"I promise, John."
Sherlock is walking away from John, a sense of abandoment arises is him. He feels like he's left John without a best friend; if Sherlock can't get Moriarty...
Sherlock shakes his curls, sentiment will not be his saving grace. Though as he continues down the long bend of the hall, he can't help but wonder about the thought that so naturally grazed through his mind. Why John, in Sherlock's possible last moments, is his sentiment?
As the glossy blackness of Moriarty's suit comes into view, Sherlock building himself like a brick wall. He will not bow down to someone else's will; he hadn't done it when his father beat him and he won't now.
An odd feeling of acceptance settles in his stmoach. He stands his ground, as Jim adjusts the pistol to point at Sherlock again. "Shall we begin?" Moriarty inquires, a bone chilling grin tugs at his pale lips. "No time like the present." Sherlock speaks indifferently.
Moriarty's smile drops slight, Sherly was hardly any fun in this state, "What's your deal? I set all this up for you and this is how you behave?" He nags, as if Sherlock is late for an at home dinner date. "You've killed someone." Is the only responce, he'd never actually tell Jim the source of his pain.
Grey orbs roll in a circle as Jim grows annoyed. "Get over it, Sherlock. It's bound to happen. People die because what what people do." A growl rips at the base of his throat.
"I suppose, I should inquire why you're doing this." Sherlock prompts; this should get Moriarty to talk for a minute. That's all Sherlock can ask; give me some time.
"You've been a problem from the very beginning," Jim states rather quickly. "I know you've been assisting Mycroft with catching my 'people' for a while now. That means my productivity levels go down which means I loose money and I'm rather fond of my money, Sherlock!" Jim's clutch in the gun grows alarmingly tight.
Out of instinct, Sherlock bends slightly in a position to recoil, duck, or pounce. Which ever becomes critical. Instead, Moriarty continues in a droll: "And then there's Irene. She was one of my top players... then she met you. It was my fault for thinking nothing of it at the time. The more she talked to you; she lost her touch, her ruthlessness. Then I come across a god damn essay paper to find out she's ratting me out on everything because of you!" An agrivated yell escapes him as he throws the crumpled was at Sherlock's feet.
Sherlock's practically a statue, a movement in the wrong direction or an accidental word could cause Moriarty to pull the trigger. The statistics and probabilities are slamming to the fore front of Sherlock's mind. Thirteen possible moves; same result.
"She was somewhat... how do I put this? She was," Moriarty pauses looking for the word. The pistols waving in a small circle to help his thought process. "Important to me." He finds himself saying. Sherlock understands but then doesn't.
A feeling of uncertainty swamps Sherlock when Jim beguns to chuckle. There's something absolutely wrong with this man. "But I guess, that's alright," Sherlock's brows twitch. Never a good sign. "You took something important of mine... and I'll take something important to you." Moriarty circles Sherlock and then busts into a jog in the direction where he came. What is- John!
Sherlock realizes, turning to find Jim out of his sight range. He takes off running. His hearts pounding in the base of his chest, a cold sweat dewing on his forehead, an aching in his palms he didn't notice throbbing.
Jim wasn't far from reach now, so Sherlock jumps. Tackling Jim to the ground, their bodies impacting against the tile floor with a thunk. A metallic sound skids a few inches away; the pistol. A battle of strength occurs as Sherock reaches for the gun. Jim tthrows his weight into Sherlock, toppling them so that Jim is pinning Sherlock with his knees. Barely out of reach of the gun.
With a punch to the sensitive muscle underneath his arm pity, Jim pulls back altogether. Leaving enough room for Sherlock to squirm but Jim pulls him by his pant legs backwards toward him and dives. Jim has grip of the gun, though it doesn't make Sherlock shy away from trying to gain hold of it.
The two flip, and twist, and knot. And some where in all the confusion, Sherlock's back lands on top of Moriarty who has the pistol, which doesn't help that he can't exactly see. However, Sherlock can see where the gun is. It's hovering over Sherlock's chest and over Jim's as well. Sherlock tries to think of other ways but Moriarty is criminally smart, he'll find another way as well... or he could end it right now.
Same result...
Meanwhile, pacing back and forth at the archway where Sherlock left him, John is growing antsy. His legs, though in agony, do not rest. Sherlock. John's thoughts sputter. John yawns; tired? When had he become so tired? His eyes are weighing down greatly. He's struggling with them to stay alert. A loud shot rings in his ears. Gun shot. John decides, an automatic reaction to run in the direction of the sound. As he's running, he recalls a conversation:
"Sherlock, I'm sor-"
"John, is this something we really need to discuss now?"
John, knew it. He should have said it, it might have changed things drastically. Really, though, who is he kidding? Sherlock might have very well continued on as planned with or without the proclamation.
But he didn't.
John fell to his knees, not to be dramatic, only because his legs have given out by their own choice. The scene that laid before him was far more than he can handle. His vision begins to blur, water building up over his pupils. Damn you both. John thinks; to Jim who took Sherlock's life and to Sherlock who wouldn't let him be there.
Something in John needs to touch Sherlock. Nothing grand, just a touch. His lack in sensiblity at the time causes him to, instead of walking over, crawl through the pool of blood to Sherlock's limp body. It's strong smeel of Iron gazes his nose as he sits on his knees in front of the fallen 's purple shirt is damp with the blood, its clung even more tightly to his etched muscles.
Even in death, Sherlock looks like surreal.
But something doesn't settle right with John about this though. Where the puncture wond is more specifically. It was in the same radius as his heart but not directly through it. John thinks back on what he's learned from the human body.
John's eyes gape open wide; the bullet hadn't hit the heart or any major arteries.
Sherlock can be revived...
...How much can one really say about this chapter?...
I hope you're liking it so far! Don't be afraid to comment! I love you all!
Hope you can't wait to see what entails our boys next!
Chapter 11, can Sherlock be saved...? Chapter 13 will be our ending chapter!
P.s: Oh and I've been getting a few messages on some wording or mis-spells, thank you. I've been having to use Word doc because my microsoft office is freaked up! Really, thanks. :)