Sherlock opened the door to the swimming pool carefully – he did not know what waited behind them. He was met with a wave of chlorine-scented humidity, and he shrugged his coat off, throwing it to the side. He looked around, moving towards the other side of the pool, very aware that it was only slightly lit – the observation gallery was pitch black.
He held up the memory stick. 'Brought you a little getting-to-know-you-present. That's what it's all been for, isn't it? All these puzzles, making me dance – just to distract me from this.' he gestures to the stick, turning around in a circle, waiting for a response. He had turned half way when he heard a door open, and his face fell in horror as he surveyed John Watson walking from one of the side rooms, wrapped in a beige jacket.
'Evening.' John said, his voice a monotone. 'This is a turn-up, isn't it, Sherlock?'
'John.' Sherlock muttered, his voice soft. He was reeling. 'what the hell...?'
'Bet you never saw this coming.'
All the worst-case scenarios went through Sherlock's head as he began slowly to walk towards his friend – or who he thought was his friend. All the while, his face showed a look of utter despair. John's face matched his pain as he moved his arm to show Sherlock the bombs strapped to his coat, and the red beam of a rifle pointed at it from the gallery above them.
'What,' John began, his voice the same monotone as before, 'would you like me to make him say next?' Sherlock was still moving towards him, and he tried desperately not to match his gaze as he surveyed the room for anyone else. 'Gottle o' geer, gottle o' geer, gottle o' geer.' he continued, his voice breaking.
'Stop it.' Sherlock growled.
'Nice touch, this – the pool where little Carl died.' John said, narrating from an earpiece Sherlock spied. 'I stopped him, and I can stop John Watson too.' he relayed, wincing. 'Stop his heart.'
'Who are you?' Sherlock said, looking around the room again. A door opened, away from him, and Sherlock froze.
'I gave you my number,' a soft voice echoed around the pool. 'I thought you might call.' He had an Irish accent, and instantly Sherlock recognised it as Molly's boyfriend – by just the sound of his voice. However, when he turned around, it wasn't quite the shy, gay man they had met in Bart's lab, but a man in a Westwood suit, neat, slicked hair, and a deadly smile playing on his lips. His voice was more confident, and as he began to strut casually along the side of the pool labelled 'deep end', he spoke again.
'Is that a British Army Browning L9A1 in your pocket,' he said, and Sherlock retrieved the gun from trousers, 'or are you just pleased to see me?'
Sherlock pointed the pistol at the man. 'Both.'
'Jim Moriarty. Hi.' he said, and a slight smirk lit up his face as he looked at the gun pointing at him, completely unafraid. When Sherlock didn't say anything, he continued. 'Jim? Jim from the hospital?' he carried on walking, as Sherlock carried on ignoring. 'Oh. Did I really make such a fleeting impression? Ah, shame. But then, I suppose, that was the point...'
Sherlock frowned in confusion as the red beam flickered over John's chest again.
'Don't be silly. Someone else is holding the rifle. I don't like getting my hands dirty.' he stops walking. 'I've given you a glimpse, Sherlock – just a teeny glimpse of what I've got going on out there in the big bad world. I'm a specialist, you see... like you.'
Sherlock did not hesitate. '"Dear Jim. Please will you fix it for me to get rid of my lover's nasty sister?"' John frowned, wondering why Sherlock was quoting "Jim'll Fix It" badly. Jim, however, grinned, clearly getting the reference. '"Dear Jim. Please will you fix it for me to disappear to South America?"'
'Just so.' Jim said, still smiling.
'Consulting criminal. Brilliant.'
'Isn't it? No one ever gets to me, and no one ever will.'
Sherlock cocked his gun, clearly getting ready to shoot. '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.'
Jim shrugged, his voice smiling but his face staying put. 'Yeah, okay – I did. But the flirting's over, Sherlock.' he raised his voice a few pitches. 'Daddy's had enough now!' It was then Sherlock noticed that his new enemy's eyes were a deep, dead black. Lifeless. Always.
John flinched as Jim started walking closer. '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.' Sherlock's gaze flickered to John and back to Jim again in an instant.
'So this is a friendly warning, my dear. Back off.' his voice was dangerous. He smiled again, eyes glinting maliciously. 'Although, I have loved this. This little game of ours. Playing Jim from I.T-' he said, with a British accent, before switching back - '-playing gay. Did you like the little touch with the underwear?'
'People have died.' Sherlock growled.
'That's what people do!' he screamed the last word, and John flinched again.
'I will stop you.'
'No you won't.' he smirked.
Sherlock looked at John. 'You all right?'
John didn't answer. Jim walked up to his side, and he closed his eyes. 'You can talk, Johnny boy. Go ahead.' he still didn't answer, just nodded.
Sherlock, seemingly remembering why he was here, took out the missile plans from his pocket. 'Take it.'
'Huh? Oh, that!' Jim said, grinning. He reached out his hand and took it, bringing it to his lips and kissing it. John began murmuring to himself, and although Sherlock couldn't hear it, he could only imagine he was angry.
'Boring! I could have got them anywhere.' he throws it into the pool. John took this opportunity to run forward, putting his arms around Jim aggressively.
'Sherlock! Run!'
Jim laughed, and Sherlock stared, startled. He managed to keep his gun aimed at Jim's head.
'Good! Very good.'
'If your sniper pulls that trigger, Mr. Moriarty – then we both go up.' John growled.
'Isn't he sweet?' Jim smiled at Sherlock, who just looked confused at this point, as he was trying to wrap his head around his situation. He mind had flayed from Florence altogether, but now he remembered her, and wondered where the hell she was. 'I can see why you like having him around. But then people do get so attached to their pets. They're so touchingly loyal. But... oops.' Jim grinned as another laser beam pointed at Sherlock's head. John's face fell in horror. It only took Sherlock a second to realise what had happened. 'Gotcha.'
John stepped back, raising his hands in a surrender, showing the sniper he wasn't going to try anything. Jim tried to straighten his suit. 'Westwood.' he muttered, as if Sherlock didn't already know. 'D'you know what happens if you don't leave me alone, Sherlock? To you?'
'Oh, let me guess – I get killed.' Sherlock said, rolling his eyes.
'Kill you? Don't be obvious. I mean, I'm going to kill you anyway. Some day. I don't want to rush it, though – I'm saving up for something special. No, no, no, no, no... if you don't stop prying, I'll burn you. I'll burn the heart out of you.'
Sherlock's face was stone. 'I've been reliably informed that I don't have one.'
'But we both know that's not quite true.' Jim smiled softly, and Sherlock knew he was talking about Florence. He blinked. 'Well,' Jim said, 'I'd better be off. So nice to have had a proper chat.'
'What if I was to shoot you now – right now?' Sherlock said, a hint of danger in his voice.
'Then you could cherish the look of surprise on my face,' - he mimicked a look of surprise, then grinned again. '-because I would be surprised, Sherlock. I really would. And just a teensy bit disappointed. And of course you wouldn't be able to cherish it for very long.'
Sherlock watched, his gun still aimed, as he began to walk away. 'Ciao, Sherlock Holmes.'
'Catch... you... later.' he said slowly.
'No you won't!' came the sing-song reply, and, being absolutely certain he was gone, Sherlock rushed over to John's side, kneeling in front of him to unfasten the bombs around the vest, on which the bombs were stuck.
'All right?' John didn't answer – instead, he was breathing hard, his head tilted back. 'Are you alright?' Sherlock growled, still fumbling with the straps. He was panicking, and it was not doing well with his hand-eye coordination.
'Yeah, I'm fine.' Sherlock ignored him. He had unfastened the vest, and was moving around John, trying to pull it off him. 'Sherlock.' Finally, he managed to pull the whole jacket off, and he threw it to the side. 'Jesus.' he was clearly going into shock, and Sherlock stared at him for a moment before running out of the door through which their new friend had left. 'Christ.'
'Are you okay?' John said, as he could see his friend panicking. He was pacing, and scratching his head with the Other End of a loaded pistol.
'Me? Yeah, I'm fine. I'm fine. Fine.' he turned to John, lowering the arm with the gun, seemingly noticing that one wrong move and he'd have his brain splattered over the walls. That'd make for a nice treat for the children in the morning, running in for their Saturday swimming lessons. 'That, er, thing you did – that you offered to do – that was... good.'
'I'm glad no one saw that.'
'Hmm?'
'You, ripping my clothes off in a darkened swimming pool. People might talk.'
Sherlock shrugged, a smile quirking on his lips. 'People do little else.' John snorted, but it was cut off abruptly by a blood-curdling scream echoing around the building. John's gaze flickered to Sherlock, eyes widening in horror. Florence.
The red laser beam found its' way back over to John's chest. 'Oh.'
'Sorry, boys.' Jim said, his voice dancing. 'I'm soooooo changeable!'
He stalked into the room, Sherlock's back to him – and he could hear the shuffling of someone being dragged behind him. His heart dropped to his feet. 'It is a weakness with me but, to be fair, it is my only weakness.' he heard the shuffling body slump to the floor.
Sherlock turned to see Jim with his hands in his pockets, and Florence's lifeless, bloody, limp body laying beside him. She was tied at the wrists and feet, but her mouth was not gagged. Her blood-stained hair was slowly getting bloodier. Sherlock's fists clenched at his sides.
'You can't be allowed to continue. You just can't. I would try to convince you but...' he laughed, and raised the pitch of his voice. 'everything I have to say has already crossed your mind!'
Sherlock looked away from Florence's body. 'And my answer has probably crossed yours.'
'Has it? That wasn't predicted. Neither, though, I suppose...' he gestured to Florence with his hand. 'had this. She's alive, by the way. Only just. She needs real medical attention. More, though, after I do this...' he used his foot to push her roughly into the deep end of the water.
It took every muscle in Sherlock's body not to scream, or to rush to help as she began to sink, turning the water around her a bright crimson.
'Hm. Expected a bigger reaction, to be honest. Thought you cared more about your friends. Or is it all just...' he quirked his eyebrow. 'one sided? Wouldn't she be heartbroken to-'
It was then he noticed the lack of lasers on each of their bodies, and looked up just in time to see the face of Arthur Jackson leaning over the gallery wall. His face was horrified as he watched his best friend sink.
Sherlock, seeing that there was no one to stop him, dove into the water, as Jim began to laugh. He couldn't see her, just felt the heat radiating from her body as he plunged deeper. When he found her, he was gentle – he didn't know what hurt, or what was broken. He placed his hands under her arms, and began to kick towards the surface. When he reached it, James was already there, taking over and hoisting her onto the poolside, where she dripped and bled.
Michael had Jim held at gunpoint, but Jim's eyes were trained on Sherlock as he pulled himself from the water. Arthur burst into the room, rushing over to Florence, dropping to his knees beside her. He quickly and expertly placed her into the recovery position, and stood, beckoning for Michael to place his gun down.
'He probably has people manning the building. We couldn't have taken them all down.'
'Would you look at this! Little Florence has an army.' Jim said, laughing.
'What are you doing here?' Sherlock growled, sounding annoyed, but secretly he was pleased. Florence would be dead by now if they didn't show up.
'Did you think we wouldn't watch her leave? She got into a cab without you. So we followed her.' Arthur snarled, obviously holding back: 'because you didn't.'
Sherlock nodded slightly at him before pulling his now soaking wet gun from his pocket, and pointing it not at Jim, but at the coat loaded with explosives. Jim's face remained steady, but his eyes suddenly grew anxious. He looked around the room, and counted four guns in total – Arthur's, James', Michael's and Sherlock's – threatening his life. He smiled again.
Quite suddenly and without warning, the intro to "Stayin' Alive" by the Bee Gees' began to play. Jim sighed in frustration.
'Do you mind if I get that?' he asked Sherlock, ignoring the rest of them altogether.
'No, no, please – you've got the rest of your life.' Sherlock said bitterly.
'Hello? Yes, of course it is. What do you want?' Jim said into the phone. He mouthed sorry at Sherlock, who replied with a sarcastic oh, fine. Jim rolled his eyes as he listened, turning away from Sherlock slightly. Then he spun back around, his face utterly furious.
'Say that again.' he screamed, making John flinch. In the silence that followed, they heard Florence splutter, and with a quick nod from Arthur, James fell down to help her. 'Say that again, and know that if you're lying to me, I will find you and I will skin you.' he drew out the 's' of skin, hissing like a snake. 'Wait.'
He lowered the phone, and walked towards them all, eyeing Florence hungrily. He stopped at the loaded jacket, before tearing his gaze from the girl to Sherlock. 'Sorry, wrong day to die.' he sang, his voice echoing around the desolate pool. He began to turn away, being sure to step on Florence's ankle as he did so. She let out a scream worse than before, and Sherlock's grip tightened on the gun.
'Oh. Did you get a better offer?' Jim didn't answer, just strode towards the door.
'You'll be hearing from me, Sherlock.' he said, and he raised the phone back to his ear. 'So if you have what you say you have, I'll make you rich. If you don't, I'll make you into shoes.'
They all waited until he was gone before John skidded on his knees over to Florence, who had fallen unconscious again. James moved to stop him, but Arthur put a hand out again. 'He's a doctor, James. Let him.'
'What was that about?' John said, grimacing as he surveyed the damage done on the girl before him.
'Someone changed his mind. The question is: who?'
'It doesn't matter who. We're all alive. We need to get out of here right fucking now.' Arthur growled, and he stooped to pick the explosive jacket from the floor.
'Right. What about Florence?' John asked, before realising how stupid that question sounded.
'The hospital, you idiot.'
I both loved and hated writing this. I can now quote the entire pool scene, thank you very much - what a party trick!
