Chapter Seven

Sherlock's heart crashed through his upper cavity and past his stomach and maybe even down to his feet where it shattered into a billion pieces.

Fuck.

Even before John opened his coat to reveal the bomb strapped to him Sherlock knew what he would see there, but it didn't stop the revelation from hurting even more.

He'd failed. He'd utterly and completely failed.

This was what it had all been for, waiting forever and inventing a time machine and nearly killing himself in the process and then spending months pretending he wasn't in love with John, all to prevent this from happening.

It was possibly worse than the first time John died because of him, because this time he should have seen it coming. He should have been able to prevent it.

And then Moriarty the puppetmaster appeared, and it was almost like one of the scenes from Sherlock's nightmares. Everything he dreaded and feared stood before him: John Watson in danger, Moriarty the villain, and the damned pool.

Moriarty had played his game, and Sherlock had lost.

He was only dimly aware of what he was going on, so he assumed Moriarty was simply making the same threats and boasts he had before. His brilliant mind, so used to racing a million miles per hour faster than anyone else, now crept along at a sluggish pace, processing only one thought: "I lost. I failed."

Worst of all, at one point John threw himself at Moriarty, as if he'd rather risk himself to kill him than let Sherlock get hurt. This made Sherlock's stomach lurch and stirred him out of his shock and he wanted to scream "No you can't you don't understand I'd rather die a million times than see you die again I can't live without you stop now," but instead tightened his grip on the revolver.

And then Moriarty said he'd burn the heart out of Sherlock and Sherlock knew he was talking about John and wondered if he knew he had already and everything hurt and—

And Moriarty was gone.

Sherlock blinked.

He was gone. It was over.

But John staggered and Sherlock ran over to him and ripped the horrid explosives off of him and flung them as far away as he could. He was shaking all over and could barely stand and the dam which had been holding his emotions back and keeping him numb suddenly broke and he almost toppled from the weight of the fear and pain and sudden relief.

He babbled something at John but had no idea what was coming out his mouth, he may well have been confessing his undying love for all he knew. Everything was over.

It was over.

John cracked a weak joke and a huge weight left Sherlock's chest and—

It wasn't, in fact, over.

"Sorry, boys! I'm soooo changeable!" Sherlock closed his eyes. Fuck. "It is a weakness with me. But to be fair to myself, it is my only weakness. You can't be allowed to continue. You just can't." John looked up at Sherlock, terrified, and Sherlock hated himself. "I would try to convince you, but everything I have to say has already crossed your mind!"

Red dots were already floating on both of them, dancing around like the light from the laser pointer Sherlock had used to tease his cat when he was a child.

John reminded him of a cat, the way he stretched when he yawned and ignored Sherlock when he was mad at him and most of all because he was so adorable.

So this was it. They were trapped.

Life tends to move in circles, Sherlock mused. You spend forever and a day trying to prevent what's going to happen, and it happens anyway. There was probably a moral here. Sherlock hated morals.

So he knew already what he was going to say when he said, "Then my answer has already crossed yours." And he knew already what he was going to do when he raised the revolver.

There was no alternative. He, Sherlock Holmes, the genius who could think his way out of almost any situacion, had no alternative.

If anything, he'd have to try to save John. By no means could this turn out like last time. If he was stranded alone in the world again, he'd kill himself.

If he'd known things were destined to turn out like this no matter what, he'd have told John he loved him, at least. He'd have kissed those beautiful lips one last time, traced his finger across the delicate tissue of his scarred shoulder.

But it was over.

Moriarty's brow creased as he looked from Sherlock and the gun to the explosives on the floor.

Sherlock took one last deep breath and—

"Or we could settle this."

Sherlock looked up. Moriarty was smirking. John looked confused.

"I have something you want. You have something I want. We could make a trade."

"What do I have that you want?"

"Come now, Sherlock, don't be silly. You have a time machine. How could I not want that?"

Sherlock ignored the look on John's did he know? "In exchange for…?"

"The life of John Watson."

The words hung in the air. John's expression changed from bewildered to worried in a second. Very softly, he said, "Sherlock, no."

"What do you say?"

"Sherlock, don't."

"One time machine to save John Watson."

"Sherlock, please."

John had risen to his feet and was stepping forward. More red lasers were trained on him, and he stopped in his tracks and just looked at Sherlock, his eyes begging. Sherlock did his best to ignore. It was difficult.

A time machine to save John Watson.

It wasn't over.

"I don't have the time machine with me."

Moriarty waved away the concern. "Doesn't matter, dearie. But I'm so glad you've decided to come round. Like I said, people are so sentimental. But please, your gun."

Sherlock tightened his grip. He still didn't trust him.

"I'm not going to shoot you with it. I don't even want it. Be reasonable, Sherlock. Just set it on the ground. Or I might slip and your pet might accidentally get shot."

Sherlock lowered the revolver to the floor.

"Much better. And now we can talk. So you agree, do you? I can have your time machine, and you can have your boyfriend."

Thank god John wasn't stupid enough to correct him now.

"I'll be on my way, and you won't have to bother with me. And I promise he won't get hurt. Shake on it?"

He reached out his hand. It would be stupid to take it. If Moriarty was given a time machine, the world might fall apart. It would be idiotic and irresponsible for Sherlock to give him that kind of power.

But if it was to save John, then there was really no question.

He reached out his hand as well, and the world exploded.

The sound hit him first, and he saw Moriarty get thrown into the air out of the corner of his eye and turned around as everything crumpled in slow motion around him.

And the body of John Watson hit him like a ton of bricks.