Good old John Watson never let any of his friends down. Loyal to a fault, he would do anything he could to help. Talk to powerful siblings, go to the police, and do it all again. Despite the fact that Sally Donovan clearly hated the idea of anyone willing to help Sherlock Holmes, she was willing to help John Watson. She was cursing Sherlock all the way through and being her aggressive self, but she did give John what he wanted.
"Inspector Lestrade is at a crime scene," Donovan said as she shuffled through papers that clearly weren't her own. "But he did mention they found something." Donovan glanced at John. "Though I'm not sure if I should give you this information."
John let out a long sigh. "Donovan, Sherlock isn't the criminal, and we need to stop Moriarty."
"I know that," Donovan said, clearly trying to restrain herself, but as always she found that difficult when it came to Sherlock Holmes. "But you're talking about risking your life for him and he isn't worth it!"
John shook his head. "I won't risk my life…"
"You have before," Donovan pointed out. "And you will again, if I tell you how to find Sherlock."
John frowned. "You know how to find him?"
Donovan bit her lip. "Lestrade figured out who the victim was, the one from the hospital."
"And that will lead us to Moriarty and Sherlock?"
"Yes. The man was Damon Brown, he worked as a hitman."
"For Moriarty?" John asked, then he realised something. "He was there at the pool!"
Donovan nodded. "His wife gave us what she called his 'work phone' and we traced the last number to call it. It was a landline."
"Where did the call come from?" John asked impatiently.
Donovan bit her lip again. "Lestrade is going there tomorrow, you can ask if you can tag along, but I don't think he'll be okay with that… and that is probably for the best."
"Tell me where the call came from! You were going to tell me anyway!"
Donovan looked shocked. "No I wasn't, I was only going to show you we found out who the victim was and…" she finally found the file she'd been looking for. "We found out what the murderer, whoever he was, injected Sarah with." Donovan's look became empathetic and John had never seen her like that before, so it was quite a shock. But it also steered a deep fear in him. He looked at the file and felt he would never have the courage to look inside it. "I'm sorry," Donovan said, as she handed John the file.
The Barracuda was tall, but mainly because of her high heels. Her hair had become frizzy, most likely she'd slept in her car. Sherlock hadn't slept at all, he was now tied to a chair. It was so cliché. Honestly, he was disappointed in Moriarty. A day had passed since Sherlock had gotten here and he could see the impatience grow in Moriarty. After all no one likes it when they threaten someone and then have to wait.
Sherlock hoped the waiting would mean John or the police had not found the trail Moriarty had left for them and they would never get here. But it seemed much more likely that it's simply impossible to time these things, no matter what movies might like you to believe. They could be here another day, or - judging by the police's incompetence - another month. It was impossible to say. All Sherlock could hope for was that Moriarty would become too impatient and just kill him to get it over with.
Moriarty had this strange duality in every part of his being. The cruelty of a man and the impatience of a child. He had the kind of intelligence that should only be paired with a kindness that came from compassion, empathy. Like Sherlock's brother, Moriarty was lazy when it came to the executions of his plans, but unlike his brother, he did like the dramatics of it. He wanted front row seats to every cruelty. And that made him vulnerable. Moriarty would always come out of hiding to see what he could inflict on the world, so he would always be exposed to danger.
Sherlock had now figured out they were in fact underneath a factory. He suspected this was where they got their shipments and send out their finished products. It was a chocolate factory. Moriarty must have owned it already or bought it, because it was shut down right now, however the cleanness of the place suggested it had been functional recently and the unshipped pallets of chocolates suggested it had been shut down very abruptly.
Sherlock moved his eyes to the Barracuda again. She hadn't said a single word yet and Sherlock wasn't sure if she spoke English, because he remembered reading that it was suggested that the Barracuda was a Italian national. Her appearance would correspond to that fact. Sherlock knew she was here to kill both him and John - though not in that order - but he couldn't figure out how. Certainly Moriarty would want it to be dragged out. In the pool he had been forced to take the fast route, but now he had the time to do it 'properly.' Still, Sherlock could remember reading nothing about the Barracuda torturing people. So why hire her? If he could only reach his phone, he could look it up within seconds. But Sherlock's phone was in his apartment. It was almost as frustrating as being tied to a chair and bored out of your mind.
The landline was that of a chocolate factory. John had convinced Donovan to tell him that. But he suspected she'd only given in to his request out of pity, because of what he had just found out about Sarah. John had promised he would accept it if Lestrade said no to him coming with them to save Sherlock.
However… John had no intention of asking Lestrade anything. He had no intention of waiting at all. He didn't care that Donovan had explained to him Lestrade needed time to get the right team together, and that they couldn't underestimate Moriarty and how he might have booby trapped the whole site. John was used to going in blind. Treading on territory that isn't only hostile but completely foreign to you. He knew he could do it on his own and he knew he couldn't just go home and sleep, when Sherlock was being held hostage by Moriarty.
That had to be why Sherlock had disappeared. Mycroft was right, people disappear because either they want to, or someone else wants them to disappear. Which meant Sherlock must have been in Moriarty's hands for days now. God only knew what had happened to him in that time.
The cab stopped a block away from the factory. John got out and the cold night air was a relief to him because he felt he was burning up. Adrenaline was rushing through his veins as he made his way to the factory.
The building was gigantic. It seemed to be made out of a single block of concrete and there were almost no windows in it, only at the very top of the building could John see a row of tiny windows, all of them closed. He circled the building, which took him forever, to try and decide how to get in.
John walked along the length of one of the building's walls and high above him, John could see enormous letters spelling out the name of the place. Unlike before, this was just a regular font, no young ambitious artist had designed this name, it was just there to be functional and so it was completely readable. The letters spelled out a name: Reijkenberg.
Sherlock stared at the truck that was parked at the far end of the space. It had the logo of the factory on it, and its name: Reijkenberg. It was a name of Dutch origin, Sherlock knew, and it reminded him of the name of the gorgeous waterfalls he'd visited as a child. The Reichenbach Falls in Germany. They were beautiful and Sherlock tried to think back to them, to picture them. There was something calming about wild water.
The Barracuda - who still had no other name to Sherlock - circled the group. Moriarty was still standing there, looking slightly bored himself. Sherlock wondered if Moriarty had any doubts to whether John would really be able to find them. If John had only not been part of the case now known as "A Study in Pink." During their final confrontation with the serial killer John had shown his true nature. His actions that day were what made Moriarty so certain John would not call the police. As he had that day, John would show up alone.
People are idiots, Sherlock thought to himself.
I'm an idiot, John thought to himself. Here he was, standing in front of a building he was certain had Sherlock in it and Moriarty and who knew how many people working for Moriarty, and he was going to go in alone. Still, was that really simply stupidity? Hadn't John seen in the war that a small group of soldiers could be much more effective than a large troop? But did one person truly count as a 'small group?'
John took his gun from his pocket. He felt completely comfortable with it and sometimes even forgot how much destruction it could cause when wielded properly. Which meant when not wielded by Sherlock Holmes. It seemed insane that this small gun would be his only weapon, but John knew there was only one shot he needed to get right. If he killed Moriarty, it would mean the end of all of this. No more looking over his shoulder, no more expecting Sherlock to show up dead in a ditch - well, maybe that would remain the same.
But will it save Sarah? John shook his head, as if trying to force the thoughts out. There was no point in thinking of it now. It wouldn't help her and it would only distract John.
John knew a factory this size would have to have one hell of a loading dock and that would probably be its weak point. He circled the building again, until he saw the gigantic 'doors' that would let trucks go in and out of the factory. There was a small down slope and John walked along the side of it, trying to stay as invisible as he could. The building hardly had any windows, but he knew there had to be cameras around and with a bit of bad luck, Moriarty's men would be watching them. And let's face it, since meeting Sherlock Holmes, John's luck had definitely taken a turn for the worst.
A strange creaking sound made John jump. A door he hadn't noticed was opening. A door next to the drive way for the trucks. There was nowhere to hide for John, the whole area was very exposed and his desperate attempt at finding a hiding spot wasn't helping him. If there were more than two guys behind that door, he wouldn't stand a chance and if there was even just one guy behind that door his chances weren't that great either.
John lifted the gun, using both of his hands to keep it as steady as he could; from this distance his shot had to be incredibly precise to kill the man before he could raise the alarm. And even then, the gunshot would most likely be audible throughout the building. John's gun was a service weapon and he had never needed a silencer on it.
The door was being pushed open from the inside and John took the decision to shoot the second it was fully opened. The door opened. John didn't shoot. Standing in the opening, barely visible in the dim light, was a beautiful woman with long black hair.
The Barracuda was gone, probably not for very long, Sherlock suspected. She was probably just tired of waiting for John Watson. Moriarty was sitting on a chair, with his back to Sherlock. The big muscled man who was there for Moriarty's protection was standing just behind the chair.
"I am going to need a bathroom break if we have to wait much longer," Sherlock said. "And if anyone could hand me a cigarette? I have a pack in my jacket." Sherlock moved in his chair, as much as his restrains would let him. "I can't reach it from here," he said. "Left side, inner pocket," he said to the bodyguard who was now staring at Sherlock.
For a second it looked like the bodyguard would do it - he was probably used to taking orders. But then Moriarty turned around in his chair and the bodyguard froze. Moriarty smiled at Sherlock, a forced smile that didn't reach his eyes. He was losing confidence in his plan. Moriarty stood up and walked over to Sherlock.
"I know it's a filthy habit," Sherlock calmly continued, "but I find it helps me think." Moriarty's expression didn't change.
"If you have any nicotine patches on you, that would do the trick as well," Sherlock said.
Moriarty stood still just in front of Sherlock. "Left foot first, I think," Moriarty said. His voice was very even, very unlike him. Moriarty kept his hands in his pockets and indicated Sherlock's left foot by nudging towards it with his elbow. The bodyguard looked oddly uncomfortable as he walked over, revealing a gun he had hidden under his jacket.
The bodyguard stood still just behind Moriarty, his eyes fixed on Sherlock's left foot with a slightly nauseated look on his face. Moriarty turned a little to look at the man standing just behind him. The man looked up to meet Moriarty's gaze. "Left foot," Moriarty calmly repeated.
Sherlock fixed his eyes on Moriarty. He knew this wasn't a bluff. Moriarty was bored and psychopaths were dangerous when they were bored. Moriarty choose s foot because if Sherlock did get shot through his left foot, it would hurt like hell, but it wouldn't kill him. It would 'preserve' Sherlock for whatever game Moriarty was planning, but still make him shut up. "Left foot, if you please," Moriarty said. At the 'if you please-' part his voice shot up, sounding as high and excited as a little boy.
The bodyguard had his eyes on Sherlock's foot again. He had the gun half-raised and if he were to shoot it right now, it would most likely miss Sherlock's foot.
"Left foot," Moriarty repeated through gritted teeth. His jaw was clenched but he still managed to pull his lips into a tight smile. "Left foot."
John was slightly surprised to find himself unharmed. He had failed to shoot at sight and had not been punished for it. Nor had he been punished for the fact he had failed to shoot in the three minutes that followed. John Watson had a weak spot for beautiful women. Well, he was a man after all. So he would ask out beautiful women, even if they had ignored him and he wouldn't shoot them, even if they were going to kill him if he didn't.
The tall and - most importantly - beautiful woman in front of John now, took out her own gun. John stood there, still gripping his own gun with both his hands, waiting for the woman to shoot him. She didn't. Instead she slowly put the gun on the ground and walked towards John with her hands raised in the air.
"You're the Barracuda," John slowly realised.
The woman nodded and kept coming closer. "You killed Sarah! You injected her with poison!" John took a step forward, wanting to attack this woman, then he realised something. "What poison was it? They said if they knew they could save her."
The Barracuda nodded. "I will tell you, but firstly…"
When she came to stand still just in front of John, he finally thought it was time to lower the gun. He looked at the woman dumbfounded as she extended her hand. "My name is Julia," she said, though she pronounced the name in a way he never could.
John shook her hand but didn't say anything. Partly because he was still a bit too amazed to remember his own - very common - first name, and partly because he was concentrating on wiping the sheepish look off his face.
"Doctor John Watson, right?" she asked. Julia had the slightest trace of an accent, but John couldn't place it. John nodded and Julia smiled in response. "Good, then you're my back-up," she smiled again.
John nodded, then realised he had no idea what Julia was talking about. "What am I backing up?"
Sherlock knew people often thought he was arrogant, because he was, and they often thought he had a smug look on his face, because he often did. He wondered what his expression was like this time. Probably not very smug. Despite everything people might think of him, Sherlock did not particularly like pain and he was fairly certain getting shot through the foot was going to hurt like hell.
Or not. The shot Sherlock heard echoing through the empty space was not one directed at him. It was directed at the bodyguard and Moriarty. Or so Sherlock assumed because the bullet failed to hit either of them and probably ended up in a wall somewhere. But it had served its purpose, it had stopped the bodyguard from maiming Sherlock's left foot.
Good old John Watson, loyal John Watson, came running at the three figures. The bodyguard immediately lifted his gun to take aim, but John duct behind a truck. Though it was clear the bodyguard was never going to hit John, he shot anyway, causing a small round whole in the side of the truck.
Then someone else came rushing toward the scene, Sherlock could see it was the Barracuda, and she was heading straight for Sherlock. Undoubtedly she had orders to kill Sherlock the second things seemed to go wrong, but it would make no sense to kill him now. And why was Moriarty looking like…
Sherlock got distracted by the feeling of someone cutting the ropes that kept him trapped. It was the Barracuda. The cut rope fell off of him and Sherlock stood up. He turned around to look at the Barracuda, trying to understand why she was suddenly on his side. But Sherlock had no time for the mystery, knowing he would only have minutes before Moriarty got away. Quickly he searched the space to see where Moriarty had gone. The bodyguard had taken another shot at the truck and John had returned his fire, but now the bodyguard was gone.
Sherlock got a glimpse of the man disappearing through a white door. Sherlock rushed over there, followed by John and the Barracuda. The door let to a staircase. There was no telling whether Moriarty had gone through the first door or gone further up the stairs, but Sherlock took the first door.
It led to a narrow hallway and Sherlock could see the two men running in front of them. If John had been in front, he could've taken a shot, but there was no time now. Moriarty and the bodyguard vanished through another door. When they reached it, the door was already closing again, but Sherlock slammed his shoulder against it to throw it open. It led to the factory's storage space. The ceiling had to be at least 40 feet high and there were closets everywhere with boxes reaching all the way up.
They were still running and Sherlock could feel himself getting out of breath. The Barracuda however seemed to have an endless supply of energy because she managed to catch up to Sherlock. Their eyes met and Sherlock couldn't read anything in her face. Then she suddenly turned right and disappeared between the closets.
"Where is she going!" John demanded, Sherlock could hear he was out of breath as well.
They reached the end of the lane they had been running down. There was a service elevator here. Sherlock stopped and almost collapsed right there on the spot. He was leaning on his knees, panting. John was doing the same thing. Sherlock tried to hear something above the sound of their heavy breathing. He could hear people moving in this space, but he couldn't tell where they were.
"How did you get Julia on our side?" John asked, then having to stop talking to catch his breath again.
"Julia?"
"Yeah, the…," John took a deep breath and gestured to empty space. "The Barracuda."
"You're on first name base with the woman who tried to kill me?" Sherlock asked and he laughed a little.
John shook his head. "But how did you get her to help us?"
"I didn't," Sherlock answered. "And trust me, she didn't seem to be helping me when she knocked me out and brought me here."
"But she helped me!"
"She isn't helping us now."
"Still…"
"John," Sherlock said, it sounded like a warning. "I don't know, something must have happened between the time she attacked me and now."
John nodded, then straightened himself. "What do we do now?"
"We kill Moriarty," Sherlock said.
"Yes, but how?" John looked at Sherlock.
Sherlock straightened himself as well and leaned against the wall next to the service elevator. He shook his head. "I'm not sure yet."
"I could call Lestrade," John suggested.
Sherlock opened the elevator door. "No point, by the time he gets here Moriarty will be gone." Sherlock looked at John, he stepped back from the elevator and moved backwards until John had to turn to still be able to see him. "Don't count on the police, John."
John sighed. "Do you think Julia is still going after them?" John asked.
Sherlock nodded. "Yes, I think so." And you could still hear people running around in the factory, but it sounded more distant now. "I suspect she'll try to manouver them to the factory floor. Open space… much easier hunting ground."
Sherlock remained quiet for a while. "I'm sorry John," Sherlock said. John was dumbfounded not just by the wrods he had just heard Sherlock say, but by the fact that he believed them. The look on Sherlock's fave was filled with remorse and pain. Then Sherlock put both his hands on John's chest and shoved him into the service elevator. Sherlock slammed the door shut, looking John inside. Then he pressed a button and the elevator started to go up. John stared through the small window at Sherlock, not fully understanding yet. "Sherlock," he said. Then he realised what Sherlock was doing.
"Sherlock!" John slammed his hadn against the door, knowing there was no point. "Don't do this! Let me out!" He stared at Sherlock's face as it disappeared from view when the elevator continued to go up. Then it abruptly stopped. John knew what Sherlock had done, Sherlock had used the emergency stop they had seen next to the lift. It was almost completely black in the elevator now. It was a service elevator meant only for cargo. It had never been intented for living beings, so there was no light and no controls inside. You couldn't even open the door from the inside. Sherlock had trapped John here to keep him from joinging the fight. Which was even more ironic considering John was the soldier and Sherlock was the one who used guns as toys.
"Sherlock!" John yelled at the floor. He slammed his hand against the door again. "He infected Sarah with snake poison! You have to let me out!"
Sherlock ran toward what he hoped was the door leading to the factory floor. He suspected the sounds were coming from here, but it was hard to know for sure with so many echoes going through this place.
Sherlock half-realised that if the sniper hadn't shot him, he and John would probably be dead already. Now another assassin was helping them. But would they really have been killed? Sherlock suddenly doubted it. Was the bomb in the pool even real? It must have been, because the threat to John's life had been real. But would Moriarty kill himself? No.
The sniper had sacrificed his life for nothing. Moriarty had no intention of letting himself get blown to pieces, not even if that meant defeating Sherlock. In the pool Sherlock had always know Moriarty wouldn't let the bomb explode. Fear had clouded Sherlock's thinking, but he could see it much clearer now. He didn't know for certain what measures Moriarty had taken against the bomb exploding but he knew Moriarty would never kill Sherlock as well as himself. Moriarty valued himself too highly for that, the same way Sherlock valued himself to highly for that. Self-sacrifice is not for the vain.
Sherlock came to a full stop just before reaching the door. He allowed himself only seconds to catch his breath before opening the door. It led to the factory floor. A gigantic open space filled with a strange contraption build up out of odd-looking metal equipment.
Sherlock looked around the room, he could hear people shouting. There, in the far corner he could see the Barracuda struggling with Moriarty's bodyguard. Moriarty was nowhere to be seen. It hardly looked like a far fight, the slight woman against the muscled professional. But then you didn't become on of the world's lead assassins if you weren't good at killing people.
The bodyguard charged at the Barracuda and threw her full weight against her, slamming her against the wall. The Barracuda collapsed to the floor, trying to force herself to get up again, one arm around her ribs. The bodyguard seemed to be looking for something. Sherlock spotted it before he did: his gun, lying on the ground a few feet away from him.
Despite being fully aware that he could never reach it before the bodyguard did, Sherlock ran towards it. The bodyguard looked up at the sound of feet rushing towards him and was obviously startled to see Sherlock. Now the bodyguard saw the gun as well and went for it. But he Barracuda saw what was happening and she kicked at the bodyguard's legs, causing him to tumble forward, just missing the gun. The Barracuda sprang up and leapt forward, grabbing the gun and then rolling onto her back to be able to point the gun at the bodyguard. He dropped to the floor, then quickly crawled towards the door. The Barracuda fired the gun, but missed the bodyguard who disappeared behind the door. The Barracuda got up and followed him.
Sherlock got to the door, but wasn't sure if he should follow them. He looked around the factory floor, still no sign of Moriarty. Most likely he was gone. Back in the shadows. In a way, Moriarty was very similar to Mycroft, neither of them wanted to get their hands dirty. They operated from fancy offices with pretty PAs, controlling and arranging but never directly involved.
Along the wall ran a staircase that led to the office. The office was the only part of this place that had any windows. Sherlock could see them from here. He knew they would probably not be big enough for him to fit through, but he needed to try and escape. The building had no windows on the ground floor, so nothing he could break and go through. The doors would all be locked, except for the one John had gone through, but Sherlock couldn't find that one if he tried. Besides, he had no time to go looking for the parking lot he had been held prisoner.
Sherlock ran up the stairs. He had never been afraid of heights and wasn't now as he climbed up the stairs and the floor moved further and further away from him. The 40 feet high ceiling got closer and closer to him. He reached the top and pulled on the office door. But it wouldn't budge. Sherlock could look inside through a tiny window in the door and he saw the windows were even smaller than they had looked from afar. And they couldn't open. Sherlock turned around as he heard footsteps on the stairs behind him. It was Moriarty himself.
Moriarty took his time to climb the stairs. Every footstep echoed through the hollow space. "I really cannot allow you to leave, Sherlock," Moriarty said. "It has been entertaining, this game of ours, but truly it has come to an end." The artificial smile on his face turned vicious and his pace quickened. Sherlock's mind went through all the possible outcomes of this confrontation and all the consequences of what he might do.
Naturally, his mind was trying to find a way to survive, but that was only instinct and Sherlock was intelligent enough to be able to ignore instinct. After all, if he made it through this without killing Moriarty, John would still be in danger. And having trapped his friend in an elevator meant he was very vulnerable right now. Moriarty's men would have no trouble finding him. Sherlock had known that when he trapped John there - of course - but he hadn't planned on getting trapped himself.
To kill the snake you had to cut off his head; Moriarty's men would become docile as soon as their leader was killed. And that was what Sherlock had planned to do, kill James Moriarty. But know he couldn't see how to. If he waited for Moriarty to reach the top of the stairs he could push him over and a fall from this height would most certainly kill him, but the changes of Moriarty dragging Sherlock along with him were pretty high. To kill Moriarty, Sherlock might have to kill himself as well.
John slammed his hand against the wall again. More out of habit than really expecting Sherlock to come back for him. Hell, Sherlock could very well be dead by now. Then Moriarty would probably leave John alone, after all what fun would there be in killing him then? It would be the police letting John out then. And if Sherlock managed to kill Moriarty? Did he stand a chance? Maybe now he had Julia on his side. An assassin who was suddenly on their side. What had made her switch teams anyway? It made no sense. Sherlock hadn't made her choose to help him and John hadn't either. And guessing by her profession, she didn't have any trouble killing people, so it hadn't been her conscience either.
There was something much worse about being trapped in here. John needed to contact the hospital, to tell them from which snake the poison came. The poison that was killing Sarah. Julia had told him what it was and if the doctors knew, they could save her life. But John was trapped in this elevator and if he had to wait for someone to find him, it might be too late for Sarah.
With a sudden jerk, the elevator started to move again. John looked around him in the almost entirely black space. He vainly tried to think of something he could use as a weapon. He had his gun, but there were no bullets in it left.
Someone opened the door, causing the light to flood back into the small room John had been trapped in. He blinked with his eyes, trying to see who had freed him.
"Julia," he said amazed.
"John," she mimicked his voice.
John looked around the room. "Why are you here, where's Sherlock? Where's Moriarty and that big…"
"The bodyguard is dead, Sherlock is on the factory floor and I lost Moriarty," Julia quickly stated. She grabbed John by the arm. "Now let's go before someone else is dead as well." She started running and pulled John with her.
"Who do you work for?" John asked.
"Whoever pays me," Julia smiled. It was unnerving.
"Who's paying you now?"
Julia shook her head. Maybe assassins had a 'doctor-patient-confidentiality' thing going on.
"Fine, then why are you helping us?"
"I'm being paid to."
"Paid to help Sherlock Holmes?" John asked incredulous.
Then it hit him. There really was only one person she could be working for. Maybe there were several people who had a reason to want Sherlock kept alive, but there was only one of them who could afford to outbid Moriarty when it came to an assassin's loyalty.
"You're working for Mycroft Holmes," John exclaimed.
Julia looked impressed. "Yes, at the moment."
"Then why did you hand Sherlock over to Moriarty?" John asked, he slowed his pace and hoped Julia would do the same because he wasn't going to be able to keep running.
"Then I wasn't working for Mycroft yet. I was working for Moriarty."
"Wait," John said and he stopped running all together. "When did you start working for Mycroft?"
"About thirty minutes before you showed up."
"Er…" John didn't understand.
"Mycroft called me and told me to keep his brother safe and that you would be showing up to try and rescue Sherlock. So I kept an eye on the cameras and saw you approaching the building and…"
"He called you and gave you an order and you just changed sides?"
"As I said, I work for whoever pays me. True, Moriarty did hire me first and usually when two jobs have conflicting interest, I have a 'first come, first served' policy, but Mycroft is my biggest employer, so he has first rights."
"Mycroft is your biggest employer?" John asked surprised.
"Exactly. And he told me to keep his brother save and make sure he could take over Moriarty's business."
"Mycroft wants Moriarty's business?"
Julia started running again. "And he wants Sherlock safe, so could we go and take care of that now?"
John reluctantly started running again. They reached a door and went through it. Immediately John could see Sherlock and Moriarty standing at the very top of a very large staircase.
"Sherlock!" Sherlock turned his face to see John standing at the far side of the room. The Barracuda was standing just in front of him.
"I see your pet is here," Moriarty said.
"Good old John Watson," Sherlock mumbled to himself.
"She's working for your brother! Julia is working for Mycroft!" John yelled.
Sherlock had no idea why John felt he needed to know that right now. The Barracuda is working for Mycroft. Sherlock wasn't surprised his brother would have an assassin on his payroll. After all, Mycroft worked for every major government in Europe, of course he had need of someone to 'resolve' difficult situations for him.
Moriarty had that tight smile on his face again. "It seems both Holmes brothers are making things difficult for me," he said. Sherlock was certain it was meant as a threat against his brother's life. But then he had never worried about Mycroft.
From the corner of his eye, Sherlock could see the Barracuda and John argue over a gun. It looked like the one the bodyguard had, but Sherlock guessed it would be empty by now. Unlike in the movies, real life guns didn't have an endless supply of ammunition.
John came towards the staircase. "We've called the police, Moriarty," John said. "Come down."
Moriarty smiled at John. "Never count on the police," he said.
Sherlock understood what Moriarty meant, there was no way Moriarty didn't have at least some of the police force on his side. And knowing Jimbo, he probably had only the highest ranking officers on his payroll.
Never count on the police, John, Sherlock thought to himself.
Moriarty turned around on the small platform. He wasn't as tall as Sherlock and had to stand on his toes to lean in and whisper in Sherlock's ear. "I'll burn the heart out of you," he said.
The wide grin on his face was unbearable. Sherlock glanced down at the figure of John Watson, the man who had risked his life several times for Sherlock. Moriarty would kill him, torture him. All to get to Sherlock. There were only two ways to save John's life. One was to kill Sherlock, the other was to kill Moriarty.
No, there's one other way, Sherlock thought to himself. Kill us both. Sherlock looked at John. Then using his full weight, he threw both himself and Moriarty over the ledge.
Even with time running against him, Sherlock's mind had just enough time to realise no one survives a fall from that height.