John had to say the words the real Moriarty fed him. He had to say the words to Sherlock. He had to claim to be Moriarty.
That didn't mean he had to put any effort into it. As Sherlock stared at him in shock—by God, he is human!—John pulled his jacket open to reveal the explosives strapped to his chest. Instantly, a laser trained on his chest. John only had his military training to thank for keeping his calm façade up.
Please, God, he thought again. Don't let me die.
By the time John's mind snapped back to attention, Sherlock had goaded Moriarty out of his hiding place. "Consulting criminal," Sherlock breathed. "Brilliant."
"Isn't it?" Moriarty smiled. John couldn't stop himself from shooting him an incredulous look. The laser beam on John's chest didn't keep him from curling his hands into fists as Moriarty continued, "No one ever gets to me…and no one ever will."
Click. John stood straight upright at the sound of Sherlock's 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. "
Moriarty shrugged with a flash of a grin. "Yeah, okay, I did, but the flirting's over, Sherlock. Daddy's had enough now!"
Something about Moriarty's sing-song tone shoved John over the edge. Fuck that he was cocooned in explosives. What did he do in Afghanistan? He made the most of bad situations. He'd do the same damn thing now.
"People have died."
"That's what people DO!"
John's fists grew tight enough that his knuckles turned white. Any minute now and you can move, he told himself. Any minute…
Sherlock's baritone dropped to a dangerous rumble. "I will stop you."
"No, you won't."
To John's surprise, instead of countering Moriarty, Sherlock addressed his flatmate. "You all right?"
John kept his head down as Moriarty walked towards him. "You can talk, Johnny boy! Go ahead!" Reluctantly, John lifted his eyes to meet Sherlock's gaze and nodded once. You can nearly read minds, Sherlock. Time to read mine. Work with me!
Sherlock's face hardened. "Take it," he said, proferring the memory stick to Moriarty. When Moriarty made a curious noise, John cursed inwardly. No, you idiot, don't give him the—oh! Oh, you brilliant man, Sherlock, yes!
"The missile plan? Bo-ring!" Moriarty kissed the stick and tossed it away. "I could have got them anywhere—"
NOW! John launched at Moriarty with a cry. "Sherlock, run!"
Although Moriarty choked in surprise when John pulled him into a headlock, the strangled noise morphed quickly into laughter. "Oh! Good. Very good!"
With a growl, John tightened his grip. "Just like that, Mr. Moriarty. Pull that trigger, and we both go—"
A click. A bang.
White light! White light!
"No!"
"John! Wake up. Wake up now!"
When John jerked upright, Sherlock barely pulled his face away in time to avoid a head-on collision. John stared at him blankly for a minute while gulped in air. Then he grabbed his flatmate by the lapels. "Why the hell didn't you run when I told you to, Sherlock? Why the hell didn't you run?"
Sherlock blinked. "At the pool."
"Yes, at the pool! I grabbed Moriarty for you! That was your chance. Why didn't you run?"
"I couldn't leave then. I hadn't finished the puzzle. I still haven't. I hadn't worked Moriarty out."
With a snarl, John shook Sherlock. "Damn working Moriarty out! Do you know what would have happened to you if the sniper had pulled that trigger? Work that out, why don't you?"
"The force from the explosion would have killed the three of us," Sherlock responded instantly. His tone was so clinical, so removed, that John shoved him backward furiously. The consulting detective eyed John warily. "It doesn't matter, John. It didn't kill us."
"Pity it didn't get Moriarty. Then I wouldn't have to worry about that happening again."
Immediately, Sherlock shook his head. "I still haven't worked him out."
John's eyes darkened. "He tied a bomb to me, Sherlock. He would have let both of us die. Sorry if I don't care whether you ever puzzle Moriarty out."
For the first time since that night by the pool, something almost human flickered through Sherlock's pale eyes. "Do you want me to do something?"
John frowned. "Do something? What do you mean?"
Sherlock hesitated. "Make tea? Buy milk?"
Quickly, John bit back a giggle. Let's make this a national holiday! Sherlock Holmes is apologizing to me. Well, almost. "No, thank you, that's fine—well, wait." As Sherlock's offer sank in, John changed his mind. Sherlock turned back from the doorway with a curious frown. "Just promise me this one thing. One thing, Sherlock."
"Yes?"
John's jaw squared off. "The next time I tell you to run, you run."
For a long moment, Sherlock studied John's shivering form inquiringly. Then, without reply, he padded out of John's bedroom and back down the stairs.
