Disclaimer: I'm still not owning anything.
They've just solved the case (well, Sherlock has) and he's running away God knows where, hopefully not to have a cigarette – and John should really stop thinking in sexual encounters tropes regarding cases in general and this insane case/game in particular, but the sleuth makes it quite hard sometimes. What would Donovan say if she knew John too gets off on his flatmate's brilliance and adrenaline – just a tiny bit – (decidedly not good, John)? Yes, he hates when children are in danger, but the resolution of all that tension – just great. He scolds the detective all the time, but it's a pot calling the kettle black situation (not entirely, because Sherlock is really worse than him in that regard).
But he's high on a happy resolution, and wondering where Sherlock is disappearing to, and the text he receives is annoying in the extreme. Mycroft Holmes – a very impatient Mycroft Holmes – demands results, preferably yesterday. Now, if Sherlock were on the case – he'd understand it. It seems that even the most complex questions take him half a day at most. But John – whatever do the Holmes brothers want from John? He's tried, of course. He's tried his best. But he has not the brain of either of them. Is he meant to beg for Sherlock's help when the sleuth trusts his 'esteemed colleague'? (He probably will, to be honest, but not now – not yet, at least.)
Mycroft really has the worst timing, bringing John brusquely down from the high of a just solved case. It's a mood-killer, and now he understands why Sherlock finds his brother so very annoying. He's the type to remember you of homework still to do when you and your friends have just won a game (Sherlock might not have had friends when John entered the picture, by general consensus, but certainly that didn't mean he'd never had any before him, right? It'd be too sad otherwise).
However annoying he might be, though, he certainly has a point. These missile plans aren't going to retrieve themselves, and there's the murder to solve. People to bring to justice. John can't help but hope that the victim wasn't selling the plans, after all. He'd love to be able to tell to the distraught fiancée (hopefully not really soulmate) that she was right, and the man was as good a character as she'd always known him to be.
He follows Sherlock, decided to tell him that he's got things to do.
"Oh perfect, John, you're here. We're going home. I'd say we deserve a cup of tea, don't you?" the sleuth says, grinning at him.
"We certainly do, but you'll have to make your own tea, Sherlock," the doctor warns. It takes all his fortitude not to laugh at the detective's answering pout. Sometimes, his flatmate looks no older than five at most – probably younger than the hostage kid is.
"Why would I? I solved the case. Surely you can do me a tiny favour. I don't know why, but your tea-making skills are unparalleled," the detective admits, giving him his best puppy look.
"Woah, thanks for that, but flattery will get you nowhere today, sorry. Since I am your esteemed colleague, and you already solved your own case, I thought I really should start working on the one you assigned me. Well, Mycroft thought so, but it's better to not antagonize him. We're working – sorry, I'm working, you don't want anything to do with your brother's boring case, right? – for Queen and country and all that after all – wouldn't want the missile plans to end up in the wrong hands. Well, they most probably already are, but if they can be recuperated, maybe I'll manage to salvage things. At least a bit," John says, and it's a wonder Sherlock doesn't interrupt him.
"Oh fine," the sleuth replies instead. "I guess that I'll follow Lestrade then. I mean, the gallery owner must know something about Moriarty. I was thinking of relaxing and awaiting the inspector's report, but you're right, we should rather work. Anyways, Graham is likely to botch the interrogation it if we leave him alone. And since this case seems rather time-sensitive, it's better to have the information right away. If you would rather follow your own case, feel free. But as my blogger, I'd love if you followed the Moriarty case closely too. I expect that you'll want to make an account of it at the end."
"You hate my blog," John points out, surprised.
"It gave inspiration to Moriarty, though, at least for the pink phone. If it brings such delightfully creative criminals about, I suppose I can't complain too much about it," Sherlock remarks, shrugging.
Not exactly what John wanted to be reminded of – having a psychopathic bomber as his reader – but it's true that he wants to keep an eye on Sherlock until this case is closed, so… "I'll accompany you at Scotland Yard," he caves in. "I'll really need to work on my case afterwards, though."
"Far be from me the thought of hindering a fellow detective," Sherlock says, grinning. John shakes his head, mock exasperated.
Sadly they get nothing from the woman but confirmation that Moriarty is indeed behind this and that he's fairly unreachable by normal clients. The man surely knows how to protect himself.
"So I'm going," the doctor says when Sherlock is done with her, "do you want to…?"
"Your case, John," Sherlock reminds him. "I'm certainly not going to work for Mycroft." The detective makes a face at the prospect.
The blogger sighs, but goes to the crime scene. There must be clues.
Now, if only he knew how to look for them, things would go considerably smoother. He's floundering, and can't help but feel out of place. There should be Sherlock here, and in a few seconds he'd determine the killer. "It's obvious," he'd say . and once explained, it would surely look that way. Well, nothing's obvious to the doctor, and when he's asked if he'll stay long he can only confirm it. He'll probably loiter around for hours, trying desperately to figure out how things went…and still not manage it. Why has he been so arrogant as to claim he's the sleuth's colleague to Wilkes? Is this Sherlock's version of giving him a lesson about his role as – at most – faithful blogger and unneeded claque? But why use a case of national importance to drive that point home instead of a minor one?
He's distracted from his musings – which really have been sidetracked from the case (bad John) so that's ok – from the tube guard prattling about the selfishness of suicides and the trauma train drivers have to live with. Though intimately acquainted with guilt about being unable to stop people from dying from his time as an army doctor (and survivor guilt too, as icing on the cake), John wouldn't have pegged guilt as occupational hazard in train drivers. He really doesn't reflect about things enough.
Despite his lack of trust in himself, John notices something. He'd assumed they'd cleaned the scene, but apparently they haven't…well then, were is all the blood? He's a doctor and a soldier, he might not have seen a lot of suicides but he's sure as hell seen enough violent deaths to know what they look like. And there's supposed to be blood. Lots of blood. Arteries have this habit to spray all around when they're forcibly opened, you see. The body should have been half destroyed by a train running over it – and certainly a few arteries would be ripped open. But no, there was little blood. Why was there little blood? It could only happen if there was no blood flow already, nothing being regularly pumped in those arteries before the train hit him. In other words, if their victim was dead already. Now, dead people take no trains – so the lack of ticket is understandable. But how did someone smuggle a dead body into the station? It can't be like that Weekend at Bernie's movie, can it?
He's just figured it out when Sherlock unexpectedly pops out from behind him, making John's heart jump. The detective should count himself lucky that he's not reflexively attacked. You really shouldn't sneak up on your ex-army friends. John shall have to have words with his flatmate about that.
That, and the proper way to wake up a former soldier if you have a breakthrough on a case you're following in the middle of the night, and a few other things. Just because he was a doctor people tend to underestimate his fighting instincts in the worst way – even Sherlock, who recognized them on sight and is more than willing to put them to good use.
At least the sleuth is offering him praise for figuring things out on his own, and John's heart warms up. He's got his friend's approval. Though of course Sherlock would have figured that out in five seconds, but he's growing better at this detection lark. He can be, if not a full colleague, at least a very eager pupil for the detective.
Detective who's confessing having followed John all the time (he should take lesson in noticing a tail – or maybe is it because Sherlock meant him absolutely no harm that his instincts haven't kicked in?).
"You didn't think that I would lose a nice case just to spite Mycroft, did you?" the sleuth says, a hint of laughter in his eyes.
"You pronounced this case boring," the blogger can't help but remind him.
"In comparison to Moriarty, it certainly is, but I solved Moriarty's puzzle this morning, and you don't really want me to pine around waiting for the next when there's a perfect distraction handy, do you?" Sherlock replies. After half a second, he adds hesitantly, "Or…did you want to work this case alone? To test yourself, or something like that?"
"God, no – never. I'll never want to investigate something on my own, Sherlock. The way I hope you wouldn't even think of diagnosing a client's illness or give treatments by yourself. We can each have our own field and happily cooperate, yes?" the doctor assures hastily. After a blinding smile, he adds, "And I certainly don't want you pining around. I doubt that Mrs. Hudson would take it kindly if your pining involved more boredom-relieving activities like last time."
Sherlock smiles back. "I still don't see why you both had a problem with that. Anyway, don't worry, I won't pretend to be a doctor anymore, now that I have a true one to send undercover if the case should require it."
That 'anymore' should worry John, but he decides to concentrate on the case at hand. "So, Sherlock, what do we do now?"
"Follow me," the sleuth orders.
'To the end of the world,' John thinks, but that's a tad overdramatic, so he just nods.
Apparently what's in order today is breaking and entering. It seems that Sherlock makes a habit of this (it's certainly happened often in their still-relatively-brief relationship) and John is not against it per se – not nitpicking about law and morals and you should really not enter anyone's house without permission – but he really wishes that Sherlock wouldn't be so nonchalant about it. There are risks to consider (well, not as many risks as in America, where everyone has a gun or two, but still).
He needs to trust Sherlock not to put them in a situation they can't get themselves out of, and he does trust him, really. He'd just like to understand the whys and how and so on instead of always having to follow in blindly. The house of the brother of their victim's fiancée? He seemed like a good lad, protective of his sister. And if there's even the slightest chance that the man be his sister's true soulmate he would certainly never have touched him, right? It would be like killing his sibling. Such things just aren't done.
Then again, Sherlock is rarely wrong, and only on inconsequential details, to John's knowledge. So when the man comes back from work, and is reasonably startled at the sight of strangers in his own home, looking as if he'd like to violently eject them from the premises, the doctor is ruthless towards his possibly country-betraying and sister-and-almost-brother-in-law-murdering self.
Before the man can make a move against the detective (why does everyone automatically try to assault the sleuth?) John pulls out his not-entirely-legal gun – then again, the man thinks him a minion of the likes of Mycroft, and won't be surprised by the weapon's presence – and barks a sharp order.
Their suspect is more brave or desperate than John credited him to, because he has to reiterate his command before the man gives up and stands down, despite being over-numbered and clearly less equipped in the weapon department.
"Don't try to lie and waste our time," Sherlock advises him, "we already know." John doesn't doubt that for him that is true.
John is not surprised to discover that the man was a criminal already before deciding to steal the plans and murder his sister's fiancé. "It was an accident, I swear, it's not so serious an offense," the man claims, but Sherlock looks unimpressed and disbelieving, and the doctor takes his cues from him. He's disgusted by this man, and mildly regrets not having just shot him before.
"It could be your sister's soulmate," he reminds sharply to the murderer.
"Oh, she says it every time. 'I feel it in my bones, Joe. This is the one. My soulmate. He must be.' And after a few months she dumps everyone. I wouldn't trust her. Just because she got influenza now it's not enough for me to believe her dramatics," Joe shrugs, unconcernedly.
It might be a coincidence, of course, but that she's fallen ill since he has seen her doesn't please John at all. How can the man be so heartless? He hopes the brother's right, for her, but if he isn't John will personally see that he's charged with double murder too – if there's going to be a process at all and Mycroft won't just disappear this bastard.
To which John might not object, actually. He's usually on principle against such things, but his morals are a bit more elastic that he'd always believed them to be, he discovers. He supposes his idea of limits is still a tad stronger than Sherlock's, which is why his flatmate seems to have elected him as portable, talking moral compass.
At least the bastard hasn't still managed to sell the plans, so Sherlock recuperates them easily. Once he's discovered, and knowing they're "sort of" with the police, and probably suspecting them as MI6, the murderer understands that a prompt yielding is the only thing that can save him. England is safe again.
"So…saved the country and saved a child's life – and who knows how many others Moriarty would take as collateral damage. All in a day's work. I'll soon have to start inventing adjectives. Amazing doesn't even cover it," John comments afterwards.
"I wish you would refrain from creating neologisms. God knows what you'd do," Sherlock chides – but he flushes a brilliant red.
Later that night, they are relaxing at home. Sherlock has let John pick some sort of stupid show or another, but his friend is at his laptop, probably adding to his ridiculous blog. Considering the draft from the broken window (Mycroft should have sent someone already to fix that after the explosion, since John at least was working for him) the least his flatmate could do is have the both of them snuggling together on the sofa and sharing heat. Since it's a bit too pitiful to use the sofa alone when it's too cold to fully sprawl on it, Sherlock is huddled in his chair.
He will lodge a complaint with Mycroft later. Or maybe Mrs. Hudson – are the repairs Mrs. Hudson's responsibility or theirs? Usually there's no question, as it is Sherlock who causes the damage and hence should by all rights ensure it is seen to, but what happens when it is an explosion caused by his stalker? It is still his fault, for having attracted Moriarty's attention in the first place? (Things are always Sherlock's fault, somehow.)
And then John's still teasing him about the bloody solar system, pointing out that if he hadn't deleted it, he'd have solved today's case much earlier. Will he ever be given a rest about what they orbit around or not? (He could so easily orbit around John. Be a sunflower to the warm light of John's praise. What does it matter what the Earth turns around? It's not rotating around John Watson, and as far as Sherlock knows, that's stupid of it – and it's the planet who's decidedly in the wrong.)
"You know it all, and you didn't solve it," Sherlock points out somewhat acerbically.
"I'm not the genius consulting detective," John counters, smiling.
" Not yet you mean – we'll have to train you in the art of deduction, certainly. You are a very good doctor, it's a proof that you have a good brain inside your head. You just need a bit of a training – I do have a lot of head start on you. Say, have you ever played Deductions?" the sleuth queries, curious.
"Played what?" John utters, seemingly alarmed.
"Deductions. You deduce all you can about something or someone and try to do better than the other contestants. You don't have to be discouraged if you lose at first – I used to be regularly beaten by Mycroft," the detective explains, eager to start 'training' John.
His flatmate douses all his hopes for a pleasant evening in ice water. "Yeah, of course, if you think it'd help but – not today. I'm going to Sarah's. She wants to see me – quite odd, given the shit boyfriend I've been to her. I can't allow to mess this, Sherlock."
Of course. Doctor Sarah bloody Sawyer, who stays stubbornly as his flatmate's girlfriend despite experiences that would have scared away the best of them. Just another adrenaline addict then, probably. Isn't it just perfect that they've found each other? (At least she's not John's soulmate, as the fellow is thankfully dead – Sherlock knows he wouldn't be able to compete with a soulmate). Sherlock hates her, and hates John answering her summon like a good boy, but as he wants John out of his hair for the moment, he carefully doesn't protest or offer any sort of weak excuse to keep him there.
John will probably hate him for going to confront Moriarty alone (if he survives) but there's danger they both get high on gleefully together and then there's Moriarty, and from what little he's understood of the criminal, he doesn't want him even in the same neighbourhood of anyone he cares about. God only knows what the bomber could do to John. So if the doctor has a night of his own, and will probably manage to finally get off without Sherlock's interference, the consulting detective will just have to get himself a date with his most entertaining stalker. What else can a sociopath hope for, after all?
Knowing he'll need all the forgiveness John can spare afterwards, Sherlock even promises to get the milk. (Assuming he'll be able to go to the shops and not the hospital asap after facing Moriarty, he's even intentioned to keep that promise.)
So, you see, John is the very last individual he expects to see when he finally reaches the pool for his date with the mysterious Moriarty. No. Simply NO. John's supposed to be kissing Sarah at the time (as disgusting as that notion is). He would have no reason to follow Sherlock there. He certainly has no reason to precede Sherlock here. What is he doing here?
An angry inner Mycroft reminds him, hissing, "Your fan, Sherlock. Your little secret admirer. How many people do you know that can even simply stand your presence? That would think to tease you about the solar system?"
John honestly likes him. That's obvious. But – Moriarty does, too. In a way, Moriarty admires him very much. And what does John always say? "Brilliant, Sherlock. Amazing. Fantastic," sometimes in that little breathy tone that makes Sherlock's stomach flip flop.
But – can Sherlock really have been that blind? Can he have bloody lived with a criminal mastermind and not noticed simply because the man spontaneously made him tea? He's always known feelings as the grit in the lens of his logical reasoning, but this is less grit and more the whole bloody Alps on his way (he remembers wonderful winter holidays on the French side of them with his surprisingly lively grand-mère). It can't be…his moral compass can't be evil, can he? Yes, John occasionally shoots people, but always not very nice people. Not old little ladies like Mrs. Hudson or children. It can't be John!
Before he can work himself any further into a panic attack (he's tasting bile already, wanting to get sick, but this is not the time nor place to be weak…not in front of his enemy, whoever he might be) Moriarty finally takes pity on him and reveals John as the fifth pip. He'd entirely forgotten the pips, the borrowed voices…all the games his stalker seems to take such great delight in. Stupid, Sherlock. Which is bad, very bad because now John might die. But it's good because John hasn't played him for a fool all this time.
And John would probably say that Sherlock's prevalent emotion at the moment being sheer, undiluted relief is a bit not good because it means the sleuth has doubted him previously. His flatmate will be miffed that the sleuth seriously considered him a possible criminal mastermind with a penchant for bombs and stalkerish tendencies.
And now the detective really needs to stop thinking about John and concentrate on the threat he's come to face, because John's powers of distraction on his soul risk very well to get them all killed in this situation.
So, Moriarty. Moriarty who's stuck John in enough Semtex to probably blow three houses down, and who is complaining now – whining, really. "I gave you my number. I thought you might call." Wait, no, Moriarty's number was blocked, he doesn't have… he has it, he realises, once the man finally comes forward. He's dressed sharply, as it's fit for their "first date". He really wants to make a good impression on him.
However, when the man approaches with a too-wide grin and a polite introduction, Sherlock pretends to have forgotten him. As if that brief stint at Bart's never happened. So at least he doesn't have to admit that he got a wrong reading on him – well, not wrong, he still thinks Jim is gay as they come, but a partial. Too partial. How did he not see 'criminal mastermind'? Or even only 'psychopath'? Come on, Molly liked him, that last one at least he should have surmised. A tiny bit of insanity certainly was in her tastes.
Before Sherlock can go on with his self-loathing much longer (though at the speed of his brain it takes him only a couple of seconds), Moriarty continues, "Your soulmate."
"No you're not," the detective replies evenly. He almost moves to bare his wrist – would that be enough to persuade Jim Moriarty to let him alone? (What would John think knowing he's lied to him about his soulmate's death?)
It seems Moriarty reads his mind, because before he can even hint the move the man snaps harshly, "Don't be silly, Sherlock. I don't care about random names. I am your soul's mate. The only one worthy of your attention, as you are for me. Yourself through the looking glass. Much more important than an unexplainable mole."
"Such things are hardly for you alone to decide," Sherlock points out calmly, despite how upset he is. There are snipers around – and they are aiming at John and his explosive-filled vest. Odd – that would take out Moriarty, too. Why can't they just keep him alone in their sights? He wouldn't be so worried by the mere chance of receiving a hail of bullets.
"Oh, don't tell me you're sentimental and hung up on a myth with barely any evidence behind it," Jim groans, mocking and clearly disappointed in him. "Didn't I demonstrate you how worthy of one another we are, my dear consulting detective? I showed you all these things I can do. I even lost thirty million just because I wanted you to glimpse all I could do, and considered it a good investment."
"Of course I'm not sentimental," the sleuth bits back sharply, as if that's the worst accuse he's ever been subjected to. "And I'm well aware of what you can do, thank you very much. 'Dear Jim, will you get rid of my lover's nasty wife for me, please?' 'Dear Jim, will you help me disappear in South America?' You're a consulting criminal."
"Exactly!" Moriarty beams at him.
"I won't say that it's not absolutely brilliant…" the detective breaths, admiring, "but that throws quite the spanner in our relationship, don't you think?"
"I don't see why. I mean, don't get me wrong, I loved to play with you. Give you all these crumbles to follow, see you dance to my tune. But Daddy's had enough now. You shouldn't be on the coppers' side, Sherlock. They don't appreciate you anyway. Think about it – you might join me. We'd be the perfect couple. We'd be invincible. Consulting criminal husbands – owning the world," Moriarty replies, enthusiastic.
"You're not invincible until I exist," Sherlock points out. "And I happen to like my own career. Do you really expect me to mimic someone else? You'd get bored of me in under a minute…if you're really my soulmate. Which I still think you aren't."
Jim pouts. He honestly to God pouts. "Don't try impossible things, baby. If you don't want to join me…yet, I suppose I will allow it. But don't try to get on my way. You've already ruined one plan too much, without being aware to. Now you know – so, if you recognise my style, you'll back off, won't you?"
"I certainly won't. I will catch you," the detective assures, almost angrily.
"No you won't," Moriarty singsongs, shaking his index finger.
"But all this is all empty chatter, isn't it?" the detective grits out. "You just want the missile plans. And I just want my flatmate's tea-making skills. So take it, and let us go home." He holds out the usb like a treat to a dog. And he knows he shouldn't mention John, he shouldn't let out how much he just wants to have him safe. It's a joke, a demeaning one, as if John's only good as a butler, but Jim Moriarty will probably see right through it anyway. And yet here Sherlock is, admitting he just want to go home with John. (Stupid, Sherlock.)
Jim actually laughs at that. He takes it…and tosses it out into the pool. "These? These are bo-ring, Sherlock. I could have gotten them anywhere. You got it all in reverse, uh? This was the distraction, you dunce. The little tune I played for you to dance to…and you did. You always dance so beautifully, Sherlock. All these lessons really paid off. I'm serious –"
And then the conversation gets interrupted by John attacking the consulting criminal and bidding Sherlock to run, and it seems his friend hasn't paid attention at all. Sherlock wants to go home together with him, and he very well can't if John provokes Jim into exploding everyone, can he? He can die with him, of course, and he will if need be, but he'd rather not. If John had just let him deal with Moriarty (he can't really think that Sherlock would willingly abandon him to his death can he? What does he take Sherlock for? A psychopath?) things would be easier.
Thank God that Jim seems more amused by John's bravery than anything else. He calls him 'sweet', and that creeps Sherlock out more than all the talk of soulmates before. It's bad enough that the detective has attracted the consulting criminal's attention. The man can't take a shine to John. Sherlock is clearly not good enough to protect him adequately, and Jim could so easily take his blogger away from him. That can't be allowed to happen.
Not to mention that Jim's talking of owning people, taking them as pets, as if that's what Sherlock's done (he's afraid if anything it's the inverse – it's John feeding and generally taking care of him, after all). John won't be anyone's pet. He'll die first. Sherlock would, too – if the owner was Jim.
The snipers aim at Sherlock, now, and even if that's a definitely welcome change, it makes John stand down with a frown. John won't allow the sleuth to be killed. At least that is a requited feeling. Good to know.
"Now that that's out of the way – are you serious in not joining me, Sherlock? Despite how great we could be?" Moriarty asks, with a slight pout.
"I'll have to pass," the detective says coldly.
"Don't force me to take other measures about you," Jim threatens, with a feral smile.
"Oh, I don't mind if you try to kill me," the sleuth assures nonchalantly. The keyword being 'me' in that sentence. Does Jim realise it?
"Kill you? No no no, that's last resort, and you'll have to be very naughty indeed to deserve that, darling. If you insist on not acknowledging our soul bond I won't kill you, baby. I'll just burn the heart out of you. Once your soul is in tatters I'll sew it back like it should be," Moriarty explains, shaking his head disappointed at his counterpart's assumption.
"You might find that a hard task. I've been reliably informed that I don't have one," Sherlock bits back, voice soft. That's his mask. It should manage to protect him and his dear ones.
"But we both know that's not quite true," the consulting criminal replies, glancing at John.
Oh bugger. It's the first time his mask fails him. He's said too much, or not enough, and now this fiend knows that he cares for John – and will not hesitate to murder him should Sherlock displease him. But he can't very well join Moriarty to keep John safe, can he? His flatmate would never forgive him.
"I'll let you take a break, so you can ponder your choice. And that means I must be off," Moriarty offers, voice kind.
"Or I could shoot you right now," Sherlock quips back. He'd be free of the consulting criminal's looming threat. Being allowed a reprieve does not mean Jim won't be back to torment him. Or won't kill John if the next time Sherlock doesn't bow to him and joins him (which he can't do – Mycroft would blow a gasket…and John would hate him).
"Really now? Killing your soulmate – that's rather morbid and unusual, don't you think?" Moriarty replies. He's still so sure of being Sherlock's destined one, no matter what anyone (soulmark included) has to say about it. "You can, of course," he adds conversationally, "it'd surprise me – it'd surprise me very much if you dared to, though. And obviously you'd be free of me – for a brief time indeed. After all, if there's a hereafter, it stands to reason that soulmates be allowed next each other." The consulting criminal grins with too many teeth. "Were would John be sent instead, what do you think? Has he killed enough people to warrant hell?"
So it's useless killing him. He – and John, which is much more important – would still be taken down by the snipers if such a thing happened. And John must not die. Absolutely. So there's no choice – he has to take Jim's suspension of his sentence…and be bloody grateful for it.
"Bye, mo anam," Jim utters softly.
Sherlock, torn between wanting to have him arrested, wishing him to just disappear from his life forever and the urge to deny once again that they're soulmates, ends up saying nothing at all, just glaring.
Then, finally free to follow his (maybe existent, after all), heart, he hurries to take the bomb vest away from John and throw it as far as it will go, asking in a choked voice if he's okay. They're alive at least, which is good, but only God knows what Jim Moriarty might have done to John while he held him kidnapped. Horrific ideas flit through Sherlock's terrified mind. John might have stabbed, poisoned, raped…
John slids to the floor, his legs not quite supporting him, but he assures him that he's fine, asking if Sherlock is, too. "Of course I am," the sleuth huffs. He's just been threatened and scared out of his mind, nothing he can complain of – nothing that would possibly require John's assistance (and he regrets it a bit, because if only he was hurt they would touch – maybe cuddle a bit in comfort). He can't exactly cuddle John now can he? But oh God, he aches to do so. (Don't be stupid, Sherlock – now it's not the time to make John balk.)
Awkwardly, the detective thanks his friend. John was ready to die for him a moment ago, that deserves an acknowledgement. He adds a look that hopefully means, "but don't try it anymore". Mycroft would understand. Tackling a scolding to his gratefulness seems in bad taste, so Sherlock can't say it outright. But John really needs to not put his life on the line for Sherlock's. He's obviously not worth it – doesn't his friend realises as much?
And then John quips, something about how suggestive that was a minute ago, and it throws Sherlock for a loop. John doesn't want him like that, does he? He's made that all too clear – but then why? He replies the same way he would if John was serious, letting him know he doesn't care about anyone's opinion. Just John's, though that's more implied than clearly stated. Sherlock has more and more things he's too embarrassed to properly admit out loud. But John is brighter than most, and he will understand what he can't say…won't he? (And if not, he's laughing with John right now, and that's good enough. Probably too good for him, in fact.)
Before they can even think about going home – and finally getting that tea – the snipers are back. And Moriarty with them. Oh God, don't tell me that the 'pause for thought' was five bloody minutes, Sherlock begs in his head. At least the consulting criminal apologises for barging in on them and changing idea.
"I've thought about it. I really don't think I can allow you to survive if you spurn me, after all. I wanted to hope with a bit more time you'd see reason and join me by your own free will, or I would find the right words to persuade you, but truth is we're soulmates, darling. Anything I could say has already crossed your head, hasn't it?" Jim says, way too cheerful.
"Then my answer has crossed yours," Sherlock replies. He can't and won't join the consulting criminal in his chaos-breeding. If this gets him and John killed – well, John had no qualms about dying with and for him minutes ago. Of course, he'd like it better to be the only one dying, while his friend got to live on and be happy. But truth is, even dying together sounds far more appealing than it should probably be.
Of course, he'd hate for Moriarty to survive this and triumph…but there's Mycroft. If nothing else, his lazy, annoying, smarter brother can be counted on for revenge. He won't let the murderer of his younger sibling go unpunished, not even should that require a measure of much hated legwork on his part – though he will more probably tip Lestrade anonymously.
John nods, agreeing that death is definitely better than Sherlock joining his crazed stalker…but just when he's getting ready to shoot the bomb (why should he let the snipers do all the work when he can try to bring Moriarty with them?) the consulting criminal receives a call. And changes idea once again. Of course, they should be grateful, but it's mentally exhausting. Can't the man stick with a decision and see it to its end?
"Home. Quick," John orders, as soon as they're alone again. Sherlock can only nod and follow as swift as his legs can carry him. And if John holds his hand in the cab – to reassure which of them he's not sure – the sleuth is very, very far from protesting.
Once in Baker Street, John beelines for the kitchen while the detective goes to fetch his violin. His notes are as confused and agitated as his thoughts, though. A moment later, John arrives with a smile and a cup of his perfect tea. Sherlock takes it with a grateful humming and downs half in one gulp. As always, it tastes like home.
"You really needed that," John quips, smiling. Instead of replying or thanking him, Sherlock picks his violin back. This time, the notes flow easily, in a soft-spoken, meditative, affectionate piece. His flatmate curls up on the sofa to enjoy the concert – and Sherlock drifts at his side. Almost like in the cab, and once again they touch – John sliding his feet in Sherlock's lap, keeping him here – though it should be the sleuth the one with the deeper urge to keep his friend secreted away, safe from everything. Instead, he keeps playing, and when John's eyes close, he smiles and drags a last pensive note before cuddling against him more fully.
P.S. Mo anam should be Irish for 'my soul' - at least Google Translate thinks so. If it's wrong please tell me.