbed his phone and called Sherlock.
"John, where are-"
"Sherlock, don't follow me, please,"John was begging. "Please, please don't. Just stay there!"
"Never mind, I've got it,"Sherlock said, hanging up abruptly.
No, no! John tried calling and texting but it was to no avail. Sherlock didn't reply and John tried to hope in vain he would listen.
The next thing he knew, Clara had shoved him, shoved him hard, making him almost hit the street and shut the door. John didn't understand what had happened until he heard the explosion inside.