Chapter 12- Finally Playing The Game?

The next day passed in a strange slow blur, Sherlock sat cross-legged on the floor doing literally nothing in an attempt to think, and John being terribly embarrassed at fainting, then getting over it and moving onto doing a bumper book of Sudoku puzzles.

On into the afternoon, Sherlock began twitching, and by 7.30 had gotten up from the floor, and was practically bouncing around the room, shouting at anyone and everything in an authoritative tone, trying to get everyone to just 'Go' already.

It made John wonder if Sherlock had any sort of violence complex, a desire to run into murderers and other dangers. But, he had to admit, there was a sort of thrill in knowing that they were about to seek our a mass-murderer, a person who had killed purely for them.

Though that was also a little unnerving, but that part seemed to be lost on Sherlock.

Whilst Sherlock was bumbling around, the other boy just stood, completely still, save for the unending sharp flexing of his left hand.

Which did not go unnoticed by the young detective. When he next passed John on his rounds of the room, he paused, grabbed his friends hand, and started pulling the shorter boy along with him.

That so happened to quickly lead to skipping around giggling, a physical use for their adrenaline and nerves.

Not that Lestrade appreciated it, when he walked into the room, trying to tell them to get ready to leave, only to be almost run over by the pair.

He laughed a little, shaking his head, eyebrows raised, then turned back and the left the room again.

He returned, two minutes later, with Mycroft in tow. The eldest Holmes grabbed Sherlock's arm mid skip, pulling both boys to an abrupt halt.

Which, rather comically, caused the great Sherlock Holmes to stumble, then glare at his older brother. Who just replied with his usual smug smile, before exiting the room, knowing his three companions would follow him. They did.

Sherlock stopped his skipping in favour for running down the stairs, still dragging John behind him.

*_* 0o0o0*_*

The journey was entirely uneventful, and when they finally got there, Sherlock caused a half-asleep John to jump to attention, with the noise he made simply by getting out of the car.

They all jogged cautiously around the outside of the building, before both Holmes brothers took off through the back door, causing the remaining two to share a look of confusion.

Actually going through the door? How normal.

They did not question outright though; that would waste time. Instead, the loyal men ran after their partners in complete silence.

The door ran directly to a small corridor, straight to the stairs that allowed one to access all rooms below ground level.

Straight Holmes genius, that. Simply walking in to the quickest route, rather than sneaking around; doing that, one would actually have more chance of being caught.

It only took two minutes for them to find the 'scene'.

Well, for the 'scene' to find them.

They were halfway down the first passageway when a figure stepped out from behind one of the doors.

He was rather short, around 5'6 at the most, but definitely male, possibly a couple of years older than the younger pair of the quartet.

He was wearing a suit, both hands in the pockets of his trousers, though he removed one hand to gesture them all towards the room.

"This way please. The sooner we're all sat, the quicker the show can begin." He smiled politely, waving them into the room before him.

Sherlock and Mycroft immediately did as requested, the elder slightly behind the younger, and again, the other two were completely baffled.

But it only took one small nod from the short man with black hair, and they were following yet again.

The room was large, and appeared to be converted somewhat to make it more comfortable. Radiators, a row of chairs, and various memento's of remnants of past cases.

Even a stage, with a closed curtain, that the chairs faced.

They all sat, and the strange young man stood at the top of the stage, facing them.

"Hello, Gentlemen. My name is Jim Moriarty, and I will be providing the entertainment for this evening."

He skipped along to the curtain pull, in a way scarily similar to how Sherlock had skipped around the room, right down to the silly smile on his face.

That turned scarily serious the second he came to a stop.

With a slow, theatrical bow, he slowly pulled the rope, allowing them to see what was on the stage.

There was two chairs, equidistant from the front of the stage and each other, with a spotlight on each.

Two men. It was very obvious; you didn't have to be Einstein to work out that Mr Watson and Siger Holmes were the two bloodied and tied up individuals in the harsh wooden chairs.

"Let me explain. John Watson, and Sherlock Holmes, the choice is yours."

"What choice?" Sherlock's tone was sharp, and his eyes kept darting to John who was shaking with a mixture of anger and fear.

"Which one lives, and which one dies. Pick one, I don't personally care which. Neither of these people mean anything to me."

Moriarty held out a gun, and allowed his small audience to watch as he loaded it with one bullet. Only one.

"I would advise you pick quickly, lads, otherwise we all die." He made a ticking noise, and started pacing across the stage, pausing mid step when Sherlock's voice interrupted him.

"Siger Holmes." Jim cocked his head to one side.

"Which?"

"The one that dies."

A/N- Just a few more chapters left to go. About five, I'd estimate, maybe less. Please Review ! XD