10. Burnout
The second time that Moriarty left the pool, John and Sherlock wasted no time getting out of the building. They ran down the street in search of a cab, but they didn't take the first one, or the second one that they saw. When they did find one that Sherlock approved of, a Pakistani driver with two daughters who had just got his license this year, they piled into the back.
"Shouldn't we tell Lestrade about this?" John asked.
Sherlock frowned and then pulled out his phone and sent a text.
"What did you say?"
"I told him that he would find a vest of explosives at the pool, and that we would talk to him about it tomorrow. Moriarty and his men will be long gone by now."
"Shouldn't we at least try to catch them?"
"Quiet John, I'm thinking," Sherlock said and he turned away to face the window.
They exited the cab three blocks from home. Then they ran the rest of the way back, rushing up the stairs and knocking on Mrs Hudson's door to inform her of the danger before going up to their flat.
The flat was freezing. John thought of starting a fire, but fatigue overtook him and he sank into his chair. Sherlock on the other hand was jumpy. He put his hands together and started to pace back and forth.
John's eyes started to close, then he opened them abruptly. "Sherlock," he said, "we should talk about this. What do you think Moriarty is planning to do next? He's obviously obsessed with you. It's not going to end here."
"I know," Sherlock said, "but there are other things more important than Moriarty to think about."
"What things?" John asked.
Sherlock turned to face John. "John, I..." he began then he closed his mouth and looked away. "I'm going to bed," he said and walked into his room closing the door between them.
John stared at Sherlock's door, contemplated making tea for a minute, and then pushed himself up out of the chair and climbed the steps to his room. He took off his coat and fell back on his bed, too tired to even take off his shoes.
This day had certainly not turned out as he expected. He had hoped that by this time of night he would be warmly snuggled up in Sarah's bed. He certainly didn't expect to be kidnapped ... again.
Earlier that evening, when John awoke to find himself covered with explosives, he cursed himself for not guessing that he would be the next logical target. He was propped up in the back of a darkened van with a gun trained on his chest. He thought of several scenarios for disarming the man, unfortunately they all ended in a large explosion, so he sat back, closed his eyes, and waited for his time to come.
He'd seen such things before. A young man, boy really, covered with explosives trying to get onto the base with a group of Afghans who were bringing supplies. The guard didn't recognize him, and so he told him to stop. He grabbed his cloak, but the boy kept walking. The cloak tore off revealing that he was covered head to toe in explosives. Everyone stopped and time seemed to slow. Williams, one of the base snipers, picked up his gun and aimed for the boy's throat, but the boy was too quick. He ran, throwing himself at the guard station as he pulled the trigger. The explosion blew down the gate and the guard station killing one soldier and injuring five civilians. All that John could think about was the boy's face, his determination, his resolve to sacrifice his life. That expression had looked so wrong on a boy so young.
The van stopped at a public pool of all places. Someone broke the locks and rushed in. What were they going to do here, swim? Then the man placed an earpiece in his ear. John could see the targeting laser on his chest, and he knew that it wasn't worth trying to fight then. The man told him that he had better follow all of the instructions to the letter if he wanted to get out of here alive, but John already knew that that wouldn't happen. The fact that they had given him an earpiece rather than a pager meant that he would hear Moriarty's voice. That meant that they had no intention of letting him get out alive. John's hand steadied and his face went hard. He knew that if it was his time, he would not die quietly, nor would he die alone.
They made John sit in a changing booth. He closed his eyes and marshaled his strength wondering what puzzle Sherlock would have to solve and how much time they would give him. Then he smiled. No, life with Sherlock certainly was NOT boring. Heads in the refrigerator. Late night searches for assassins. A self appointed 'fan' blowing people for entertainment. If anything, life with Sherlock was perhaps a bit too exciting. Maybe he should have listened to Sally and taken up fishing instead.
When John heard the voice for the first time. It was soft and strangely familiar. "Get up," it said, "he's coming. You are going to walk out there and repeat every word that I say. Deviate from it, even a little and you go boom. Nod if you understand me." John nodded. Then the door opened, and John could hear Sherlock.
"Go out now, Johnny boy. Let him take a look at you."
John walked out beside the pool. Sherlock was holding up the memory stick. The one that he said that he had given to Mycroft. Liar. He turned and saw John. John could almost see the thoughts passing across his face. Why is John here? Oh God is John Moriarty? "John, what the hell...?" Sherlock said.
John repeated the words. "Bet you never saw this coming."
Sherlock turned slowly, walking toward John who opened his coat to reveal the explosives. Why was he coming closer? He should stay back. He'd have a better chance of surviving the explosion if he kept his distance. John nodded to Sherlock to tell him that he was ready for anything, but Sherlock didn't seem to understand his meaning.
The look on Sherlock's face was both angry and petulant. Then Moriarty appeared. It was Molly's boyfriend, Jim from IT. The only difference was that he was better dressed. He still sounded as wimpy as ever. Sherlock held the gun on Moriarty, and John stood perfectly still. The red dot on his chest demonstrating that a marksman had drawn a bead firmly on his heart.
John ran the odds in his head. If Sherlock shot Moriarty then they would shoot the trigger and John and Sherlock would both go up. That wouldn't work. John knew that he would die, but Sherlock ... Sherlock had to survive. He had to get away. When Moriarty tossed away the memory stick, John took his chance. He threw his arms around Moriarty yelling..."Sherlock run!" but Sherlock didn't run. He just stood there with his gun trained on Moriarty's head.
"If your sniper pulls that trigger, Mr. Moriarty, then we both go up," John said as he held Moriarty firmly by the neck and arm.
Moriarty was surprised, but then he said, "You've rather shown your hand there, Dr. Watson," and the gun shifted to Sherlock's head.
John stepped back and thought. If we ever get out of this we are going to have to come up with some kind of codewords. Why didn't he leave when he had the chance?
When Moriarty left the first time, Sherlock pulled the explosive vest off of John and shoved it away. John fell to the floor in relief listening as Sherlock tried to express gratitude, but all that John was thinking as Sherlock scratched the back of his head with the gun was, "I'm going to have to give that man a little training in gun safety."
Then Moriarty returned the second time and John knew that they were done for until that phone call had saved them. The Beegees. Honestly?
"What happened there?" John said after they had left.
Sherlock replied, "Someone changed his mind."
John sat up in bed. The stress exhaustion passing for a bit. He finally had enough energy to take off his shoes and his belt and climb under the covers. He thought for a moment of Sherlock. He had never seen him so agitated before. John wanted to talk to him, to ask him if he was okay, but he knew that it would have to wait until tomorrow, because nothing short of another explosion was getting him out of this bed before morning.
John's body was exhausted. He lay in the bed like one of the dead, but his mind kept racing. Sherlock Holmes is such an idiot, going to meet Moriarty without backup, waiting until I was gone to do it. I suppose, in his way, he was trying to protect me. Wanker! Doesn't he understand that I'm here to help him? Doesn't he understand that that's why I stay with him? Because he needs someone like me. Sherlock needs me to survive in this crazy world. And I need him.