Disclaimer: I do not own Sherlock (the show or the original works by A.C.D.) or any of the characters; I only own my OC Ana.
25. So Changeable
Just as Sherlock had asked, Ana was, as he put it, babysitting his clothes. She was seated just outside the doors to one of the gallery halls with Sherlock's button down, suit jacket, coat, and scarf in her hands. He had managed to swipe one of the security guard outfits and pulled it on as a disguise, leaving his shirt and coat in the competent hands of his female flatmate. He told her to wait for him and that was exactly what she was doing. She was waiting for him, sitting on the cold ground of the vacant hallway lit only by the natural light that streamed through the window at the top of the stairs. The building was rather industrial and cold, which made her shiver slightly as she awaited his return. Figuring he might take a while, Ana shook out his thick wool coat and draped it over her front like a blanket and wrapped the scarf about her neck and the lower half of her face; she shut her eyes and buried her nose in the fabric, trying to convince herself she was just doing it to keep warm, not because it smelled like him. Well… maybe it could be both.
Sherlock stood before the Vermeer painting, hands clasped behind his back with his attentive eyes flicking across its many, intricate brush strokes, taking in every detail. The room was white washed, and the painting was the only thing in the room besides the velvet ropes that created a walkway towards the Vermeer.
"Don't you have something to do?" asked a feminine voice laced with an Eastern European accent.
"Just admiring the view," Sherlock replied simply.
"Yes. Lovely. Now get back to work," the woman replied firmly. "We open tonight. Sherlock turned his head to look over his shoulder at the elegantly dressed woman. Then, he turned the whole of his body to face her, beginning to stroll towards her slowly.
"Doesn't it bother you?" he asked.
"What?"
"The painting's a fake."
"What?" she replied sharply, angrily.
"It's a fake. It has to be. It's the only possible explanation." He got close enough to eye her ID badge, even though he already had a good idea about who she was. "You're in charge, aren't you, Miss Wenceslas?"
"Who are you?" she demanded, not recognizing him from what staff she knew. Sherlock stepped less than two feet away, looking the woman straight in the eyes.
"Alex Woodbridge knew the painting was a fake, so somebody sent the Golem to take care of him. Was it you?"
"Golem? What the hell are you talking about?"
"Or are you working for someone else? Did you fake it for them?"
"It's not a fake!"
"It is a fake," Sherlock replied monotonously. "I don't know why but there's something wrong with it. There has to be." Miss Wenceslas shook her head fractionally and gave him a look.
"What the hell are you on about?" Miss Wenceslas questioned. "You know I could have you sacked on the spot."
"Not a problem."
"No?"
"No, I don't work here you see," he said smoothly, simply. "Just popped in to give you a bit of friendly advice." So she really didn't recognize him. Her finely shaped brows pulled together as she eyed him warily, suddenly slightly worried.
"How did you get in?" she asked, eyeing his uniform. Sherlock's lips pulled up to one side, a coldly amused look in his eyes.
"Please!"
"I want to know."
"The art of disguise is knowing how to hide in plain sight," he told her as he backed away, moving towards the painting again. He whipped off his cap and placed it on one of the posts that the ropes dangled from as he turned and walked towards the door.
"Who are you?" Wenceslas demanded.
"Sherlock Holmes."
"Am I supposed to be impressed?" she asked snootily. Sherlock pulled off his coat and dropped it on the floor.
"You should be," he said over his shoulder. "Have a nice day!" With a flamboyant swish of his hands, Sherlock shoved the door open and did a bit of a hop and a skip, stepping out of the room with a pep in his step.
Ana looked up as Sherlock exited the gallery, a smirk on his face. She quickly swept his coat off of her person and pushed herself up to her feet, still holding his folded shirt under her arm.
"So?" she asked.
"It has to have been faked…" he murmured thoughtfully as he tugged off his tie and tossed it to the floor. He then untucked his shirt and began to unbutton the white shirt that had a set of black epaulettes on the shoulders. Ana looked down at her feet, clearing her throat slightly.
"So, what are we going to do about this assumption?" she asked, holding out his shirt as she watched the starched security guard shirt fall to the floor. Sherlock let out a frustrated hissing sort of sound as he tugged at the cuffs and began to rebutton the piece of pale blue clothing.
"We can't do anything until John gets back from Woodbridge's flat or until I hear back from my homeless network." Sherlock shrugged his jacket and coat back on, moving towards the stairs. She gave him a look as they started walking, the phrase 'homeless network' clearly having confused her. He ignored the look, however, when he realized he was missing a piece of his outfit. "Are you going to give me my scarf back?" Sherlock wondered out loud in a rather flat voice. Ana raised a hand to touch the blue fabric and smirked to herself, giving a cheeky little shake of her head.
"I think I might keep it. It's quite soft," Ana teased, smiling as they trotted down the steps. Looking down at her, he blinked a few times and felt his brows pull together. She was wearing the scarf exactly as he did, the rich blue length of cloth wrapped nicely about her neck; he had to admit that the color played off nicely with her pale complexion and dark hair and maybe––just maybe––made her eyes look bluer.
"It, um… it suits you."
Flirting, John had said…
"Um… thank you…"
Shaking his head, dismissing the observation John had made the previous day, Sherlock held open the door that led to the back alley. Once Ana stepped through, she reached up and unwound the scarf. She held it out to him and watched as Sherlock accepted it and looped it back around his own neck; pointing up at his head, Ana gave a little laugh.
"You've, uh… you've got hat hair." Stretching up onto her toes, Ana ruffled her hand through his dark locks of hair, fluffing it back out again. Sherlock blinked down at her in surprise, making a blush rise to her cheeks. Flirting… John's voice whispered in his head. Smiling awkwardly, she moved towards the mouth of the alley. "So, uh, what do we do while we wait for John?" she asked curiously, shoving her hands back into her pockets. Sherlock, who gave her a curious glance, followed and flung out a hand to hail a cab.
"There's a fish and chip shop not too far from here."
"And what'll we be doing there? Extort information from some fellow who's part of an illegal art smuggling ring?" she asked with a laugh.
"Lunch."
"Pardon?"
"We are going to get lunch," he reiterated as a cab slowed down.
"But you don't eat on cases," Ana reminded as he pulled the door open for her. He smirked as she took her turn to give him a curious look. He waved her into the vehicle as he said,
"Yes, but you do."
OOOO
Ana and Sherlock walked along the pavement side-by-side, each holding a serving of fish and chips that were bound up in newspaper. Sherlock was popping a chip into his mouth on occasion, the action completely half-hearted and most uninterested. He barely registered the taste as his mind was distracted with other things, not caring to focus on the salt that entered his mouth. Ana, however, was chewing on her food with a calculating look on her face. She wasn't interested in analysing the taste, though; her mind was locked on the case, unable to pull herself away from it.
"This is odd, yes?" she said. Sherlock arched a brow.
"What is?"
"This part of the case. It… if this is of the bomber's orchestration… shouldn't he have called by now? He's playing a game. The phone calls, the photographs, the victims, the tight time constraints… if that's what he's playing at, shouldn't he have called us by now? Given us a new set of pips, a new clue, a count down? It's just… weird that he's done nothing," Ana told him, gesturing with a hand that held a golden chip. Sherlock nodded, smirking proudly at the fact that she'd caught on.
"It is odd, isn't it? We must not have gotten to the meat of this turn of the game yet. It has to have something to do with that painting… but what? What about that painting?" Sherlock murmured, eyes narrowing in thought. Ana finished chewing and looked up at him, eyeing the way the city's breeze ruffled his hair.
"What if it isn't a fake, Sherlock? What if Woodbridge was simply in the wrong place at the wrong time and the Vermeer is completely authentic?" she asked, throwing in one of the options. He shook his head as they stopped outside of 221b, pushing his key into the lock.
"No… it has to be fake…" he repeated under his breath as he stepped inside. Then, a sudden thought hit him and he spun around to look back at Ana. She jumped, having been a few steps behind him. "You need glasses." She blinked at him wide eyed, shaking her head with a confused crease between her eyebrows.
"I need… I––what?" Ana asked in disbelief, letting her mouth hang open.
"Glasses. You need corrective lenses, mainly for your left eye, which makes it hard for you to read small print on things like menu boards or road signs. You squint when you want to read something far away, you must realize you do it at work; what with the dim lighting and all that," he told her before striding into the house and up the stairs. Ana remained on the front steps in the cold early evening, gaping after him.
"I… I do not need glasses…" she muttered. Then, curiously, she raised her right hand and covered her right eye. Staring into the entryway of 221b, she let out a disbelieving scoff when she realized that the silhouette of the stairs were blurring together fuzzily with the wallpaper. "Oh my god… do I need glasses?"
"Yes, you do, now get inside," Sherlock replied from the landing. Shaking her head, Ana did as told and kicked the door shut, blinking her eyes rapidly.
By the time night blanketed the skies over London, the 221b trio had gotten their hands on a small set of information on Woodbridge. John reported that while Woodbridge knew absolutely nothing special about art, it would seem that he was a rather keen amateur astronomer. Sherlock finally got some information back from his homeless network, a folded note that read 'Vauxhall Arches.' So Vauxhall was where they then found themselves, walking through a darkened alley in the quiet of the evening. Sherlock tilted his head back as he buttoned up his coat, eyes scanning the sky above them.
"Beautiful, isn't it?" Sherlock mentioned, drawing both Ana and John's attention upward. Looking up, they all gazed the dense expanse of stars that peppered the sky.
"I thought you didn't care about that," John said, reminding him of their spat about the solar system. With a nearly annoyed expression crossing his face, Sherlock immediately replied with,
"It doesn't mean I can't appreciate it." Ana smiled and buried her hands in her coat pockets, still staring up at the stars.
"And appreciate it you shall," she hummed happily. Sherlock glanced down at her, feeling a smile tug up on one of the corners of his mouth. The expression was hidden, however, by the collar of his coat, which had been popped up around his jaw. His nose brushed against the inside of the collar, and he caught the slight, soft scent of vanilla, left behind from when Ana had used the coat as a blanket earlier that day. It was a pleasant smell, one that often trailed behind her when she moved by quickly; he had wondered why he was smelling it all evening…
"Listen, Alex Woodbridge had a message on the answerphone at his flat, a Professor Cairns?" John said
"This way," Sherlock instructed as they turned into the Arches.
"Nice part of town." They stopped as they stood at the mouth of another side alley, which was as dark as the night sky. "Any time you want to explain?"
"Homeless network. Really is indispensable."
"Homeless network," John repeated, drawing a flashlight out of his pocket.
"Second time I've heard that phrase today, second time I'm wondering what the hell that is," Ana admitted, turning to face Sherlock.
"My eyes and ears all over the city," Sherlock explained simply. His two flatmates nodded in slight understanding.
"Oh, that's…. clever. So, you scratch their backs and…" John trailed off. Sherlock gave a nod, clicking on his own flashlight.
"Yes, and I disinfect myself." He said it so seriously, so flatly, neither John or Ana could tell if he was attempting to make a joke, or if he was dead serious. They had no time to ask as Sherlock made his way into the darkness of the Arches, shining his flashlight into the shadows. Ana hung back behind her flatmates slightly, realizing she'd have to start toting a portable flashlight. The beams of light shone over a number of homeless people, most of whom seemed to be settling in for the night. As the two men turned their flashlights this way and that, Ana watched as, in the distance, the shadow of a man began to creep up the wall… the shadow was straightening up from a crouch, and whoever it was was already very, very tall.
"Sherlock!" Ana exclaimed quietly, pointing to the shadow.
"Come on," he responded, the three dodging forward to press their backs against a wall.
"What's he doing sleeping rough?" John asked in a hushed whisper. Sherlock peered around the corner to see that the man, presumably the Golem, was standing straight at a staggering seven feet tall.
"Well, he has a very distinctive look. He has to hide somewhere where tongues won't wag… much," Sherlock elaborated, peering around the corner. John's face scrunched up as he hung his head.
"Oh, shi––" John cut himself off, mentally berating himself.
"What?" Sherlock questioned, drawing a pistol out his coat pocket.
"I wish I'd––"
"Don't mention it." He handed John the pistol the man had forgotten back at the flat. John took it with a look of surprised appreciation, staring up at his flatmate. Sherlock's eyes slipped towards Ana, whose back was still firmly pressed to the wall, watching as she worried her bottom lip with her teeth. Well, she certainly felt rather exposed now; no flashlight, no gun… she was completely vulnerable. "We'll have to outfit you with one of these at some point, won't we?" Just as Ana gave a laugh that showed her worry, the man at the end of the tunnel took of in a run.
They followed as quickly as they could, making it out of the Arches just in time to see the man jump into a waiting car, which squealed away just as they skid to a stop.
"No, no, no!" Sherlock yelled, spinning around in his frustration. "It'll take us weeks to find him again!"
"Or not. I've an idea where he might be going," John admitted.
"What?"
"I told you. Someone left Alex woodbridge a message. They're can't be that many Professor Cairns in the book. Come on."
OOOO
The trio ran as fast as they could once they reached the planetarium. The recording of the planetarium's show was playing over the speakers, the visuals flashing across the screen brightly. John had his gun drawn as they burst into the theatre, just in time to see a hulking man suffocating Professor Cairns.
"Golem!" Sherlock shouted at the top of his lungs.
Many are actually long dead, exploded into supernovas, said the narrator over the speakers. The Golem looked up, made a sound of surprise and then gave a quick flick of his wrist, snapping the poor woman's neck. She fell to the ground with an unpleasant thud, hand sliding over the soundboard. The theatre was plunged into darkness and the sound cut off completely.
"John!" Sherlock called out as they tried to peer through the darkness.
"I can't see him!" John said. "I'll go round, I'll go!" John ran off as the lights began to flicker, leaving Sherlock and Ana on the stage. Reaching back, Sherlock grabbed onto Ana's hand and drew her closer as the lights flashed.
"Stay by me," he instructed in a hushed voice. "Do not leave my side…"
"Wasn't planning on it," she informed with a shaking voice, wrapping her fingers around his tightly. Sherlock turned his head towards the back of the theatre.
"Who are you working for this time, Dzundza?" Sherlock called out. The lights continued to flash and the soundtrack was continuously fast forwarding and rewinding on its own accord. The two were unaware of the impossibly tall shadow that had come to lurk behind them, silhouetted against the screen. Sherlock suddenly felt Ana's hand ripped from his own in the darkness, a small squeal disappearing behind him.
As the expanse of space flashed onto the theatre's projection screen, the projector finally clicking back on to provide light, Sherlock spun around with his heart racing. He spotted Ana a few feet behind him being held to the chest of the Golem, who towered over her like some sort of monster from a children's tale. The man's long, narrow fingers were pressed over her face, palm blocking her mouth as his fingers pinched her nose. His other arm was looped about her neck, placing an unpleasant amount of pressure on her throat. Ana was pulling at his hand, squirming uncomfortably in his grasp as she tried to get free. With a surge of anger, Sherlock sprung forward and threw himself into the Golem's side, trying to knock the man away. The impact felt as though it were something close to hitting a brick wall, making the consulting detective grunt. With a flick of his arm, the Golem sent Sherlock to the floor with a thud. Struggling to his feet with a woozy head as fast as he could, he watched as the the panic in Ana's eyes began to die down, her grasp becoming weaker on the Golem's arm as her struggling slowed. Her legs began to feel numb and her fingers were beginning to tingle.
"No!" he shouted, throwing himself at the assassin again. This time, the force of the impact was enough to cause the Golem to release Ana, dropping her to the floor; she coughed roughly, grasping at her aching throat while struggling to scramble away from the fight.
The Golem took his chance to take hold of Sherlock in a manner much similar to the one he'd just been holding Ana. Sherlock's hands flew upward and grappled with the one clasped over his nose and mouth, trying to pull it away.
"Golem!" John called, leaping up onto the stage. His gun was aimed steadily and pointedly at the Golem's head. "Let him go or I will kill you." Heaving Sherlock to the side, the Golem flung out a leg and kicked the former soldier's pistol out of his hand before growling and returning to his assault. The gun skittered along the floor, much like Sherlock did once the Golem was momentarily done with him. The monstrous man lunged at John, who discovered it was then his turn to grapple with the assassin. Sherlock, having none of the Golem's attacks on his friends, had thrown himself to his feet, taking a boxing position as he faced off with the man who was far taller than him. He threw one punch. One punch was all he barely got in before it was blocked, and the Golem hit him square on the shoulder, sending him back to the floor. Kneeling over him, the assassin pressed both hands over Sherlock's face, a manic grin on his thin face. John seized the moment, as epic, adventurous music played over the speakers, and jumped onto the Golem's back, arms wrapped around his throat. Having none of the small man on his back, the Golem spun around several times as he roared, eventually managing to shake John off. Before he could rise again, the military doctor found that Sherlock had been thrown into him, sending them both to the floor.
The Golem made a break for the door, and Sherlock scrambled to look for the gun, knowing that this was the opportunity to shoot.
Bang! Bang!
Two shots of gunfire sounded, one bullet sparking off of the control system for the presentation, the other solidly embedding itself in the wall by the door. Sherlock's head whipped around to see Ana breathing heavily on the opposite end of the stage, in a staggered standing position, swaying on her feet. The gun was clasped in both of her hands and still aimed towards the door that the Golem had disappeared through. She then fell back down to her knees, shoulders hunched forward as she clamped her eyes shut.
"Ana… Ana, are you alright?" John asked, dragging himself across the stage to kneel beside her. He placed a hand on her back, feeling the rapid rise-and-fall of her body as she continued to regain proper breathing patterns. She continued to stay hunched forward as she placed his gun by his knees with shaking fingers. When Ana finally looked up, she coughed again, a hand placed over her mouth. John wound an arm around her back and pulled her into his side, muttering a number of soothing words as the projections continued to flash around them.
… long dead, exploded into supernovas.
OOOO
The next morning John, Ana, and Sherlock found themselves at the Hickman Gallery, joined by Lestrade and Miss Wenceslas. The previous night left the three from 221b feeling tired and none the worse for wear, but they still had a case to solve, and proper rest could come later. Both Ana and Sherlock had been cleared of any concerning damage by John, who had insisted to at least give them a look-over once they got back to the flat the previous night.
"It's a fake, it has to be," Sherlock said for what seemed to the thousandth time in two days. He stood in front of the painting, typing searches into his phone as Miss Wenceslas, still wearing her outfit from the previous evening, scoffed. The absolute audacity that man had to come back again!
"That painting has been subjected to every test known to science," she spat.
Canvas degradation
Vermeer brush strokes
Pigment analysis
UV light damage
Delft Skyline, 1600
Vermeer influences
Sherlock's fingers flew over the keys as he entered each search before snapping,
"It's a very good fake then!" He spun around and glared at the gallery keeper accusingly. "You know about this don't you? It's you, isn't it?" Wenceslas scoffed and turned to Lestrade, who looked like he needed three more cups of coffee to deal with what was going on.
"Inspector, my time is being wasted. Would you mind showing yourself… and your friends out?"
Rrrring!
The pink phone that Sherlock had taken to toting around with him everyone suddenly rang. He answered and switched it to speaker, holding it out so everyone could hear.
"The painting is a fake!" he spat. Everyone stayed silent as they heard the sound of a gentle intake of air. "It's a fake. That's why Woodbridge and Cairns were killed." Shallow, soft breathing was their response. "Oh, come on. Proving it's just the detail. The painting is a fake. I've solved it. I've figured it out. It's a fake! That's the answer, that's why they were killed!" Everyone still remained silent, shifting uncomfortably at the lack of answer they were getting and the degree to which Sherlock was getting snippy. He took that moment of pause to inhale deeply and calm himself. "Okay, I'll prove it. Give me time. Will you give me time?"
"Ten…" came the very child-like voice on the other end. As Sherlock spun to face the painting again, Ana's hands flew up to cover her mouth.
"Oh my god…" she whispered, the words echoing in the cave her hands made.
"It's a kid…" Lestrade trailed off in horror. "Oh god it's a kid!"
"What did he say?" John asked tensely.
"'Ten,'" Sherlock replied.
"Nine…"
"Oh my––it's a countdown!" Ana exclaimed, feeling panic wash through her body like cold water.
"He's giving me time," Sherlock said as his eyes scanned the painting inch by inch.
"Jesus," Lestrade hissed.
"I know it's a fake but how, how?!"
"Eight…" John placed a hand over his mouth, Lestrade began to shift on his feet feeling utterly helpless, and Ana threaded fingers through her hair, biting her lip with bruising force.
"This kid will die," the consulting detective snapped, spinning to face Miss Wenceslas. "Tell me why the painting's a fake! Tell me!" She flinched at the shout.
"Seven…"
"No, shut up, don't say anything. Only works if I figure it out." As he turned back to the painting for a third time, John began to pace, unable to stand still anymore. Ana shook her head and felt her heart beating so hard she thought it might burst. She looked between John and Lestrade, all of them wearing matching looks of horror and panic. "Must be possible, must be staring me in the face…"
"Six…"
"How? How? But how!?"
"Five…" the boy said, seeming as though he were about to cry.
"Sherlock," John growled.
"It's speeding up," Lestrade pointed out.
"Four…" Sherlock's face lit up as something finally occurred to him, making him gasp.
"Oh! In the planetarium, you heard it too! Oh, that is brilliant! That is gorgeous!" he exclaimed, stepping away from the painting. He shoved the phone into John's hands as he walked away.
"Three…"
"What's brilliant, what is?" John demanded as Sherlock grinned and pulled out his own phone.
"This is beautiful. I love this!" he laughed.
"Two…"
"God dammit, Sherlock!" Ana shouted as he strode back towards them, her temper breaking. "Just say it!" Snatching the phone from John, Sherlock finally gave his answer.
"The Van Buren Supernova!" he announced into the speaker.
A pause.
"Please, is somebody there? Somebody help me!"
The entirety of the room, including Sherlock, let out a breath they had all been holding. Sherlock held the phone out to Lestrade.
"There you go. Go find out where he is and pick him up." He looked to Ana, who was still pink-cheeked from panic, a hand grabbing onto John's sleeve as she sucked in deep breaths to calm herself. They made eye contact briefly, the look in her eyes saying that he had been an ass for taking so long… but that she was thankful he'd saved the boy. Pointing at one of the stars in the night sky of the faked Vermeer, he began to explain. "The Van Buren Supernova, so-called. Exploding star only appeared in the sky in eighteen fifty-eight." He held up his phone to show an image of said supernova to Miss Wenceslas. John, with a smile on his face, stepped up to the painting and leaned forward.
"So how could the painting have been painted in… the sixteen forties," he said, smiling over his shoulder at the gallery curator. Ana shut her eyes and shook her head, feeling her heart rate beginning to calm down. There were two text alert sounds, causing both John and Ana to withdraw their phones. Once again, it was the same text for them both.
My patience is
wearing thin.
Mycroft Holmes
Ana rubbed at her eyes, shaking her head with a sigh. The day was just getting better, wasn't it? John and Ana shared a look before pocketing their mobiles and making for the door that Sherlock had left through.
OOOO
While Sherlock and Lestrade made for Scotland Yard to talk to Miss Wenceslas and John made his way to Battersea to look around where Andrew West was found dead, Ana took it upon herself to take some downtime. John encouraged the idea, saying he'd probably give her a call when he was done. So she found herself at a café, enjoying some coffee as she got the first smidgen of downtime in the last week or so. But as she sat there, stirring sugar into her paper coffee cup, she realized how odd it was to be there alone. There was no chatter about the case from Sherlock, no pleasant conversation about what the previous day had held from John, no berating one another about something they'd did, and no laughter as they enjoyed the other's company. Ana had been spending so much time with the two that she suddenly found it hard to imagine what her life would currently look like if she had not moved to Baker Street, if she'd taken up residence somewhere else. One different choice in her life and she would have been in a much different place…
Ring! Ring!
Pulling the phone out of her pocket, she answered and held it up to her ear with a slightly distracted look on her face.
"Hello?"
"How would you feel about some afternoon burglary?" asked Sherlock's voice, a smirk clear in his tone. Ana smiled and stopped mindlessly stirring what was left in her cup.
"Depends on who we're burgling," she replied.
"No one you know."
"Fantastic. Now why are we burgling?"
"The Andrew West case, of course. You don't think I'd give up such a case to spite my brother, do you?" Sherlock scoffed.
"Of course not. Text me the details, alright?"
"Already done." Moments after he hung up, her mobile received the aforementioned text, causing her to rise to her feet and make her way out the door, tossing the coffee cup away. Mycroft had once said she wanted a taste of the thrill of the chase that came with crime solving… and it would seem that once she'd gotten a taste, there was no way she was missing a chance to join the chase again.
OOOO
By evening much had been uncovered. Andrew West had been killed by his prospective brother-in-law, Joe Harrison, who, coincidentally, stole the memory stick with the missile plans on it. West had been in possession of the missile plans, drunkenly telling Harrison about then one evening in the pub. Having needed to pay many people thousands of pounds all thanks to being a poor drug dealer, Harrison thought that, perhaps, that was his solution. So he stole the memory stick and went about his merry way. That is, till West discovered he'd stolen them. A fight gone wrong had sent him falling down the brick stairs of Harrison's flat, killing him. After that, he threw West's body atop a train, hoping it would carry him far away… but it just ended up making it look like a suicide. After all of that had been explained, Sherlock, John, and Ana got the memory stick back and went back home just as the sun went down.
Sherlock was seated in his chair, still wearing his coat with his knees drawn up to his chest. The telly was on some sort of reality show, and his eyes were trained on the screen intently. The audience booed and Sherlock sighed.
"No, no, noooo! Of course he's not the boy's father!" he cried, throwing his hands out to gesture at the screen. "Look at the turn-ups on his jeans!" He crossed his arms again with a huff, shaking his head.
"Knew it was dangerous…" John murmured
"Hm?" hummed Sherlock.
"Getting you into crap telly."
"Not a patch on Connie Prince."
"But it's quite entertaining, you have to admit it, John," Ana said, exiting the kitchen. She was dressed for work, beating some lint off of her black skirt. After shrugging on her navy-blue coat and pulling her hair out from under the collar, she began to tug on her flats. "Did you give the plans to Mycroft?"
"Yep––he was over the moon. Threatened me with a knighthood…" his eyebrow twitched upward momentarily, "again." Ana's brows jumped upward and she smiled, shaking her head. Leave it to the Holmes brothers to threaten each other with knighthoods.
"You know, I'm still waiting," John said from his spot at the table, typing away at his laptop.
"Hmm?"
"For you to admit that a little knowledge of the solar system would have cleared up the fake painting a little quicker."
"Didn't do you or Ana any good, did it?" Sherlock pointed out smartly.
"Well, neither of us are the world's only consulting detective," John shot back gently, shutting his laptop and rising to his feet. Sherlock smiled at that, still watching the program on the telly.
"True."
"I'll be off then, I'll see you two later," Ana said, making for the door. Then, with a smile, she added her typical, "Don't wait up for me," before exiting the flat.
"I won't be in for tea either. I'm going to Sarah's," John said. "There's still some of that risotto left in the fridge."
"Mmm," Sherlock hummed distractedly.
"Ahh, milk. We need milk…"
"I'll get some."
"Really?" John asked in absolute surprise. Sherlock hadn't gone shopping for groceries in months. A smile had pulled up on his face before it fell, realizing Sherlock had probably tuned out of the conversation already, distracted by television.
"Really."
"Pick up some beans while you're at it?"
"Mmm."
With that, John left, leaving Sherlock alone. Once the front door closed, Sherlock pulled out his laptop and clicked onto his blog and typed in:
Found. The Bruce-Partington plans. Please collect.
A smirk pulled up on his lips as he added.
The Pool. Midnight.
OOOO
By the time her shift was over, Ana was utterly exhausted. She draped her coat over her arm as she yawned, waving to an equally tired looking Liz.
"I'll see you tomorrow, Mr. Rutland. See you tomorrow, Liz," she called out before stepping back into the dining area. Ana's hip rammed into the side of the table she was passing and, as she hissed, she noticed something beginning to tip off of the edge. Letting out a surprised gasp, she lurched forward and caught the laptop that had nearly clattered to the floor, where it surely would have broken.
"Oh, my god, I am so sorry!" she exclaimed, looking up to the person who sat at the table she'd knocked into. She came face-to-face with none other than Jim from IT, who was gazing up at her with wide, thankful eyes and his mouth dropped open. "Jim! I'm… I'm so sorry!"
"Why are you sorry? You literally just saved a month's worth of work! It was my fault for keeping it on the edge of the table," he told her. He took the computer back and tucked it safely into his messenger bag. He blew out a long breath, placing a hand over his heart. "What a scare that was. But I guess there's nothing that keeps you awake more than a jolt of fear, eh? Hey, could I buy you a drink to say thank you? I mean, I've been working on a project that would have been absolutely lost if you hadn't saved my laptop." Ana bit her lip and looked towards the door with a bit of apprehension.
"I should probably be getting home…" she trailed off. As Sherlock had pointed out earlier, they were still in the midst of a countdown. They'd only received four pips thus far. They needed one more. Jim quickly rose to his feet and took hold of her hand as though he was worried she might begin to walk away. In fact… the look on his face seemed to speak the same.
"Please. Just one drink among friends. It won't take more than an hour," Jim promised. She briefly glanced down at the Irishman's hand biting the inside of her cheek for a moment. Something about the look on his face… the feel of his touch… something made her stomach not sit right. But that was absurd. Jim was so charming, so kind, so sweet, he couldn't possibly make her feel so unsettled; it had to be the nerves of what might happen later in the evening. She looked back up to Jim's face to see it had gone a tad blank, a tad distant, but that look disappeared the moment he flashed a bright, toothy smile. "Please." She returned the smile and nodded her consent.
"Of course, Jim, I'd love to," she agreed. Jim laughed happily and let his hand drop away from her wrist, snatching up his things as he nodded towards the bar. As she shrugged off her coat and sat herself down, tucking hair behind her ear, Jim nodded to the bartender.
"Johnny, two pints of your best," he said. The bartender, whom Ana was sure she'd never met before in her years of working at the pub, gave a nod and grabbed two glasses. Ana smiled and gestured briefly at 'Johnny.'
"Do you know him?"
"Yeah, he's new here; used to be an old school mate of mine. Thanks, Johnny." Jim winked at the man with a slight smirk as he placed one of the pint glasses in front of Ana. "There's yours…" He drew one closer to himself. "And here's mine." Jim raised his glass and extended it towards the woman who sat beside him. "Cheers." She returned the smile and knocked the rim of her glass with his.
"Cheers."
OOOO
"So, how are things with you and Molly?" Ana inquired as she and Jim walked away from the Fox. He'd offered to walk her home, insisting that the streets were getting more dangerous at night and he wished to make sure she got back safely. Jim shrugged shyly and looked at the ground, hands shoved into his pockets.
"Well, uh… we're not seeing each other anymore," he admitted. Ana frowned over at him.
"Oh, I'm sorry; I didn't mean to bring up anything sore."
"No, it's alright. We just uh… didn't fit well together," he told her with a smile. Somewhere in the back of her mind Sherlock's previous deduction of him rang faintly in her ears. "But enough about me. How are you? I heard you had a recent break up as well. Some… chap at the Yard?"
"How…? Molly… she found out, didn't she?" Jim chuckled as an eyebrow twitched upward.
"Yeah, something like that."
"Well, um…" Ana's brows suddenly pinched together as her vision blurred for a brief second. She blinked heavily and swayed to the side, stumbling ever so slightly. She stopped walking for a moment and shook her head, trying to clear the daze she had appeared to slip into. "I'm… I'm sorry, I… I'm not normally this much of a lightweight!" she laughed. "Um… just give me a moment…"
"Are you alright?" Jim asked in a bland sounding voice.
"Um… no, no I don't think I am…" Ana admitted, voice beginning to tremble. She leaned forward to brace her hands against her knees, hoping to steady herself. But instead of keeping herself upright, she found herself listing to the side. Then, will a dulled sense of pain, she fell to the side and found herself collapsing against the pavement. Her legs were sprawled out, but she'd caught herself with both hands, the only things that were keeping her upright. "It's… it's not… not the alcohol…"
"Mm, no, I'm afraid not," said Jim's sing-song voice. Head slowly swiveling to the side, Ana looked over to him and found him towering over her with a devilish smirk on his lips. "You know, I'm very surprised the drug took so long to kick in! Perhaps Johnny didn't put enough in… it should have knocked you out at least ten minutes ago. Then again, you do live with Sherlock Holmes, so who knows what he's been slipping into your water!"
"You… you…"
"Oh, shh, don't strain yourself." Jim leaned forward with a large grin overtaking his face and a malicious glint appearing in his eye. The usual charming lilt of his voice suddenly sounded rather sinister. "You'll be out in a minute, don't worry. Everything thing will be… just… peachy…" Ana's arms swung forward loosely to grab at his jacket, but they limply landed against his chest as she slumped backwards, hearing Jim's laughter as her world dissolved into cold darkness.
OOOO
When midnight rolled around, Sherlock sauntered into the pool where it had all begun. He'd left his coat behind, not needing it's added weight or heat in the humidity of the pool. Gazing around the empty room, he listened to the gentle sloshing of the water, playing with his hands behind his back. He observed each darkened corner before drawing out the memory stick, holding it high in the air.
"I brought you a little getting-to-know-you present," Sherlock said. "That's what it's all been for, isn't it? All your little puzzles, making me dance… all to distract me from this." Sherlock turned his back to the pool, leaving the rest of the room behind him unobserved as he looked up to the second landing of the room. The hinges of a door squeaked, making the consulting detective look over his shoulder. Out of the changing rooms came a face that made the satisfied smirk on Sherlock's lips slip right off.
It was John. He was wearing a bulky, military green parka with a blank look on his face and his hands shoved into his pockets.
"Evening," John said simply, evenly. "This is a turn-up, isn't it, Sherlock?"
"John…" Sherlock said quietly, voice uneven. "What the hell––"
"Bet you never saw this coming."
"Or this," chimed in a new, more feminine voice. Ana stepped through the same door John had, looking just as straight faced. She wore a similar coat, but she looked more strained.
"Ana…" Sherlock blinked at them in confusion, his mind unable to grasp at what was going on. It couldn't be… they couldn't be. They were his friends, his flatmates… The hurt, betrayed look on his face made him look like an injured puppy, a denial in his eyes that John and Ana had never seen before. Sherlock moved towards the two, beginning to walk down the length of the pool slowly. John and Ana then grasped onto the fronts of their coats and drew them open, revealing that they both had bombs strapped to their chests, their faces soon matching the quiet despair that Sherlock had been feeling.
"What… would you like me… to make them say next?" Ana questioned as two red dots began to dance over her and John's chests. Snipers. Both wore earpieces and were being fed what to say. Sherlock continued to step forward, glancing up at the darkened balcony, trying to spot who else was there. Ana let out a shuddering breath as she licked her lips.
"Gottle o'geer… gottle o'geer… gottle o'geer," John forced out.
"Help me, Sherlock," Ana ground out in a stiff, quavering voice, the words she was speaking not hers. "Why don't you come… and help me… you handsome… clever boy?"
"Stop it," Sherlock demanded, slowly turning in a circle.
"Nice touch, this. The pool," John voiced.
"Where little carl died," Ana was forced to add on.
"I stopped him…" John winced, eyes falling shut as he heard what he was supposed to say next. "I can stop John Watson and Ana Stuart, too." His voice was steadily becoming more uneven, more emotional.
"Stop their hearts," Ana said, blinking rapidly as her eyes began to sting. Sherlock's head whipped around to glare at the opposite side of the pool.
"Who are you?" he asked, spinning around so his back was to his friends.
A door on the opposite end of the room squeaked. Then a voice spoke.
"I gave you my number. I thought you might call…" The voice was lilting, sing-song. But there was something dark about his tone, something sinister. Jim stepped into view, now with immaculately combed hair, a perfectly pressed suit, and a near murderous look on his face. No longer was this the man they'd all encountered before that evening. That man, strolling casually along the poolside with his hands in his trouser pockets… that man was the true Jim. "Is that a British Army Browning L9A1 in your pocket, or are you just pleased to see me?" he asked Sherlock.
Sherlock, who had turned his body square to the poolside, slipped his hand into his pocket and drew out the aforementioned gun. His face was carefully blank as he aimed it at the man across the room.
"Both," Sherlock replied.
"Jim Moriarty," he introduced, stopping the length of the pool away. "Hi!" Ana winced at how playful he sounded, but Sherlock merely tilted his head to the side. "Jim? Jim from the hospital?" He spoke as though he were saying lines that the consulting detective was supposed to say, continuing to casually walk towards the other occupants of the pool. Sherlock raised his second hand to steady the one aiming the gun, ready to take a shot if need be. "Oh, did I really make such a fleeting impression? But then, I suppose, that was rather the point." Jim smiled, his façade of disappointment gone. As the sniper's laser briefly moved higher up on Ana and John's chests, Sherlock risked a questioning glance towards them. "Oh, don't be silly. Someone else is holding the rifle. I don't like getting my hands dirty. 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," he smiled at Sherlock almost as though a connection had been made, "like you!"
"Dear Jim… please will you fix it for me to get rid of my lover's nasty sister?" Sherlock began to narrate, making Jim smile and then glance down at his shoes with a sinister sort of coyness. "Dear Jim, please will you fix it for me to disappear to South America?"
"Just so!" he replied with a deep voice.
"A consulting criminal. Brilliant," Sherlock admitted with a dangerous sense of appreciation that made both John and Ana swallow thickly.
"Isn't it?" Moriarty asked with a happy smile and a pleased tone of voice. "No one ever gets to be me." The smile fell slowly. "And no one ever will." Sherlock's thumb quickly swiped to the side, flicking the safety off his gun.
"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." Shrugging his shoulders, Moriarty smiled boyishly.
"Yeah, okay, I did," he admitted easily. "But the flirting's over, Sherlock!" His voice became sing-song-y as he began to walk again. "Daddy's had enough now!" He shook his head and let his voice return to normal. "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. So take this as a friendly warning… my dear." His face became dangerously blank. "Back off. Although, I have loved this, this little game of ours, playing Jim from IT, playing gay. Did you like the little touch with the underwear?"
"People have died," Sherlock said in response, not gracing him with an answer to his question. Moriarty was now a few feet behind Ana and John, who were finding it increasingly harder to stay still, to not turn around and lunge at the man who had been screwing with them for so long… had dragged them to this place to play puppet, to sing in their ears, and to threaten them and their closest friend with death.
"That's what people DO!" Moriarty had shouted the last word violently, the smile that had been on his face gone in an instant, his personality switching in the turn of a moment. His voice echoed across the pool, and Ana startled slightly, eyes squeezing shut. She wasn't used to this… not like John was, not like Sherlock was…
"I will stop you," Sherlock responded calmly, unmoving. Eyes glittering dangerously, Moriarty shook his head.
"No you won't."
Done with the man in the suit for the moment, Sherlock turned to look at both of his friends, who were beginning to look slightly woozy.
"Are you both alright?" he asked. Neither replied, knowing better than to speak out of turn with their captor in the room. With a peculiar look on his face, Moriarty stepped forward and stopped at John's left shoulder, leaning in.
"You can talk, Johnny Boy. Go ahead," he said with a playful voice. John gave a nod.
"Ana?" Sherlock's eyes were trained intently on her, having earlier noticed a tear or two in her stockings and some scrapes on her hands. Moriarty then did a tiny little leap, landing over by Ana's shoulder.
"You can talk too, dear Anabelle. Go ahead and tell him what a fun time we had at the pub. Or those nice little conversations we had a few days ago, when we played friends! Go on, I'm sure he'd love to hear it." Ana ground her teeth together and said nothing, anger gleaming in her eyes. Locking gazes with Sherlock, she inhaled deeply and tried to ignore the smiling man behind her. She nodded to her friend.
"Take it," Sherlock said, holding out the memory stick once he knew they were both alright.
"Huh? Oh, that!" Moriarty strode forward, eyeing the memory stick with a glint in his eyes. "The missile plans…" He took it from Sherlock's hand with a grin, making eye contact with him as he kissed the end of it, aware that the muzzle of the consulting detective's gun was still leveled at his head. "Boring!" he suddenly sang. John and Ana exchanged a look, their heads moving only a fraction of an inch. There was a plan in John's eyes. A dangerous plan. With a nod, Ana confirmed it, the whole of their exchange brief and barely noticeable. "I could have got them anywhere!" With a flick of his hand, and playful look on his face, he flung the memory stick into the chlorine filled pool water. John ran forward and flung his arms around Moriarty, one going around his neck, the other around his stomach.
"Sherlock, run!" John shouted as Moriarty grinned. "Take Ana and run."
"No, Sherlock, just go," Ana said, knowing that if she took one step forward, they were all dead.
"Oh-ho-ho!" Moriarty laughed. "Good! Veeery good!"
"If your sniper pulls that trigger, Mr. Moriarty, then we both go up," John hissed as the sniper's red dot danced across the right half of Moriarty's body. With a chuckle, the consulting criminal flung out his arm and grabbed onto Ana's hand, dragging her forward and holding her to his own chest.
"No, Dr. Watson. The three of us go up." Ana forced her chin up and stared into the darkness above them, breathing in deeply. She then looked down at Sherlock with a silent plea for him to run. "Aw, she isn't even fighting! Aren't they sweet? I can see why you like having them around. But then people do get so sentimental about their pets. John tugged him sharply to the side in hopes of getting him to shut up. But Moriarty merely turned his head to glare at the doctor, grasping onto Ana's arms all the more tightly. "And so touchingly loyal, but… oops!" He jostled about, voice ringing out sharply, seemingly undeterred about being in the middle of what was essentially a bomb sandwich. "You've rather shown your hand there, Dr. Watson…" Grinning, Moriarty turned his head so it rested against Ana's, his lips hovering by her ear. "And so have you, Miss Stuart."
A red dot appeared on Sherlock's forehead, quivering about threateningly.
"Gotcha!" Moriarty sang, releasing Ana's arms when John backed away, hands up. Pushing Ana to the side as though she were a small child, the Irishman snorted and shook his head, brushing off his suit. "Westwood," he said to Sherlock, as though he'd understand the trouble of a wrinkled suit. "Do you know what happens if you don't leave me alone, Sherlock, to you?"
"Oh, let me guess. I get killed," Sherlock guessed with a basé tone of voice.
"Kill you?" Moriarty asked as though it were a ludicrous idea. He winced, scrunching up his face and baring his teeth. "Mm. No, don't be 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…" he shook his head, "I'll burn you." His face began to become animalistic as he continued. "I will burn… the heart out of you." Then he pulled a nearly innocent, wide-eyed expression, offering a slight shrug.
"I have been reliably informed that I don't have one," Sherlock said monotonously.
"But we both know that's not quite true," he replied with a knowing smile. "So does John." His smile grew as his head tilted to the side and his sinister eyes slipped over to Ana, was was leaning up against the edge of one of the changing booths, breathing heavily as the red dot continued to roam about her chest. "So does our dear… sweet… Ana." Sherlock felt his brows begin to pull together in confusion, but then Moriarty shrugged it all off. "Well, I'd better be off." He glanced around as though he might have been standing in the Tube station, looking casually for someone he knew. "So nice to have had a proper chat." Sherlock shrugged his shoulders slightly, repositioning his aim just slightly.
"What if I was to shoot you now? Right now?" he asked curiously.
"Then you could cherish the look of surprise on my face." Moriarty widened his eyes and dropped his mouth open in a little 'o,' putting on the most falsely surprised face he could. The look turned into a grin. "Because 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. Ciao, Sherlock Holmes…"
Slowly making his way towards the changing room door that John and Ana had exited through, Sherlock followed him, gun constantly trained on his head.
"Catch… you… later…" Sherlock said in means of farewell.
"No you won't!" Moriarty sang in a high-pitch as he disappeared through the door. Once it clicked shut and they were sure he wasn't coming back in, Sherlock dropped the gun as fast as he could. Sherlock dropped to his knees and began to undo the the vest that John wore, the one that the bomb was strapped to. John's head fell back as he finally let himself breath, feeling all of the adrenaline drain away, leaving him numb fingered and light headed.
"All right?" Sherlock asked as he made quick work. "Are you alright?"
"Yeah, yeah, I'm fine…" John said tiredly as Sherlock rose to his feet and helped pull off John's coat. It was promptly tossed to the pool deck before Sherlock bound over to Ana, who was staring blankly into nothing, breathing erratically as she tried to keep herself calm. Sherlock fell back to his knees and began working on the coat the same way he'd just done with John, who staggered forward as he realized what had just happened.
"Jesus…" He fell forwards into a crouch, turning so his back was pressed up against one of the changing cubicles. "Oh, christ…"
"Ana? Ana, are you alright?" Sherlock asked urgently, pulling at zippers and buttons, resisting the urge to just tear it off of her completely.
"I think I… I think I might be going into shock…" she admitted in hushed, woozy voice, feeling very nearly like she might faint. She moved her hands to try and help undo the vest and coat, but he roughly brushed them aside, feeling panic rise up in his throat, the need to get both her and John safe at the forefront of his mind. Once he was able to carefully remove the coat, he did so, tossing it down beside John's. Immediately turning back to her, Sherlock clasped her face between his hands, forcing her to make eye contact with him.
"You're alright, Ana. You're perfectly safe, now." She met his eyes and nodded, feeling her legs start to give out. She grabbed onto Sherlock's arms as she began to collapse, feeling him grasp onto her shoulders as he helped her sit. Then, using more tenderness than he had with the coat, Sherlock reached up, tucked hair behind her ear, and removed the ear piece, dropping it on the floor. His facial expression was softened. "You're alright." Shaking her head to clear the fogginess that she felt, Ana blinked heavily and then nodded.
"I'm alright…" she repeated gently. Then Sherlock disappeared from her line of sight as he went to quickly duck his head into the changing rooms, gun back in his hand. John, who was crouched beside her, his legs just as unsteady and woozy as hers, reached out and took her by the hand, squeezing her fingers. They met gazes, both still breathing hard as reality continued to settle over them. Both just nodded at each other silently, glad to be completely, and wholly alive.
Sherlock began to pace slightly along the edge of the pool, scratching at the back of his head with his loaded gun. Ana shook her head and rolled her eyes as John asked,
"Are you alright?"
"Me? Yeah, fine, fine, fine…" Sherlock said rapidly, eyes wide, still breathing raggedly. Ana gave him a gentle look.
"Are you really?" she asked. He nodded again before pacing back towards them, gesturing at them both with the gun.
"That uh… thing that you… that you both… did, that you offered to, um… do," he cleared his throat and calmed his breathing, "That was, um… good."
"I'm glad no one saw that," John suddenly said as Sherlock patted the gun against his own thigh.
"Hm?"
"You ripping my clothes and Ana's clothes off in a darkened swimming pool," John elaborated. "People might talk."
"People do little else," Sherlock said simply. Ana was the first to laugh as he grinned, placing a hand over her face to smother the terribly girlish giggles that passed between her lips. John snorted his own laughter and looped his arm behind her back, the two beginning to help each other stand… but their moment of relief was wiped away when suddenly two red dots reappeared on John and Ana's chests.
"Sorry, boys, and my lovely lady! I'm sooooooo changeable!" Moriarty said cheerfully as he pushed through a different door. Numerous sets of red dots wobbled about on all three of their chests as the Irishman spread his arms happily. "It is a weakness with me, but to be fair to myself… it is my only weakness! You can't be allowed to continue."
Sherlock's back was to Moriarty as he stared into nothing as he formed a plan. He knew what he could do, one of their only options what with the number of snipers that were planted around the upper balcony. The world would be rid of Jim Moriarty… but it would also be rid of Sherlock Holmes, John Watson, and Ana Stuart. Turning his head, he looked at his two friends, who returned his gaze intently. In that look, they all understood. The all agreed.
"You just can't," Moriarty continued. "I would try to convince you." He laughed. "Everything I have to say has already crossed your mind!" John and Ana gave a nod.
"Probably my answer has crossed yours," Sherlock replied evenly as he turned and then aimed the gun directly at Moriarty… then switched the sights so it was aimed at the bomb vests that lay at his feet. Everyone watched the vests. For the first time that evening, Moriarty looked as though he was… anxious. Nervous. He locked eyes with Sherlock and then smiled, a dare plain on his face.
Then, in the tense moment, a song began to play. John, Ana, and Sherlock glanced around, utterly confused by what was happening. It was a ringtone. It wasn't John's or Ana's… it certainly wasn't Sherlock's. Moriarty shut his eyes and made a face as the song got to the chorus.
Ahh! Ahh! Ahh! Ahh! Stayin' alive! Stayin' alive!
Sighing in exasperation, Moriarty casually asked,
"D'you mind if I get that?"
"Oh, go ahead, please," Sherlock said nonchalantly. "You've got the rest of your life." Moriarty drew out his phone looking like a put out child and answered, raising it to his ear.
"Hello? Yes, of course it is. What do you want?" He looked over at Sherlock and mouthed 'sorry' and made a face, to which, Sherlock sarcastically mouthed 'oh, it's fine!' Moriarty listened to whoever was on the phone and then rolled his eyes, face becoming less and less pleased by the second. "SAY THAT AGAIN!" Moriarty demanded vehemently of the person on the phone, voice echoing through the pool. It resounded so much, so loudly it barely seemed human. "Say that again and know that if you're lying to me I will find you, and I will sssskin you." He lifted a hand and moved it through the air as though drawing a thin line with his thumb and pointer finger. Sherlock looked down at Ana and John, who looked quietly disturbed at how sadistic the man was. "Wait." Moriarty lowered the phone and then stepped forward, causing Sherlock to readjust the grip on the gun, prepared to fire if he had to. The Irishman looked down at the vests before looking back up and saying, "Sorry. Wrong day to die."
"Oh, did you get a better offer?" Sherlock asked as though they were having a conversation over tea. Moriarty looked down at his phone before locking eyes with him one last time.
"You'll be hearing from me, Sherlock." He raised the phone up to his ear and continued to speak. "So if you have what you say you have, I will make you rich! If you don't I'll make you into shoes." Pausing in front of the doors, Moriarty raised a hand and snapped, causing the sniper's dots to disappear. And with that, he was gone. Sherlock finally lowered the gun once doors stopped clicking shut.
"What happened there?" John sighed out.
"Someone changed his mind. The question is… who?" Sherlock questioned softly. They all stayed in silence for a moment longer before John sighed and forced himself to stand.
"I suppose that'll be on our new list of cases?" he asked breathily. Sherlock hummed distractedly. Brushing hair out of her face with shaky fingers, Ana let out an unsteady breath.
"I.. I don't think I can walk," she admitted, voice cutting through the silence. She felt both men turn their gazes towards her as she tried to push herself up, only finding that her legs were shaking just as much as her hands. "No… no, I can't walk." Sherlock clicked the safety on his gun back on and handed it to John, just in case things went south again. Kneeling in front of her, Sherlock looked her dead in the eye with a serious expression.
"I know you said you can't walk, can you stand?" She shook her head adamantly.
"No, probably not. And it's a bit cold in here isn't it? Or is that just me…" she murmured, shivering slightly. Sherlock shrugged off his suit jacket and helped her put it on, hoping that its warmth would help.
"Sherlock, I think she's going into shock," John said gently. The second man nodded in agreement, smoothing his hands down Ana's arms.
"Ana, I want you to put your arms around my neck," he instructed. Without questioning what he asked her to do, Ana wound her arms around his neck and let him slip one arm behind her back and the other beneath her knees. Lifting her up, Sherlock turned towards the door with a stoic look on his face.
"John, when we get outside, call an ambulance. It's likely she's been drugged as well," Sherlock said as Ana rested her woozy head on his shoulder. Looking up at the dark haired man, she craned her head upwards to press a kiss to his cheek, just narrowly missing the corner of his mouth.
"Thank you…" she whispered before dropping her head again. As they made their way out of the building no one noticed the slight pink tinge Sherlock had to his cheeks. However, John did notice the soft, caring way his flatmate was looking after Ana, holding her to his chest protectively as the ambulance sped around the corner.
Afterword: And there we have it. I'm starting to favor longer chapters for this story; I get places faster and then this story won't be a thousand chapters long :) Up next is the Sandal in Belgravia, but I might but in an important filler chapter in between.
Analock will be picking very quickly now… I've got some surprises coming up ;)
Review replies!
SkylarWinchester: Moriarty did have plans for her. He still does… I hope that you enjoyed the chapter! Thanks again!
Gwilwillith: Hope you enjoyed the chapter! Thanks again!
Hermione02: I hope the chapter was great since the update was irregular :) Thanks again! Hope you enjoyed!
Guest: I thought ending the last chapter on a funny note would be good! I hope you enjoyed the chapter! Thanks again!
Guest: Sorry the chapter wasn't up wicked soon, but here it is! Hope you enjoyed and thanks again!
iPage: I have no plans on abandoning the story, no matter how long it takes to finish. Still got six more episodes! *laughs nervously* Hope I don't screw any of it up. Thank you so much for reading this far and I hope you keep on reading!
Beatlefan110: I'm glad I've been keeping the canon characters in, well… in character! And it makes me really happy that Sherlock is apparently brilliantly written! Thanks again!
xxyangxx2006: I'm glad that you enjoy Ana and her struggle to keep her life blanaced, because I feel like that would happen. It certainly does with John. I also really wanted Ana and Sherlock's relationship at what would be a natural pace for the man that Sherlock is. I'm super glad that you've been enjoying it! Thanks again!
Name to long: If I'd gotten to updating before Nov. 4, I would have given you one, and I will now, like I did on my DW chap. Happy belated birthday! And as for the case you suggested, that sound's interesting, I'll have to consider it. Thanks again!
IsabelleWoodsRP: The number of the pleases you wrote astounds me! I hope that this super long chapter made up for the late update! I hope you enjoyed! Thanks again!
And thank you to those who have added this to favorites/follows; it means a lot!
I can't wait to start writing into Season 2 because I have a, like 30 something page document FILLED with ideas for it. Lots shall happen and I think it'll make all of y'all happy! Thanks again, can't wait to see you next time!
~Mary