Chapter Forty Five

"You did a very good job, Sherlock," the voice taunted him. "You're definitely the closest anyone has ever gotten to me."

Sherlock stayed in his stance, with a gun pointed at Moriarty in a steady hand.

Moriarty stood there, unabashed. Unworried. Just with that gleeful little smile on his face and his hands in his pockets.

"But you're not good enough, Sherlock. When it comes down to it, you just can't beat me!" He sung the last four words.

"Well, if you're so clever, tell me why I'm not." Sherlock spoke calmly, despite the increasing worry in his gut.

"Oh, I never said you weren't clever; just that you weren't clever enough." Moriarty smirked. "You have a tiny, little flaw with your observations. It's what led you into this trap!"

"Really?" Sherlock asked, passing the time, as his eyes darting back and forth between him and John. The sniper was still on them. "Do tell." How was he going to get out of this?...

"Alright. Are you ready?" Moriarty smiled, and rocked back on his heels. "You don't notice…what's not there."

He laughed when he saw Sherlock and John's confused expressions. "It was nice working with you, Sherlock Holmes, John Watson. Unfortunately, our business here is done."

He looked up, directly behind him. The places the sniper targets were coming from.

Moriarty gave a quick nod, and said, "Goodbye."

Before Sherlock could pull the trigger, a series of bullets left the rounds of the sniper rifles.

When the shooting ended, Sherlock and John were standing the exact same way as before, blood spreading from their shirts. And then they both collapsed onto the floor.

Moriarty sighed as he looked at them. "Pity," he said. "And here I thought that I'd finally found a challenge." He turned and left, not a scratch or mar on him; his body or his suit.

As he walked down the hall, he turned on his cell phone.

"Yes, I would like to report a murder," he paused as he listened on the other end. "A yes, I would like to report the deaths of detectives Sherlock Holmes and John Watson at the hands of Moriarty. Moriarty would also like to add a personal message. He says that if it's not aired publicly on national television, ten people every hour would receive the same fate as Sherlock Holmes and John Watson."

His footsteps echoed down the hall as he left the pool.

"Moriarty's stage is completed. Blackthorn is now at 61%."

He hung up the phone, cleaned it of his fingerprints, and dropped it to the floor.

He crushed it under his foot as he left the building.