Thank you.

Disclaimer: see Prologue

Title: Taken from Gotye's Somebody that I used to know


Chapter Six: Now you're just somebody that I used to know

Chlorine. Jim remembered the last time he had smelled it. The exact same place. Carl Powers. He had killed him. Killed him for all the bad things he had done. For all the humiliations Jim had suffered at his hand. His first murder.

And now he was back here. John Watson, covered in semtex, was in the adjacent room, waiting for Jim to talk to him, while Sebastian assembled his squad on the gallery to give last minute orders. It gave Jim a moment to watch the water, remembering the twitching body of Carl Powers. Oh God, was that really just eighteen years ago?

The door opened. Brought you a little "getting to know you" present.

Sherlock was there. He had to get ready. He gave the microphone in his hand a little slap. "Hello John. Now, you know how this works. You repeat what I say, or my sniper is going to blow this whole building up. With you, and with Sherlock. So, be nice."


Sebastian motioned to his snipers to be alert once he saw Sherlock entering the pool room. If it were up to him, he would fire a bullet at Watson's head, then walk around the gallery and put a second bullet in Sherlocks's oh-so-brilliant brain, and go home with Jim and have a beer or two. But as it was, the decision was up to Jim. Sebastian could not see Sherlock's face, but he could see Watson, who repeated Jim's every word, and Jim, who was hiding behind the door to the next room, watching everything. And he smiled. So, apparently everything went well. Sebastian focused on John again. Watson didn't seem nervous; not much at least. Just now he was opening his jacket and showed Sherlock the bomb vest. Sebastian glanced at Jim who nodded, and aimed at the vest. The red dot appeared.

Gottle of Gear. Gottle of Gear.

Sebastian had to grin. When it came to breaking the mood, Jim was an absolute master.

I stopped him. I could stop John Watson too.

Was there a little tremor in the doctor's voice?

Stop his heart.

Who are you?

"I gave you my number. I thought you might call."


Jim took one last deep breath. Standing in the adjacent room was one thing. Going back to the pool was another. He left it as the winner once. Would he leave it as the winner this time? Would he leave at all?


Sorcha arrived just in time to see Jim emerging from the shadows, walking casually around the pool towards John and Sherlock. If she had ever doubted why Jim was the master criminal he was, seeing him in action again after so many years showed it to her. The way he walked, hands in his pockets… not even Eminem or the likes had that much of God-given swagger. Not even the gun Sherlock pointed at him seemed to make him feel threatened in any way. If he was nervous, he didn't show it.

But Sorcha was nervous, which was why she remained outside instead of looking for a way inside the building. From here, she could see everything. Jim strutting around, Sebastian on the gallery, his rifle trained on John, who was standing opposite Sherlock, who had his gun trained on Jim. What a nice circle. And Jim just continued walking, talking apparently, although she couldn't make out what he was saying, seemingly unaware of the danger he was in.

"Oh God, Jim… Please, be careful…" She licked her lips and wrapped her arms around her waist.


Sebastian noticed the movement outside, although it was barely noticeable. But Sebastian was a trained soldier, and the woman outside was not, although she had picked up some knowledge along the way. He focused back on John immediately, bit his lip, and changed his aim, from the bomb vest to John's throat. So, his sister was here. Not exactly helpful. At least she seemed to have decided to stay outside, which was a little something if this was a trick and Mycroft was waiting with his people somewhere. Better chance for her to get away…

"Did you like the little touch with the underwear?"

Really, Jim? Talking about underwear when somebody's gun is pointed at you? And… what the hell, why are you walking towards them? Jim, stop.

People have died.

"That's what people…"


"…DO!" Jim couldn't believe it. Sherlock Holmes was telling him that people had died? If anybody knew people died, it was Jim. Little James Moriarty, who had lost his father when he was ten and his mother when he was sixteen, knew everything about death, and that people died. What did Sherlock know? He had probably never lost anyone. How could he, if he really didn't care about people?


Sorcha didn't hear the yell, but she noticed the change in mood. Something had upset Jim. Sherlock, probably. As she knew from Mycroft's comments, Sherlock was apparently pretty good at upsetting people. But a crack in Jim's shell? That was something new. It must have been something bad, because apparently Jim was hell bound on getting close enough to Sherlock to… what, disarm him? Even with Sebastian's snipers around that was a suicide mission, with Sherlock's gun in his face… "Jim, what are you doing… Stop…" Her eyes darted between Sherlock and John. There was something going on, something, and she couldn't tell what. Something that made Jim step closer to John, leaning in, talking to him. "Jim, get away from him…" Now Sherlock raised his hand and offered something to Jim.


Sebastian couldn't see Sherlock's face, but he could see John's, and that was enough. He had seen John's slight nodding when Sherlock had asked him if he was okay. But there was something in this little motion. The way John had locked eyes with the man opposite him. They were planning something. Something, and Sebastian had no idea what, but he was sure it would not be to Jim's advantage. And when Sherlock offered the memory stick to Jim… Take it…. Sebastian suddenly knew what would happen. It was the perfect plan. In order to take the stick, Jim would have to walk towards Sherlock. He would stand in between Sherlock and John, with the doctor in his back… John would grab him… The man was a soldier, trained to kill his enemy, and Sebastian knew John had killed people before, he had even witnessed it once, with Hope. He had killed Hope to save Sherlock from death. And now, with snipers everywhere, ready to kill him and Sherlock, what was the one thing John Watson could do to rescue his friend.

Take a hostage.


Sherlock, run!

John grabbed him.

Sorcha almost screamed, but her voice refused its service. Jim. Jim… Jim looked vastly amused, even as John's arm all but locked around his throat. Oh God, the bastard really wanted to die now, didn't he? Her eyes darted to her brother. Sebastian, do something, please. Do something to save him…. She watched as her brother got up, probably not making the faintest of sounds, and dashed (Barefoot. As if he had expected it.) to the other side of the pool. She could see the red dot appearing on Sherlock's front.

And John let go of Jim, not without dealing a little blow to Jim's face when pulling his arm back. Just to make a statement probably.

Sorcha let out the breath she didn't know she was holding. No, no, no, this was getting out of hand. Something needed to be done. Something, some angel needed to step in and rescue Jim. Sebastian couldn't help. Even with his snipers, a shoot-out was most likely to kill them all: not even Sebastian and his team could make sure the bomb vest wouldn't be hit.

But what could she do? She had no gun with her, and any appearance she would make bared the risk that Sebastian would be distracted and Sherlock would shoot Jim. No, stopping Sherlock or John was not an option.

She had to stop Jim.

Or maybe she didn't even have to?

You've been hit by, you've been struck by a smooth criminal…


"Well. I'd better be off. So nice to have had a proper chat."

Sebastian frowned. That was it? That was the whole confrontation? And Jim was just leaving like that? That was unusual.

Sebastian remained on his spot, eyes focused on Sherlock.

What if I was to shoot you now? Right now.

'Then, my friend, I will put a bullet between your eyes, and I'll do so with a smile', Sebastian thought, before he had to grin as Jim made a grimace, smirked, and wandered off, just as nonchalantly as he had entered the place about ten minutes ago.

But Sebastian waited, and motioned his team to wait as well. For as long as he got no signal from Jim that allowed him to leave. Surely within the next few seconds, he would signal him to pack his things. In the meantime, he could enjoy the effect the stand-off had on John, whose legs wouldn't carry him anymore, and Sherlock, who scratched his head with a loaded gun. Funny, those guys. Not ready to take on Jim Moriarty. Speaking of…

The signal didn't come.

Instead, his phone buzzed. He glanced at it.

Stay where you are. I'm coming back.


"Look, lady, this is really not the moment, Mr Moriarty is busy." Sorcha couldn't believe her luck. Jim had left. He had left. He would survive. Everything would be alright. And this woman on the phone, Irene Something, she could wait. Right now, Sorcha just wanted to hug Jim into oblivion, slap him for scaring her like that, and never let go of him.

But why wasn't Sebastian moving? Why did he remain there, rifle at the ready? What the….?

And then Jim came back.

And Sherlock aimed at the discarded bomb jacket.

"You know what, Ma'am. I changed my mind. Could you call this number immediately? 02 08…" Jim didn't move. He seemed to wait for the bang… "And please, when I say immediately, I mean immediately…."


Oh! Sherlock aimed at the bomb vest. Jim was amused. Let him. He always wanted to leave this shithole of a planet with a bang. Of course it had crossed his mind Sherlock would do exactly that. It was how Jim wanted to leave. And taking Sherlock and his pet with him? Extra bonus. He felt bad for Sebastian, who would surely die, too. The man who had followed him everywhere, ready to give his life for him any second. Well, this was it, then. He mentally sent a final good-bye to his faithful man, and looked back at Sherlock. Why was he hesitating? Come on, Sherlock. Shoot.

And then he heard it. The first tones of Stayin' Alive. Somebody was calling him. Now. The timing couldn't be worse. Really not. Jim tried to not react, but lord, this was distracting… And the caller wouldn't hang up…

Finally, Jim had enough. "Do you mind if I get that?"


If the situation hadn't been so tense, Sebastian would have laughed tears. Jim Moriarty, moments away from being blown to pieces, saved by Stayin' Alive. Oh the irony.

"SAY THAT AGAIN! Say that again and know that if you're lying to me, I will find you and I will skin you."

Whoa. Something had come up. If Jim got so excited over the telephone, it had to be a once-in-a-lifetime opportunity that was presented to him here.

Or else he wouldn't say good-bye to Sherlock now. Or, more like, see you soon.

"So if you have what you say you have, I'll make you rich. If you don't, I'll make you into shoes."

And then he snapped his fingers. The signal to leave.


Sorcha didn't hear the snap, but she saw Jim leaving, and Sebastian and his team following. If John's legs had earlier given in, it was nothing compared to what she felt now that all the adrenaline suddenly left.

And she had to leave now, too. She would get shit for giving this woman Jim's number anyways- normally she would tell him somebody called and he would then get in touch if he deemed it interesting enough-, but if he found out she had been here, watching, and interrupting his showdown on purpose she would end up with a bomb vest next. She had to dash. Now.


Sebastian had sent his men away and was now walking to the car with Jim. Of course he knew what had happened. His sister was out of her fucking mind. Crossing Jim's plans like that, she must share his wish to die. He could just hope Jim hadn't noticed her presence.

But Jim was too old to believe in coincidences. Sorcha never gave people his number, no matter how interesting the case was. And even though this case was very interesting indeed, she would have called him first. Unless… He scratched his head. "Sebastian, go get the car, I need to check on something."

"You're not going after Sherlock without me?"

"Of course not. I'll be right with you."

Sebastian didn't ask further questions. Jim walked around the building. If she had been here, she would have been somewhere where she could observe the scene, which didn't leave that many choices. The woman on the phone had said Sorcha had told her to call her immediately, and he hadn't heard Sorcha's phone ring, which meant that, if she had been here to watch, she would have had to be outside. Which left even fewer choices. So in the matter of a few seconds, he had found the place where Sorcha had been standing. There was still that faint smell of green tea and Heatrush in the air. And prints of her sneakers, distinctive prints.

Jim clenched his fist. Stupid woman. She had ruined everything.


She was sitting on the couch when Sebastian and Jim got home. The look on his face told her that he knew.

And his tone told her she was in trouble as he hissed through clenched teeth, "Sebastian. Go out and have some pints."

Sebastian answered, "Jim, please… Look, she only did it to protect you. You know how women think. I'll take the punishment for her."

"Oh, how very noble, Sebastian. But that is not going to happen. Go. Out. And. Have. Some. Pints."

Sebastian made a step forward, "Jim, you might be my boss, but if you think I will let you hurt my sister…"

"Oh, stop being so Katniss-Everdeen and leave. Or I'll punish you both. And the longer you stand here, the angrier I get." He lowered his head. "Do you really want that?"

Sebastian opened his mouth, but Sorcha shook her head, "You're not improving things for me, Sebastian. Please, just go."

"Sorcha…"

"Sebastian, I will be okay. Please go now. I'll have a drink with you later."

"Yeah, like you'd be able to…" He gave Jim a last glance, but he left, knowing it was the only thing he could do now.

Jim pulled up a chair and sat down opposite of Sorcha, who seemed pretty collected. Well, that was about to change. "Have you got anything to say for yourself?" His voice was barely more than a whisper. He was angry, yes, but not in a way that he would slap her, skin her, or anything along those lines.

Of course, she couldn't know that, and she would have taken him screaming over him whispering any time, "I was afraid he would kill you. I had to do something."

"You are not supposed to interfere. That's why I didn't invite you along. And now, you ruined it. I really don't know what I am going to do to you." He got up from the chair and moved behind the sofa. He placed his hands on her shoulders, "Are you afraid, Sorcha?"

"Yes."

He added a bit of force to his grip," Smart woman. Are you going to apologize for ruining my evening?"

"I'm not sorry."

More force, enough to leave bruises, "You should be, Sorcha. You betrayed my trust. How can I ever trust you again, I ask you."

"I saved your life tonight. Sherlock would have shot."

"But I didn't ask you to save my life…" He tightened his grip even more. She was actually trying to shake his hands off now. "Sit tight, Sorcha." He leaned in and whispered into her ear, "I am so angry. You better hold your head high and suffer with a smile now, because I could do much worse to you. This…" more force "is nothing compared to what I want to do now." He could see she was biting her lip to stop herself from screaming now. "I said smile, didn't I?" He took a breath and let go of her. "Now, you know I will punish you. However, I feel that for what you did today, you deserve something special. Something that will make you know your place once and for all. And until I have found that special something, you're free to go." She frowned. "I'm serious. Nothing will happen tonight. Now go and join your brother for a few pints. If I see one of you again here tonight, I will do my worst. Now GO!" She practically stumbled of the couch and made a dash for the door.

Jim walked into his bedroom and slammed the door shut. It took him a few very deep breaths to calm himself down again. This stupid woman, she had ruined everything. For almost twenty years he kept telling her that her love was futile, and yet she ruined the night that was supposed to be ultimate climax of his shitty life just because she loved him. He clenched his fist. Oh, how he hated her now, in this very instant. But he couldn't have punished her immediately. It would have ended in her dying, and he felt he owed her to wait until he calmed down a bit until he stroke. She had been good to him all this time, he couldn't just torture her until she begged for death like he had done on occasions before.

His eyes rested on his phone. Irene Adler. And probably the most interesting case he had ever come across. He would meet with her tomorrow. The woman, she had introduced herself. Of course he knew about her. Everybody in the business knew her, and Jim had never lost touch with where he came from. A, no, the dominatrix. Only the rich and famous could afford her services. And she could afford his services, of that he was sure.

Only he wasn't too sure if Irene Adler knew whom she was dealing with.