A/N: a quick but short update for you here, dedicated to acids and bases, SChavva24, Madamoiselle Grantaire, and smimjin. Thanks for the lovely reviews!
The first thing that turned on in the car was the CD player, which unlike the other cars was not tampered with. It was Jim Moriarty, speaking to me on a pre-recorded CD.
"I'm so glad you got in the car, Sherlock, it would have been an awful shame to have killed little Johnny boy." That was true; I had seen the red dot between John's eyes when I was on the phone; I had no choice but to comply with Moriarty's wishes. That, and my curiosity was burning. "See, I got bored, and I decided to play a game. I don't want you around, Sherlock Holmes," there was a pause in which I could almost hear him trying to build up the suspense. "I want you dead. But, if you manage to figure it out and stop the car, you will live." The tape started to play gentle classical music, and I slammed my hands on the steering wheel.
"They got into the car voluntarily. Why would people do that? Unless their cars happened to be identical to those that killed them. Okay. Then how is the car controlled?" I stopped, thinking about it. "Simple yet effective. There is no method of integrating a computer system into the car to control it that would be easy enough to splurge on a killing to get my attention, so it is literally remote controlled. And the asphyxiation was caused by the tampered CD player… I've got it!" I cried, sitting up. "But that means… I can't stop it." Realisation dawned on me that I was stuck in a car, careening to my death. I quickly took off my thick coat, placing it over the wheel so my head wouldn't shatter on impact, and placed my scarf in a padding fashion on my shoulder while putting the seatbelt on, dragging out a bit to use as a gas mask in case I needed it, though I doubted it seeing as the CD player was fully functioning. Doing this, all I could do is watch where I was going to crash into, and send a message to John. Deciphered the murders, and the motives behind it. Can't stop car; remote controlled by JM. Sorry. SH.
The streets of London flashed past, and the tension built in the small yet powerful car. I knew that there would be irony in where I was killed, but I was only just figuring out where. Left, right, straight, bypass, lights, left, straight, lights, right, traffic bypass, left… oh god. I was going to crash into our home. The car was heading for 221B Bakers Street. I had to warn Mrs Hudson. Mrs H. Get out of house; car careening towards it. Can't stop. Thanks for all. SH. I send a quick text to her, then my thoughts turned to my brother. Should I let go of the past? Should I move past the childish feud in my final minutes? I decided I'd never get another chance, so texted him too. Mycroft; sorry about the feud. But you experimented on my dog. So I experimented on your girlfriend, psychologically. Fair game, I know. Sorry for all these years. SH. There it was; my confession of why Mycroft's only girlfriend moved to the other side of the world when he was seventeen. I was ten, and he had 'experimented' on my dog, who I was teaching all sorts of things, meaning he died. I never forgave him, but now was the time, now I was hurtling at… Christ, seventy miles an hour to my death. There was our home, just down the street. I closed my eyes, and the last thing I thought of was smiling blue eyes, on a war-hardened face. John…
There were three texts on a phone in a car wreckage on Bakers Street, London. They read;
Sherlock! Get out of that car! You can't die! Why did you… Please survive. I need you. JW.
I'm out already. What car? What are you thanking me for? Tea's on the table.
What is happening, Sherlock? Why are you apologising? Text me back. I will be round in twenty minutes, don't do anything rash. MH.