Chapter 8
Disclaimer: I don't own Sherlock, John or anyone you recognise.
Authors note: Firstly, I apologise a million times for the long wait. I've had some serious exams, and made the stupid mistake of watching one of the old Doctor Who episodes...now I can't stop. This chapter is definatley not the best, but I hope you like it anyway :D
The living room of 221b was filled with panicked people and a tense atmosphere. John
sat on the sofa, his hand clasped in Naomi's, whilst Lestrade stood near the doorway and Mrs Hudson offered cups of tea. All had their attention on the stressed detective who paced up and down the room.
Being used for a webcam call with Mycroft , a laptop had been intentionally placed on the coffee table. Sherlock groaned loudly in frustration and turned to the others.
"John, I can't think straight," He stated, "Get me some."
"Get you some what?" Naomi asked, though John already knew.
"Sherlock, you're already wearing six patches."
"I don't care!"
"Brother, you need to calm down…" Mycroft expressed, but the detective just glared at the laptop.
After a moment, Sherlock strode to his coat and pulled some scraps of paper from the pockets. He pinned them to wall and stood back, holding his hands against his lips. John stood from the sofa to take a look, and saw the notes they had found, along with handwritten versions of Moriarty's texts and his speech from the party.
"There has to be some sort of clue in what he has said," Sherlock stated, "He enjoys this, watching people dance for him. He likes to play games, but this time, I refuse to play along"
John read the notes again, and his eyes widened as he realised what they had been missing.
"Better hurry…before this all blows up in your face"
"You should hurry up before things get explosive."
"My interest is starting to drown.."
He closed his eyes, and the flashback started.
He stood in the pool with his eyes on Sherlock, Moriarty's annoying voice ringing in his ears.
"No no no no no, if you don't stop prying…I'll burn you. I'll burn the heart out of you."
"I have been reliably informed that I don't have one," Sherlock replied.
"But we both know that's not quite true."
John turned to his friend, who was still staring at the wall, his fingers trembling with panic.
"What if he's hurt her?" The detective demanded.
"Sherlock…"
"I swear, if that bastered has hurt her-"
"Sherlock."
"What?"
"I remember."
"Oh."
The room was silent as Sherlock waited for him to speak. The doctor said two words and they were both sprinting out of the flat, their coats forgotten.
"The pool."
Tears fell down Jim's cheeks as he pleaded to the women in the chair.
"Please, Molly. I love you so much. I could give you anything you've ever wanted. Just…be with me, please."
Molly shook her head. The psychopath's eyebrows furrowed and he took Molly's hands in his own.
"You love me," Jim stated, "You just won't admit it. You've deluded yourself into thinking you're in love with him, though he'll never be able to give you what I can. He's not human, sweetheart. He's just the shell of a man who will only end up getting killed-"
He was interrupted when Molly freed her right hand and slapped him. An expression of sadness crossed his features before pure anger took over his entire being.
"You bitch!" He screamed, "Fine, you don't want to be with me, but it doesn't matter, since we're going to end up together anyway."
"You might as well kill me," Molly muttered, and Moriarty laughed.
'Stayin' alive' started playing, and the pathologist looked up in confusion. Holding the phone to his ear, Moriarty snapped at the caller.
"What do you want…oh, I see; now things will get interesting…no, I don't want the building surrounded, this time it's personal…cheers Sebastian."
The psychopath hung up and turned back to Molly.
"Looks like your knight in shining armour has arrived."
Silence filled the empty pool. Everything was still; and the air was thick with tension, as if it was foreshadowing the tragic events that were about to happen. One set of double doors opened to reveal Sherlock Holmes, his fists clenched but a nonchalant expression on his face. He stepped into the cold room, prepared for battle.
"You're very clever…Jim. Thought you'd bring a 'blast from the past'. Didn't realise repetition was your style." He called out.
"It's not usually," The familiar voice sounded through the pool, "But this place has a certain…atmosphere, that I just couldn't refuse."
He entered through the doors on the opposite side. A grin plastered on his face, though dejection glazed his eyes. He wore his one of his usual Westwood suits, and moved with confidence. Sherlock was reminded of the previous time they were here, since everything was the same…with one exception.
The psychopath had an arm around Molly.
Her whole being was trembling as she walked alongside Moriarty. Still clad in her formal dress, the pathologist was obviously cold from the temperature and uncomfortable atmosphere. Sherlock winced at the burn marks on her arms. Her eyes were on the floor, but looked up when she noticed Sherlock's presence, staring at him with relief, longing and complete agony.
She was expecting to die.
Moriarty started to laugh, and the detective glowered at him.
"Well, this is something I never expected to happen," he declared, "I've found Sherlock Holmes' weak spot. Of course, I could still have killed you, but this has made it so much easier."
Sherlock scoffed.
"Is that what you really think? You've found my 'weak spot'?"
Moriarty nodded and forced Molly to turn around, showing off the Semtex duct taped onto the back of her dress. The detective's jaw clenched, and pure anger clouded his mind. Molly turned back.
"Let her go!" He screamed, his baritone voice breaking.
"No."
"Why not? I'm here, you can kill me. Just let her-" Sherlock paused, his mind finally catching up. He deducted the people before him and smiled.
"What? What did I miss?" Moriarty demanded.
"You wouldn't kill her," The detective stated.
"Would I not?"
"No."
"You seem awfully confident."
"Oh, I am. You love her"
The psychopath said nothing, instead just glaring at his enemy. After a moment, he smirked, his mask back in place.
"Very clever, Locky, very clever. I assume you've figured out the rest as well."
"You assume correctly. This entire 'game' of yours was a way of sending me on a wild goose chase, meaning you had plenty of time to declare your love to Molly. You threaten to kill her, though I doubt the Semtex is even real. You obviously have feelings for her, you're standing intentionally close, always in contact. I can see your dilated eyes from here."
Moriarty grinned.
"Well done. I might as well tell you everything now," He shrugged, "Firstly, let me make something clear. Molly is mine. Mine. You could never love her the way I do. I got her first, Locky."
"Oh, how childish," The detective sighed as he rolled his eyes.
"Maybe, but it's true," Moriarty replied with a smile, "So, as you've probably predicted, I'm going to kill you, and then me and Molly-"
"Molly and I," Sherlock corrected.
Molly smirked, which went unnoticed by Jim, who was trying to control his irritation. A few seconds passed before he continued.
"Fine. Molly and I will live happily ever after."
"You really are a psychopath, aren't you?"
"Pretty much."
"I presume you've found a new way of killing me, since I've noticed the lack of red dots on my chest," The detective stated.
"Well, I thought I'd do it myself. It would be more personal that way."
Moriarty raised the gun and aimed it at Sherlock's heart.
Molly gasped beside him, her eyes watering and her heartbeat racing. Her chest became tight as she held her breath. Before she could do anything to help, the double doors swung open; John Watson waltzing into the room with his own gun in hand.
"Shoot Sherlock, and I shoot you, Jim." He said confidently, "You have no back up, so I suggest you drop the gun."
Moriarty laughed hysterically.
"Oh your pet! I forgot about your pet. It's a good thing I decided to get one of my own."
This was the cue for Sebastian Moran to enter from the changing rooms behind the confused doctor. He pressed a handgun to his temple, but John refused to lower his arm. Molly glanced around frantically, trying to find some way to both understand and help the situation.
So Sebastian is pointing a gun at John, John is pointing a gun at Moriarty, and Moriarty is pointing a gun at Sherlock. What can I do? She thought.
Suddenly a flashback of childhood self-defense lessons came rushing back to her.
I've got nothing to lose.