Warnings: Violence, though nothing too explicit.

"You may now seal this union with a-"

A loud noise was heard from behind, effectively cutting off the officiant.

Sherlock was standing at the end of the aisle, drenched in water, two guards holding him back.

"We apologise for interrupting your wedding, Prince Watson. We found him," one of the guards leaned his head towards Sherlock, who was trying to shake them off, "getting into the ship. We'll take care of everything; please, proceed."

Sherlock continued to thrash about, trying to break free from the guards hold. Desperate, he searched for John, and found him staring at him, an odd look on his face. He didn't seem to recognize him, he looked positively confused, but there was something... a glint in his eyes.

Somewhere, deep down, John still remembered him.

He risked a glance at Moriarty and felt his blood boil. The man looked perfectly relaxed, a sly grin on his face.

Realizing this was his only chance, he elbowed the guard on his left, effectively breaking his hold, and turned to throw a punch at the other one. He immediately bolted forward, knowing that wouldn't deter them for long, and lunged at Moriarty.

He saw a brief expression of shock pass across his face the moment his hand wrapped around the necklace, ripping it off. He felt the shell for a second, and deduced the material wasn't particularly strong. He threw it at the floor and stepped hard on it, smiling in satisfaction when he felt a light crash under his shoe.

He looked up, searching once more for John's face, but was stopped by a pair of hands grabbing him from behind. Stupid, stupid, he had forgotten about the guards. He had to see John, he had to know if it had worked, if-

"Let him go."

The guards released him. He looked at John, and felt himself go weak with relief.

"Sherlock." John walked up to him, a guilty expression on his face. "I'm so sorry. I'm not entirely sure what happened, but-" He reached out, cupping Sherlock's cheek with his hand, and Sherlock couldn't help but lean into the touch. "It wasn't him who rescued me, was he? It was you."

John got closer to him, curling a hand around the nape of his neck to pull him down. He closed his eyes. This was it, he knew it. John would kiss him and then-

A sharp pain shot through him. He pushed John away, his knees buckling, and felt a strange sensation coursing through his legs.

No, not his legs.

He opened his eyes.

His tail.

He heard Moriarty's laugh from behind him. The sun had set.

"Oh, what a shame. And you were so close, too." Moriarty smiled, walking up to him and hoisting him up by the elbow. "Sorry about the commotion, Prince. I'm afraid we must leave now."

Moriarty pulled him towards the railings, and he turned one last time to look at John, who leapt forwards and grabbed his wrist, in an attempt to break Moriarty's hold off.

He was surprised, then, when instead of tugging him forward, he merely brushed his lips against his ear, whispering 'Twenty minutes' to him, his voice urgent.

What did he mean by that, what-

Oh.

And with a last yank from Moriarty, he was gone.

"You're a bit quiet, my dear. Are you all right?" Moriarty asked, turning to look at him while he dragged him further away from the ship. "Oh, of course, how silly of me. You can talk now, I'm sorry I forgot to mention it sooner."

"You're not getting away with this," he muttered. His voice was hoarse, quite understandable, he thought, considering he hadn't talked in days. "Mycroft probably knows by now, if you think he will let you-"

"Oh, I'm counting on it." Moriarty grinned, his grip in his elbow tightening fractionally. "In fact, there he is, coming towards us."

No.

He looked at where Moriarty was pointing, and he felt a pang of guilt. Mycroft looked exhausted, and the look of utter relief that appeared on his face the moment he saw he was unharmed was slightly painful.

"Let him go," where Mycroft's first words as soon as he was in front of them.

"I apologise, my King, but I'm afraid I can't do that. You see, little Sherlock here signed a contract: Three days as a human in exchange for his freedom. He will make such a nice acquisition to my collection" He smiled again, a feral look on his face. "I'm sure you know where this is going."

Mycroft's shoulders dropped. Their eyes met, and Mycroft smiled softly, his eyes never leaving his own while he spoke to Moriarty.

"Take me instead."

"No!" Sherlock exclaimed, trying to break free from Moriarty's hold. "Mycroft, have you lost your mind? You can't do that, you-"

"You're my little brother, Sherlock," Mycroft whispered. "Do you really think there's anything I wouldn't do for you?"

Before he could react, Moriarty moved forwards and cast his spell on Mycroft. He was surrounded by a yellow light, and Sherlock could see him curling himself into a ball, his whole body shaking while his body become smaller, until all was left was a tiny polyp.

He got closer to Mycroft, not even registering that Moriarty had finally let go of him.

"I'm sorry," he said. The first time he apologised to Mycroft, and he wasn't even sure his brother could understand him.

He had to pull himself back together. It would do him no good to feel sorry for himself.

Twenty minutes, John had said. He was positive he still had a bit under five minutes left, so he would have to be quick. But how?

He was pulled out of his thoughts by Moriarty's voice.

"Sebastian, so nice of you to have joined us. It's a good thing, too, I wouldn't want you to miss the best part."

It was then that Sherlock realized that Moriarty was holding the King's trident in his hand, pointing it at Mycroft's defenceless form.

"Farewell, our King."

Without thinking of the consequences, he leaped forwards and seized Moriarty's arms, effectively diverting the curse's path.

"Boss-!" Sebastian's yell was cut off by the curse blasting right through him, killing him on the spot.

Moriarty's face showed nothing but pure rage as he encircled his hand around Sherlock's neck, his grip tight enough to be uncomfortable.

"You're going to pay for that, Holmes." Moriarty's usual carefree attitude was gone. His voice was cold, and for the first time, Sherlock could appreciate how frightening he truly was.

"Am I?" He smiled. It was time. "You have no way of harming me anymore. Mycroft is essentially gone, you took away my opportunity to stay human. Do you really think killing me would achieve anything?"

Moriarty's grip tightened fractionally, and for a second, Sherlock though his plan wouldn't work, that Moriarty would simply keep squeezing until he lost consciousness; but the grip slackened a moment later, Moriarty's expression turning into one of triumph.

"Are you sure there's nothing left? So you wouldn't mind if I paid a visit to Johnny boy up there?"

He tried his best to look shocked, but he knew it didn't matter. Moriarty was for too gone by now, he wouldn't see through his lie. "No. Leave John out of this."

"I'm going to kill him," Moriarty whispered, "and I'm going to make you watch."

John rested his forearms on the railing, looking down at the sea, where Moriarty had disappeared with Sherlock.

Twenty-two minutes had passed now, and still Sherlock was nowhere to be seen.

He knew his message had been cryptic enough, but he didn't have much time. Sherlock was smart, he knew. He would understand.

As if summoned by his thoughts, Sherlock suddenly appeared right below him.

"John, Moriarty is-"

A second later Moriarty made his appearance, a hand curled around the railing to hoist himself up, while the other one shot up to clutch John's wrist.

"Hello, Johnny. Did you miss us?"

With a hard yank at his arm, John was pulled forward, over the railing, and he landed on the water beside Sherlock. He tried to swim away, to get some distance from the ship, knowing his plan wouldn't work otherwise, but Moriarty quickly caught up to him. He fisted a hand on his hair, roughly bending his head back, and placed the trident on his throat.

He saw Sherlock trying to get closer to them, probably to try to stop Moriarty. Their eyes met, and as subtly as he could, he signaled Sherlock to stop, to get away.

"What are you going to do? Poke me to death?" He tried to smile, but groaned in pain when the trident pressed harder against his throat, a trail of blood running down his collarbone.

"I'm going to blow you to pieces," Moriarty said.

"Doesn't sound too scary, if you ask me."

"No," Moriarty whispered, their faces mere inches apart. "You're right."

The trident left his throat, and he let out a sigh of relief.

Then, a split second later, it came charging back at him, piercing right through his left shoulder-

Just as a harpoon caught Moriarty on the back of his head, the end sticking out of his forehead.

Moriarty's grip on his hair disappeared, and he slowly went under, barely aware of Sherlock's scream in the distance.

Author's notes:

Oh, I am so good with action. And suspense. Oh, yes, look at this chapter, it's amazing.
Please don't kill me, I tried.
Last chapter will be up tomorrow (No excuses. I'm really sorry it took me so long to upload this chapter!).
Please let me know if you see any mistakes. Enjoy x