Runaway Home

Chp 23

Sorry this took so long guys, I had a case of procrastination…and tumblr. Also, holy shit did I forget how much they packed into this episode! Also, also, this may be considered cheating, but…it's what I came up with.

Ouch. What happened? There was a definite pounding in his head and he felt heavy, but why? What was that smell? Where was he? Nothing seemed to make any sense so John decided it was time to clear his mind and just think, he needed to review what had happened in the last few days that could have led to this. Because really, when one lives with Sherlock Holmes, it could be anything.

First there was Janus Cars. They'd interviewed the man and then Sherlock had studied the blood sample found in the car. The man had been out of the country Sherlock had observed and the blood had been taken before hand and stored in a freezer to preserve it. He'd discovered that the car company was a cover for people trying to escape the country, which their 'victim' had, all the way to Columbia. The wife was covering just as the detective had said; he remembered that, Sherlock had been so smug about the whole thing. It made John roll his eyes at the thought, resulting in another wave of pain. Right, back to why his head was killing him.

Then there had been Connie Prince, the talk show host. Mrs. Hudson had always enjoyed her show and often made John watch when he'd come down with a cold or flu (normally because he'd been out in the rain all night or forced into the freezing cold for some case) so that she could keep him company. He never cared much for the show, but he did always enjoy spending time with Mrs. H, and watching telly with someone who wasn't yelling at it. At first it had seemed she had died of tetanus due to a rusty nail; however that didn't quite add up. He vaguely recalled being trapped at that house with the very interested brother. John supposed he had a thing for younger men judging by the obvious thing between him and the house keeper. It was odd he thought, being flirted with by a man. He hadn't thought of being with anyone other than Sherlock. At the time he thought that it was something he'd have to grow used to, the detective had told him he held no interest for people's sexual desires (but John had already known that, so he had no right to feel upset), now he realized it probably didn't matter at all because the pounding in his head was lessening and the weight on his chest was becoming far more obvious.

It had been the house keeper they soon realized (some sooner than others) and it was on to the next case. John really hadn't been pleased with that (Sherlock's lack of empathy that is), not at all, so he'd spent a lot of the next case on his own. He'd even ventured off to finally satiate Mycroft's constant calling about the murder of Andrew West. They'd faced off a hit man (which John found that it was concerning how this was not the first time this had happened) and almost lost another victim, this time it would have been a kid though. A little more knowledge of the solar system and perhaps it wouldn't have been such a close call, not that Sherlock would admit to that. After that little blunder John had nearly figured out the Andrew West murder all by himself until the detective stepped in at the last minute with the big reveal, typical. He'd pitched a bit of a fit about it but if he was honest he really didn't mind. It was just another one of those traits that should annoy the hell out of the boy, but it really only made him love the man more.

That was it though for the cases, they hadn't received the last pip yet. As far as he could tell they had tied all their loose ends other than the bomber. Which spelled bad news for John because that meant that odd press on his chest could really only be one thing. He figured he'd been sitting in the dark for long enough and venture to open his eyes. The surrounding area was that of a locker room of sorts, the smell of chlorine was thick in the air as well so he quickly concluded he was at a public pool. Odd, all the other victims had been placed somewhere public so to maximize the death toll. Given that it was fairly late (at least it felt late, it had been late when he'd left hadn't it?) it would be safe to assume there would be no one coming here for a long time. Though perhaps he was supposed to sit here for the next twelve hours or so. Not likely, he was wearing a large green coat that would seem fairly peculiar to any body passing by. He peaked beneath said coat just to verify that he was in fact the last pip, he was. His heart picked up a bit at the thought of being the next victim. Everything about this was different and he was close to Sherlock (or as close as one could get), this could be the bomber's way of ending his game with a bang. Unfortunately for John, quite literally.

He wasn't tied up which was strange, perhaps this person thought he'd be out for longer? Just as he moved to stand up there was a crackling in his ear. John froze in place, he'd forgotten about the ear piece. He'd also let himself forget about the snipers. The boy sat himself back on the ground promptly. He couldn't see any, but he didn't doubt it. That would be why he wasn't tied up; the bomber was counting on him to remember the snipers. He'd bet his life on it. The crackling picked up again and John looked around the room nervously, he really had no idea what to expect at this point and it was troubling to say the least.

"We're going to play a game."

A voice cooed through his ear piece and his spine went unbelievably rigid.

"What is this, Saw?"

John spit out sarcastically in an attempt to appear unphased by his kidnapping and he did an excellent job of it too. To be fair though, he had been in similar situations before, so he had a bit of practice. His resolve broke a fraction when a hysterical laugh buzzed in his ear.

"You're funny. No wonder he likes you. Now's not the time for jokes though pet, he's almost here so that means any minute it will be yours and my big debut."

The voice purred and it sent shivers down the boy's spine.

"Sherlock? He's on his way here?"

John asked just a bit more frantically then he'd liked.

"Don't get too excited love, he has no idea you're here yet."

John just tensed more at that, why would Sherlock be coming here then? What had this mad man told him? Or was this of the detective's own doing, Sherlock was known to be spectacularly ignorant at times despite his genius status.

"Nothing to say? Well that's no fun! Come now Johnny boy, don't tell me you were too terribly hurt by that? Surely you must know he doesn't feel the same way. He's a genius, a master of his craft…you're just a boy. A cute one, I'll give you that, but certainly no match for the likes of me. I'm interesting, you're average."

The voice sneered through the ear piece and John couldn't help but flinch at the inflection in the man's tone.

"You're insane; besides, he's always found your types more interesting than me. It's not like I'm not used to it. The only difference is when the case is over you'll be behind bars and out of his mind, while I'll be back at the flat with him."

John said in a voice far more bold than how he was feeling. The man snarled but said nothing. The boy smirked to himself, it appeared as though he'd affectively shut the voice up. His smirk dropped instantly when a group of red dots began flashing over his chest. He held his breath to conceal the horror that had begun to seep in. Then there was the clicking of expensive shoes on tile floors and if at all possible John stiffened more. The footsteps came to a stop right in front of the boy and the originator of them was a lean brunette man with a crazed look in his eyes.

"Do you know who I am? Do you know what I do to people who talk to me like you just did?"

He growled as he took two menacing steps closer. John unconsciously scooted backwards further pressing himself against the wall before shaking his head slowly.

"Let's just say it's no where near as quick or painless as a bomb. If it weren't for your friend I'd be tying you down as we speak, unfortunately that would put a major kink in my plans."

The man explained in an ominous tone that made John's throat dry.

"What do you have in store then?"

John asked shakily and the man smiled devilishly.

"Well, I wouldn't want to ruin the surprise."

The man said with a large maniacal grin planted on his face. John swallowed nervously under the insane man's stare and prayed this wasn't as dire as it seemed. Suddenly the man's face lit up even more as he pressed his hand against his right year. So he had an ear piece too John noted.

"Looks like Sherly finally decided to join us, come on, be a dear and go on out and greet him. Don't worry about the talking bit, just do as I say and a good time will be guaranteed for all I assure you."

He said innocently with a sly smile. John got up and began shuffling out towards the pool. The boy cooled his expression so that he didn't seem too worried. If you asked why he probably wouldn't have been able to give you a straight answer, but your best bet would be that he knew Sherlock would need him to be brave. Because as cold as the detective liked to act; it didn't take much to crack his armor, at least not when John was involved. The boy took in a deep breath to calm himself as he drew closer to the pool. He couldn't let his mask slip, not for a second. There was such a feeling of overwhelming anxiety though, and not to anybody's surprise it had everything to do with his flat mate. There was a strong possibility he would die tonight and if that were true he would be doing so without revealing the whole truth, with out telling Sherlock just why he'd been so shattered by those messages. It wasn't just that he was a homosexual, but that everybody knew now that John Watson was in fact very in love with one Sherlock Holmes. Everybody knew, accept Sherlock of course. John didn't want to tell him, but he knew it was only a matter of time before the other shoe dropped. Someone would say something; Donovan had almost yelled it at him. He just wasn't sure he could rest in piece knowing that if Sherlock made it out of here alive, he would find out too late. There was no way to tell how the man would take the news, but his reaction to John's sexuality had told him it couldn't be negative. It was a good possibility the detective did not return the feeling, but that didn't mean John didn't want him to know. The boy would hurt to hear the words out loud, that Sherlock would never return that love in the same way, but it would be worth it. He wanted the detective to know that despite what most people said about him, or felt about him, there was one person in this world that loved him more than anything else.

He tried not to think about it as he stepped out to the pool. No matter how much he wanted Sherlock to know, he wanted him to live more. So it wouldn't due to be day dreaming now. He would need to focus, if there was a way out of this he would have to be ready to get him (optional) and Sherlock (non-negotiable) out of here alive. Sherlock was standing by the end of the pool and looked positively shocked to see John standing there. Shocked? Yes, shocked, where had he thought John was going? Oh, that's right; he'd been on his way to Bill's. Yes, well, this was certainly well out of the way. He didn't get to observe the detective for long before the familiar voice began humming in his ear.

"This is a turn up, isn't it Sherlock."

John copied in a monotone voice. Sherlock looked taken back, utterly out of his element. For a moment John wondered if the detective thought John was the bomber.

"Bet you didn't see this coming."

John continued and he silently begged to end this because it was torture enough to see that confused and hurt expression on his flat mate's face.

"John?"

The detective's voice was steady but there was a fragility hidden behind his eyes that spoke volumes.

"What would you have him say next?"

John repeated and opened his coat as instructed. Sherlock's face morphed from one of confusion to one of horror. He quickly schooled it though and began looking around the pool room anxiously.

"Gottle-o-gear, Gottle-o-gear, Gottle-o-gear-"

"Stop."

The chatter in his ear piece cut off and the silence that followed was unsettling. Sherlock was edging closer whilst looking John up and down, his eyes catching on the semtex each time.

"Fitting, meeting here, where little Carl died. I stopped him. I can stop John Watson too, I can stop his heart."

John wasn't sure he was so glad to have that voice back and he had no idea whether he or Sherlock had been more terrified by the last statement.

"Come out and talk to me, face to face."

Sherlock demanded as he pulled out a gun from the back of his pants. John's eyes widened considerably, since when did Sherlock have a gun? Who would give that man permission to use a gun? If it helped them get out of this then he would be thankful, although he would still have to have a serious discussion with the person.

"I thought you might call, I gave you my number."

The man's voice called out from somewhere behind the boy. Sherlock's eyes narrowed in search of the voice's location.

"Don't you remember? Jim? Jim from the hospital? Did I really make that little of an impression? Well, I suppose that was rather the point."

The man continued as he stepped into the room. Sherlock pointed the gun straight at him, finger tensed at the trigger.

"Don't be ridiculous, someone else is holding the rifle."

"Moriarty I presume."

"In the flesh."

Oh, well…right. John supposed he should have realized that, though to be fair it had been a few years since he'd heard the name.

"John's the fifth pip, clever. Now give him back."

Sherlock bit out from between his teeth and took the safety off of the gun. Moriarty simply chuckled in response and took a few steps closer.

"Go ahead dear, blow my head off. I'm sure John will enjoy my parting gift."

He replied silkily. There was a flash of panic in the detective's eyes and John did his best not to react to it. It was imperative he remain strong, if he panics as well it will only make things worse.

"What do you want?"

Sherlock finally asks and shifts closer to John as the mad man walks closer.

"To give you a message…back off. You've seen what I can do, you've seen how far my reach goes, and now I'm asking you to back off."

"Or what, you'll kill me?"

"Don't be boring, I'm going to kill you anyway. No. If you continue, I'll be forced to burn you. I'll burn the heart out of you."

"I've been reliably informed that I don't have one."

Sherlock quipped and just as he did Moriarty took one final step closer so that his hand could sweep along John's cheek. The boy did his best not to flinch at the touch with little success.

"But we both know that's not quite true."

He answered and let his hand linger, his fingers brushing John's skin every second or so, and Sherlock's eyes seemed to be torn between glaring at the fingers and the face of the man who possessed them.

"I could kill him right now you know."

He chirped and several red dots flooded John's chest. The detective visibly tensed and stared at the dots with horror. The boy offered a weak smile in the hopes it would calm his friend, however it seemed to have little affect. Moriarty moved even closer so that his body was flush against John's back.

"I could take his pathetic life, I could end it right now…we're not too different you and I. In fact we're almost identical, accept for this one fact. It would kill you to let the boy die, where as I wouldn't bat an eye. So where I would accept the challenge, I'm certain you won't."

"How can you be so certain?"

Moriarty smiled and wrapped a hand tight around John's throat. Sherlock was beginning to let his guard down more and more, his terror becoming very evident. John struggled to remain calm as the hand made it increasingly difficult to breath.

"I read."