25.

The pool was quiet. His footsteps echoing, Sherlock slowly walked in, towards the shallow end of the pool, and glanced at the upper gallery surrounding the pool. He turned towards the pool again and raised the memory stick into the air.

"Brought you a little getting-to-know-you present," Sherlock said, raising his voice. "Oh, that's what it's all been for, hasn't it? All your little puzzles, making me dance – all to distract me from this."

Waiting for a response, Sherlock turned in a small circle, still holding the memory stick up. A door opened halfway down the room. Sherlock looked over his shoulder, still holding the memory stick aloft, and watched as John walked into the pool area. He was wrapped up in a hooded jacket with his hands tucked into the pockets, looking at Sherlock with an almost blank expression.

"Evening."

Sherlock's raised hand started to lower but otherwise, he didn't move, staring at John in shock.

"John," he breathed softly.

"This is a turn-up, isn't it, Sherlock? Bet you never saw this coming."

Finally, Sherlock moved, turning around and taking a step towards John. His eyes were filled with shock and bewilderment and, with a look of despair that matched Sherlock's, John slowly pulled open the jacket to reveal the bomb strapped to his chest.

A strange sense of relief washed over Sherlock – relief that his friend wasn't the man behind the bombings – before it was quickly replaced with fear.

A sniper's laser immediately began to dance across John's chest, lingering on the bomb.

"What . . . would you like me . . . to make him say . . . next?" John asked stiffly, obviously narrating whatever was being said in his ear. Sherlock took a step towards John. "Gottle o' geer . . . gottle o' geer . . . gottle o' geer." John's voice broke slightly on the last phrase.

"Stop it," Sherlock said.

"Nice touch, this, the pool where little Carl died. I stopped him –" John paused, cringing. "I can stop John Watson too. Stop his heart."

Sherlock turned on the spot, trying to look in all directions at once.

"Who are you?" Sherlock asked.

A door at the far end of the pool opened, a soft male voice with an Irish accent speaking up.

"I gave you my number. I thought you might call."

Sherlock turned around, watching as Moriarty slowly strolled out into the open. He recognised the man immediately – Jim from I.T, Jim who was dating Molly – but he wasn't the clumsy, flustered man who left his number under a petri dish for Sherlock. This man was sharply dressed and had an immaculate appearance, his hands in his pockets as he regarded Sherlock with a smug grin.

"Is that British Army Browning L9A1 in your pocket –" Sherlock removed a pistol from his pocket. "–or are you just pleased to see me?"

Raising the pistol and aiming it at Moriarty, Sherlock said, "both."

Moriarty stopped, unafraid. "Jim Moriarty. Hi!" he sung. Sherlock tilted his head and looked more closely at the man. "Jim?" Moriarty repeated in disbelief, strolling alongside the deep end of the pool. "Jim from the hospital?" He looked disappointed. "Oh. Did I really make such a fleeting impression? But then, I suppose, that was rather the point."

Sherlock brought his other hand up to support the one aiming the gun. The sniper's laser flickered over John's chest and Sherlock glanced at him, frowning.

"Don't be silly," Moriarty scoffed, continuing to walk forwards. "Someone else is holding the rifle. I don't like getting my hands dirty." Reaching the corner of the pool, Moriarty stopped. "I've given you a glimpse, Sherlock, just a teensy glimpse of what I've got going on out there in the big bad world. I'm a specialist, you see." Moriarty looked surprise, like he had only just made the connection. "Like you!"

"Dear Jim. Please will you fix it for me to get rid of my lover's nasty sister?" Sherlock asked, making Moriarty grin as he started to walk forwards again. "Dear Jim. Please will you fix it for me to disappear to South America?"

Moriarty stopped again. "Just so," he said curtly.

"Consulting criminal," Sherlock said softly. "Brilliant."

"Isn't it? No one ever gets to me – and no-one ever will," Moriarty said with a proud smile.

"I did."

"You've come the closest. Now you're in my way."

"Thank you."

"Didn't mean it as a compliment."

"Yes you did."

"Yeah, okay, I did," Moriarty agreed, shrugging. "But the flirting's over, Sherlock. Daddy's had enough now!" he sung in a high pitched voice. Moriarty then switched back to his normal voice as he continued. "I've shown you what I can do. I cut loose all those people, all those little problems, even thirty million quid just to get you to come out and play."

John, beginning to feel the strain of keeping calm, closed his eyes briefly. Sherlock couldn't help but glance at him again, despite trying to keep his attention on Moriarty.

"So take this as a friendly warning, my dear. Back off." There was an underlying threat in the last two words, one that made the hairs on the back of Sherlock's neck stand up. "Although I have loved this, this little game of ours. Playing Jim from I.T. Playing gay. Did you like the little touch with the underwear?"

"People have died," Sherlock said.

"That's what people DO!" Moriarty screamed the final word, the sudden change in personality making both Sherlock and John flinch.

"I will stop you," Sherlock replied softly.

Moriarty looked back at him calmly. "No you won't."

"Are you alright?" Sherlock asked John, looking across to his friend. John deliberately avoided looking back at Sherlock, remembering the instructions given to him earlier – "don't you dare say a word, Johnny-boy, or you'll be in trouble!"

Moriarty walked forwards, playfully bumping his shoulder against John's when he reached his side.

"You can talk, Johnny-boy. Go ahead."

The nickname made John grit his teeth and, refusing to directly obey Moriarty, he nodded once at Sherlock. Taking one hand from the gun, Sherlock held the memory stick out to Moriarty.

"Take it."

"Huh?" Moriarty asked. "Oh! That!" he strolled past John and grinned widely. "The missile plans!" Moriarty took the memory stick from Sherlock and held it to his lips, gently kissing it. "Boring!" he suddenly sung. "I could have got them anywhere."

Moriarty nonchalantly threw the memory stick into the pool and John raced forwards suddenly, slamming himself against Moriarty's back, wrapping one arm around his neck and the other around his chest. Sherlock backed up in surprise but kept the gun raised, aiming it at Moriarty.

"Sherlock, run!" John cried.

"Good!" Moriarty said, laughing in delight. "Very good!"

Sherlock didn't move, looking up anxiously. He couldn't help but wonder what action hidden sniper would take.

"If your sniper pulls that trigger, Mr Moriarty, then we both go up," John said savagely.

"Isn't he sweet?" Moriarty asked Sherlock calmly. "I can see why you like having him around. But then people do get so sentimental about their pets."

John grimaced angrily and pulled Moriarty even closer so that the bomb was sandwiched between them. Moriarty scowled at him.

"They're so touchingly loyal. But, oops!" he grinned at John and then at Sherlock. "You've rather shown your hand there, Doctor Watson."

Moriarty chuckled softly as a new laser point appeared in the middle of Sherlock's forehead. John stared in horror and Jim looked round at him in expectantly.

"Gotcha!" Moriarty sung.

He laughed again when John released his grip, taking a step back and holding his hands up to signal to the sniper that he wasn't going to do anything to hurt Moriarty. Brushing off his suit, Moriarty looked back at Sherlock.

"Westwood!" he said indignantly. "Do you know what happens if you don't leave me alone, Sherlock, to you?"

"Oh, let me guess," Sherlock said in a bored voice. "I get killed."

"Kill you? No, don't be so obvious. I mean, I'm going to kill you anyway someday. I don't want to rush it, though. I'm saving it up for something special. No – no – no – no – no. If you don't stop prying, I'll burn you." Moriarty ran his eyes down Sherlock's body, looking up to meet his gaze again. "I'll burn the heart out of you."

"I have been reliably informed that I don't have one," Sherlock said softly.

"But we both know that's not quite true," Moriarty replied, wearing a smug smile that seemed to say I know something you don't know. Immediately, Elspeth sprung to Sherlock's mind. He blinked involuntarily. Moriarty smiled back and shrugged. "Well, I'd better be off." He looked around nonchalantly. "Well, so nice to have had a proper chat."

Sherlock raised his gun and held it closer to Moriarty's head.

"What if I was to shoot you now – right now?"

"Then you could cherish the look of surprise on my face," Moriarty replied, unperturbed. He opened his eyes and his mouth wide, mimicking surprise, and then grinned. "I'd be surprised, Sherlock, really I would. And just a teensy bit disappointed. And of course you wouldn't be able to cherish it for very long." Slowly, Moriarty began to turn away. "Ciao, Sherlock Holmes."

Sherlock stepped forwards to keep Moriarty in his sight, also taking a step closer to John. "Catch you later," he said slowly.

"No you won't!" Moriarty sung, the door swinging shut behind him.

Neither of them moved for a few seconds. His gaze drifting to John, Sherlock put the gun on the ground, dropped to his knees in front of him and unfastened the vest strapped to him.

"Are you alright?" he demanded. "Are you alright?"

"Yeah, yeah, I'm fine," John said weakly, letting Sherlock tug off the jacket and the bomb vest in one go. "I'm fine – Sherlock – Sherlock –" he stumbled slightly as the jacket and bomb vest skidded across the floor as far away from them as Sherlock could manage. "Jesus."

Delayed shock hit John like a ton of bricks and while Sherlock looked for Moriarty, John staggered towards the edge of a changing cubicle, leaning against it for support. He let out a long breath, trying to calm himself, and Sherlock paced up and down, so hyped up and distracted that he barely noticed he was scratching his head with the gun.

"Are you ok?" John asked breathlessly.

"Me? Yeah, I'm fine, I'm fine. Fine." Sherlock turned to John. "That, er . . . thing that you, er, that you did, that, um . . . you offered to do. That was, um . . . good."

"I'm glad no-one saw that."

"Hmmm?"

"You ripping my clothes off in a darkened swimming pool. People might talk."

Sherlock shrugged. "People do little else." He looked down at John and grinned. John snorted with laughter, preparing to stand up, but before he could move, the beam from a sniper's laser landed on his chest. Several more were aimed at Sherlock.

"Oh –" he swore softly under his breath.

"Sorry, boys! I'm so changeable!" Moriarty cried cheerfully, strolling back into the open area surrounding the pool and clapping his hands together. "It is a weakness with me but, to be fair to myself, it is my only weakness." He spread his arms out and then put his hands in his pockets. Sherlock lowered his head, meeting John's gaze. "You can't be allowed to continue. You just can't. I would try to convince you but everything I have to say has already crossed your mind!"

Sherlock continued to gaze at John, his face showing no emotion but his eyes screaming a silent request – forgive me, Ellie, he thought to himself. Please forgive me. John gave Sherlock a small nod.

"Probably my answer has crossed yours," Sherlock said, turning to face Moriarty. He raised the pistol, aimed it at him and slowly lowered it until it was pointing at the bomb jacket. John breathed heavily and Sherlock looked eerily calm. Tilting to his head, Moriarty slowly looked up at Sherlock and smiled.

Suddenly, as Sherlock and Moriarty stared at each other from opposite ends of the pool, music started playing. Stayin' Alive, John realised in his state of confusion, looking up at Sherlock.

Closing his eyes, Moriarty sighed in exasperation.

"Do you mind if I get that?"

"No, no, please," Sherlock said nonchalantly. "You've got the rest of your life."

Moriarty took his phone from his pocket and answered it, a dark look in his eyes.

"Hello?" he paused. "Yes, of course it is. What do you want?" Moriarty mouthed sorry to Sherlock, who sarcastically mouthed back oh it's fine. If John hadn't been so terrified, he might've laughed. He found himself wishing that Elspeth was with them for a second, knowing that she'd somehow find the funny side of it all.

Moriarty rolled his eyes as he listened to whoever was on the other end of the phone, turning away from Sherlock for a second. He spun around again, his expression furious.

"SAY THAT AGAIN!" he roared. John flinched. Sherlock frowned. "Say that again, and know that if you're lying to me, I will find you and I will skin you." He paused again. "Wait."

Lowering the phone, Moriarty took a step forwards. Sherlock looked at the bomb jacket fretfully, adjusting his grip on the gun, and Moriarty stopped, gazing down at the ground thoughtfully before lifting his eyes to Sherlock's.

"Sorry," he said in a low voice. "Wrong day to die."

"Oh. Did you get a better offer?" Sherlock asked casually.

Moriarty looked down at his phone, turning and slowly walking away.

"You'll be hearing from me, Sherlock," he promised. Strolling away, Moriarty lifted the phone to his ear again. "So if you have what you say you have, I will make you rich. If you don't, I'll make you into shoes."

He reached the door. Raising his free hand, Moriarty clicked his fingers. Instantly, all the lasers focused on Sherlock and John disappeared.

John let out a relieved breath. "What happened there?"

"Someone changed his mind. The question is . . . who?"

"We'll find out later, but right now, we need to ring Lestrade," John said, standing up.

"Why?" Sherlock asked distractedly.

"The bomb, Sherlock."

"Oh, yeah, right, you do that," Sherlock said quickly, beginning to pace again as he took his phone out of his pocket. "I'll ring Ellie."

Pacing back and forth, Sherlock didn't need to think about dialling Elspeth's number; he typed the numbers out automatically, holding the phone to his ear and listening to the ringing sound. He rarely rung Elspeth.

"Hi, this is Elspeth!" the recorded voicemail chirped. "I can't get to the phone right now but –"

He hung up, stuffing the phone into his pocket and whirling around to face John, who was listening to whoever was on the other end of his phone with an odd expression – he looked scared, confused, anxious. He didn't seem to be saying very much.

"Sherlock," he said quietly, holding the phone out to him suddenly. "Lestrade . . . Lestrade needs to talk to you." His voice cracked slightly.

Frowning, Sherlock took the phone from him.

"Lestrade, listen –"

"No, Sherlock, you listen," Lestrade interrupted fiercely. "You have to get down to the station right now."

"Why?" Sherlock asked irritably. "I didn't do anything."

"It's Ellie, Sherlock," Lestrade said. "She's been attacked."

Thank you helbell, dustdancingintheflickerlight, TheDoctor'sAmazingCompanion, Starcrier, LoverofWords22, xxxMadameMysteryxxx, tinuviel21, Cassandra, Adrillian1497, labyrinthloverxx, Goodbye Mr Holmes, iwanttobeaneverdeen, bookaddict209, LeoInuyuka, nakari ash, GottaLoveTen, ElizabethCullen08, raggedyponds, AlieCat, SuperNaturalxxFreak, EmeraldDagger and my two anonymous reviewers for reviewing!

A few of you were expecting Elspeth to be strapped to the bomb but, alas, it was not so. But someone a lot of people have been waiting for makes an appearance in the next chapter . . .