Chapter Six
"Right, that's the place." Anthea said as she and John peered up at Sebastian's former flat.
"Typical." John grunted. "High grounds, good visibility, and access to various escapeways." he noted aloud. "Sniper, through and through."
"He'd see us coming a mile away." Anthea remarked as the two disappeared behind a corner.
"I, for one, am counting on it." Sherlock said, suddenly appearing over John's shoulder like a shadow.
John jumped. "Jesus! Someone put a bell on you!"
Sherlock just quirked his lips a little in mild amusement. "I've spoken to Mycroft. Doctor Watson, you're with me."
John turned to follow. "Um, I'd suppose you can just call me 'John'. And where are we going?"
"Well then, Sherlock, I insist." Sherlock half turned and smiled. "And as to where we're going... We're going to get spotted by the sniper."
John blinked. "Excuse me?"
"Well, not me and you... Mycroft and Anthea, on the other hand." Sherlock led the way through narrow back alleys, up a rusted fire escape, and onto the roofs.
Mycroft and Anthea waited for them to get into position before they rounded the corner, letting Sebastian catch sight of them blatantly watching the flat.
A minute or two later, Agents Napoleon and Heinz darted out onto the tiled roofs.
"Sebby, you bastard!" the shorter man snarled to his partner. "Now look what you've done! My suit's a mess!"
"Live with it, Moriarty!" the taller blonde grumbled back.
In a flash, Sherlock was gone from John's side and tackled Moriarty, sending them both sprawling and tumbling precariously toward the edge of the roof.
Sebastian lunged after them at the same time a piercing gunshot sounded.
He whipped his head around and saw John. The two soldiers' eyes met and held. John froze under the sniper's chilly grey eyes and felt the prickly sensation of crosshairs locking onto his forehead directly between his eyes.
Then Sebastian was gone, grabbing Moriarty by his ruffled coat collar and darting around a chimney, avoiding John's delayed shots.
Sherlock and John sat and stood stunned on the roof, Mycroft calling out to them from the street.
Sherlock looked over to John and saw the army doctor's eyes were wide and terrified, his legs shaking just the slightest, his lips twitching and mumbling incoherent lines of babble as he stared across the empty roofs as if at any moment expecting Sebastian to double back with his sniper rifle.
Sherlock laid a hesitant hand on John's shoulder and the doctor's head whipped around to look at him.
"Doctor Watson." Sherlock said quietly. "John."
That seemed to be the magic word that snapped John out of his trance. He blinked and stumbled backward a foot or two. He lowered his gun and blew out a breath. "Christ..." His legs gave out from under him and he quickly sat down. "Jesus." He wiped a hand over his clammy forehead. "I wasn't remotely ready for that." he admitted reluctantly.
Sherlock remained quiet, waiting for him to tell him whether he had reconsidered the idea of continuing the hunt with them.
John took a few big breaths and let them out. Then he shook his head self-deprecatingly. "Well... that could've gone better."
Sherlock smiled. John snorted out a laugh in response.
Sherlock gave the doctor five minutes more to collect himself before they returned to Mycroft and Anthea.
"Hee, ha ha ha! Heh." Moriarty giggled as Sebastian more or less dragged him along.
"For God's sakes!" Sebastian hissed, slightly taken aback by the sudden laughter. "What now?"
"Did you see that man in the street? Did you see him?" Moriarty continued, letting out light, fluttery noises of helpless glee.
Sebastian nodded. "I saw him."
"Do you know who he is?" Moriarty asked him next.
Sebastian shook his head.
"That was Mycroft Holmes." Moriarty said, eyes glistening. "The Mycroft Holmes, you understand? The tenacious dog of MI6, His Majesty's Hound! Hee hee!"
"I know the name." Sebastian offered.
"Oh, we'll have to be careful." Moriarty leaned his hands on his knees as they paused to catch their breath. "He'll snap us up like crocodile food if we're not wary. He's one of the ones worth opposing." Moriarty rubbed his hands together. "If the British Intelligence is like an impenetrable wall that you cannot win against, then Mycroft Holmes is the type of wall that tends to fight back."
"He's one of MI6's most ruthless." Sebastian hummed.
"He's cold-hearted. Like ice." Moriarty agreed with a smirk. "The Iceman."
Sebastian slid his hand over the disassembled sniper rifle in his bag and thought about that little Englishman on the roof.
He smiled sharkishly, like a predator sizing up meat.
He was at least glad that Moriarty wasn't the only one who had found a worthy opponent.
NEXT OBJECTIVE. ASSASSINATE MYCROFT HOLMES OF MI6. CAUTION IS ADVISED.
The Fox stumbled into his flat after a long day's work at the hospital and decrypted the message. He groaned and dropped his head in his hands.
"Bollocks."
He cleaned up, washed, and collapsed into bed.
He could worry about this Mycroft Holmes fellow in just a moment. Right now, he needed rest.
The Queen and Country be damned.
"We'll get our hands on him next time, Sir." Anthea said in a flat tone what was meant to be encouraging.
Mycroft took heart that the woman had tried at all. "Thank you, Anthea."
Sherlock was sulking on his sitting room sofa again, curled up into a ball of dressing gown facing away from the world, bare feet tucked neatly under him, arms wrapped loosely around his knees.
He hadn't spoken for hours.
John was sitting in an armchair nearby and sipping tea, already seemingly used to the sight. Bless the man.
For a long time, nobody spoke.
"Moran referred to Agent Napoleon as 'Moriarty'." John was the first to break the silence as he bit into a scone.
"I will have Anthea investigate." Mycroft told him with a slight twitch of a smile at his well meant attempt to be helpful.
"Irish accent." Sherlock chimed in, not turning. "Vain. Shallow. Bit of a fashionista. Not accustomed to much manual labor and entirely psychotic." Mycroft raised his eyebrow and Sherlock finally turned his head. "He started giggling madly when he saw you, for some reason." Then, he turned back and continued sulking.
"I will put out word on the street for these two." Mycroft assured the two of them. "But until we receive more news, we have nothing."
John frowned and sipped his tea. Mycroft tapped his fingers on his umbrella handle. Sherlock sulked.
Anthea went along her business as she always did.
A/N: I wanted Moriarty to throw a fit and say 'Sebby, you bastard! Now look what you've done! I'm a mess! This suit is Westwood!' but I realized with heavy heart that there would be no Vivienne Westwood suits during World War II. TT_TT
