Chapter Title: Boom
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Words: 3,267
Disclaimer: I don't own BBC, nor any of its characters…duh. Do I seem like the geniuses that are Sir Arthur Conan Doyle, Steven Moffat, or Mark Gatiss? I didn't think so… Though, I would have John/Sherlock shagging by now if I did own them ;D
A/N: Sorry for the long wait! Follow me on Tumblr! Username: benaddictfreebabe
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"I apologize."
John looked up from his laptop and over at his curly-haired flat-mate in shock. "Sorry, what?"
Sherlock shifted in his chair. "I apologize. I see now that what I did was inappropriate and that an apology is needed," Sherlock spoke, his voice soft. He had never really apologized to anyone in his life –other than Molly, but that was different.
"What are you apologizing for?" John cocked his head to the side and waited. Truth be told, he didn't exactly know what Sherlock was apologizing for.
"At the scene…when I pulled you away…I realize now that that was inappropriate and for that I am sorry," he clarified.
"Oh." John closed his laptop and placed it on the couch beside him. "To tell you the truth, Sherlock, it didn't really bother me."
"You seemed bothered."
"I really wasn't. Sure, you surprised me, but I've gotten used to it. I've gotten used to all your quirks and outbursts," John smiled.
A ghost of a smile appeared on Sherlock's lips. "So you accept my apology?"
John rolled his eyes, "Of course, you git. Besides, that's not the worst thing you've done to me." John felt his heart break a little as he tried to be lighthearted about the statement. It still hurt to think about watching Sherlock falling to his death and the detective showing up three years later alive, but they had moved on, forgotten the pain.
Sherlock's smile faltered, but he covered it quickly, "Dinner?"
"Love to –wait, shouldn't you talk to Lestrade? I may not be bothered by your arrogance, but Lestrade is; I know that for a fact. I think an apology is in order for him," John replied.
Sherlock sighed dramatically, "Fine." He picked up his phone and began to text Lestrade.
"Don't text him."
Sherlock sighed again as he deleted the text. He began to scroll through his contacts, looking for Lestrade.
"No calling him either," John stopped him. "You'll talk to him in person."
Sherlock rolled his eyes. "Fine, but if he tries to lecture me, I'm going to say something," he warned.
John got up and grabbed his coat. "No you won't."
Sherlock led the way out of the flat and hailed a cab, headed for New Scotland Yard.
…
Lestrade looked up as he heard knocking on his office door. "Come in," he called loud enough for someone on the other side to hear.
Sherlock stalked in, clearly annoyed. "Lestrade, I would like to apologize for my behavior at the crime scene yesterday. It was inappropriate and I'll try not to do it again," he spoke, his voice robotic.
John cleared his throat and elbowed Sherlock's side.
"…I won't do it again…unless," Sherlock started, but John elbowed him in the ribs, harder this time. "I won't do it again," Sherlock stated firmly.
Lestrade looked between the two of them. "Bloody Hell, how'd you get him to do that?" Lestrade asked John, a smirk tugging at one corner of his mouth.
John smirked as Sherlock grimaced.
"Well, goodbye." Sherlock turned on his heel and swept out of the office, practically running to the exit.
John nodded once to bid goodbye to a shocked Lestrade. He exited the office and followed Sherlock down to the ground level. He ran to catch up and fell into stride with Sherlock.
"That was humiliating," Sherlock muttered.
John chuckled, "Hey, you're the one who was rude at a crime scene! Lestrade deserved an apology, he got one, and now, to save yourself from another 'humiliating' apology, you're going to behave at the crime scenes. Lesson learned."
"You owe me dinner," Sherlock huffed.
John chuckled again, "Of course." He hailed a cab and gave the address for Angelo's.
…
Sherlock set the menu aside and looked out the window.
John eyed Sherlock's discarded menu, "You know, the concept of 'me owing you dinner' consists of you actually eating."
"I'm on a case," he replied, his attention diverted.
"Then why did you offer dinner?"
"For you," Sherlock met John's gaze.
It was silent for a moment before John cleared his throat uncomfortably and stared down at his menu.
"Sherlock, nice to see you," Angelo walked over and patted the consultant on the back, "and you brought your boyfriend again."
"Still not his boyfriend," John sighed, still deciding what to order.
Angelo chuckled, "Sure, mate. We've all gone through denial."
John ignored him and set his menu down, "I'll just have tea, thank you."
Angelo smiled and nodded, "Anything for Sherlock and his-"
"-not his date," John snapped, his face going red.
Angelo shut his mouth at John's tone and went to fetch his tea.
Sherlock started, "Why do you always-"
John's mobile went off, stopping the detective mid-sentence. John looked down at his phone –Moriarty's phone, to be specific; he had begun to carry that phone around instead seeing as nobody called him on his personal device.
A familiar number lit up the screen. This time it was not by text.
"Oh, uh, I've got to take this…It's Harry; she was going to call me later today…" John stepped away from the table before Sherlock could stop him. He traveled to the far side of the restaurant and answered the phone. "Bloody Hell, Jim, I'm with Sherlock right now. What do you want?"
"Yes, yes, I know about your little date. I just couldn't wait to tell you!" Jim sang into John's ear.
"It's not a date; why does everyone just assume it's a date? I'm not gay for God's sakes," John rambled annoyed.
"Hey, hey, you're ruining it," Moriarty shut him up, "Now, Johnny boy, I need you to tell our friend Sherlock that you have to leave. I have a task for you that simply cannot wait."
"Not now, Jim…Sherlock is already suspicious as it is. You want me to just skip out on him? What am I even supposed to say?" John growled.
"Tell him that your sister had a little accident or that she needed help getting home from the bar. Be creative, heaven knows you're good at that," Jim smirked, "Do hurry, dear. You do know how bored I get when waiting."
John tensed. Bored meant destruction in the dictionary of James Moriarty. "Fine…just send a car and I'll meet them outside."
"Already done! Oh, how you underestimate me, John Watson," Moriarty frowned, "I thought we knew each other better than that."
"I wish I didn't know you at all," John mumbled.
"See you soon, C.J.," Moriarty hung up, leaving John to ponder what C.J. meant.
John looked back at the table and found Sherlock staring out the window, completely oblivious to everything around him at the moment. That meant John had two choices. He could either go over and try to make up an excuse that would be deduced in a matter of seconds for being false, or he could sneak out, unnoticed.
He'd prefer the latter.
John rounded a corner and almost rammed into a waiter. "Sorry," he mumbled, shoving past them.
"Oi! Watch where you're goin'!" The waiter yelled a little too loudly.
John ignored his complaints and pushed his way through a set of double doors leading to the kitchen. He slipped through the maze of chefs and waiters in the kitchen, ignoring the protests from the staff. He exited to the back alley behind Angelo's and slipped around the corner leading to the sidewalk, careful not to step in front of the window Sherlock was looking through. He inched his way out of the alley, his back pressed up against the wall, for fear of being seen. He watched as a black car with tinted windows (the same one that had picked him up before) pulled up to the curb, Moriarty already rolling the window down.
John put his fingers to his lips and pointed to the window a few feet away.
Moriarty looked in the direction John was pointing and shrugged. "He's not looking. Come on," Moriarty motioned for John to get into the car.
John prayed for Sherlock to stay facing the other way and bolted for the car, pulling the door open and slamming it shut once he was safely inside.
"You didn't have to slam it, Jonathan. Those windows aren't exactly sound-proof; he probably heard the door slam," Jim sighed.
John peered through the window, feeling relief when he noticed Sherlock's attention was still away from the street. "Go, now. I don't want to risk having him see us."
Moriarty put the car in drive and huffed, "You really are too worrisome. Sherlock only thinks he's a genius, when in reality he's just an ordinary man," Jim spat, "If he really were a genius, you'd think he'd already have deduced what you've been doing in the years following his 'death'."
John rolled his eyes, "He's as much as a genius as you, Jim."
Moriarty shot John a smile in the rearview mirror.
"What was so important that you had to interrupt my dinner?" John sighed, leaning back into the seat and crossing his arms over his chest.
Moriarty smiled, but said nothing. He wanted to see John's genuine reaction regarding his plan. After another ten minutes of driving, he pulled off into a lot and killed the engine. "We're here."
John glanced out the window and felt his stomach drop.
The pool house. The same place they had first encountered James Moriarty.
It was in that moment that John knew exactly what Moriarty was going to have him do.
It all fit. A little over three years ago, John had a bomb vest strapped to him. Now there would be no bomb vest, just a bomb…planted by John.
"No," John growled.
Moriarty smirked, "Yes, unless you'd like me to visit your family…"
John clenched his fists. "It's too obvious. He'll know it was someone connected to this event. It can't be you, you're dead."
"And so was Sherlock, so what?" Moriarty turned around in his seat to face John. "It'll all connect to me, but like you said, I'm dead. It won't make sense; he'll be lost."
John looked away from Jim and at the pool house. "Nobody's inside?"
Jim smiled. He had John Watson wrapped around his finger, ready to do anything at his beck-and-call. "Seb checked, and no, nobody's inside."
"Then what's the point?" John frowned. "This doesn't seem like your forte. You're all for the kill, you wouldn't do anything for no reason…"
"I'm not only about the kill, Johnny; I'm also about the theatrics. I like to make an image for myself, and that's exactly what I'll be helping you do," Moriarty grinned, evil in his eyes.
"An image…?" John narrowed his eyes.
"Yes," Moriarty huffed impatiently, "I'll explain that later. Right now, you're priority is regarding the pool house." He leaned over and opened the door for John, making sure to lean over his lap to cause John to become uncomfortable. He motioned for John to get out, "Go on, Seb's waiting."
John exited the car and began to walk up to the building, each step feeling heavier than the one prior. The world around him seemed to slow, his senses honed in on his task. He had to forget about the consequences or it'd be impossible to focus; which could be the death of him when working with explosives.
Seb was waiting at the front, a backpack hanging from his shoulder. He smiled as John walked up, the ex-doctor's body rigid. "Ready for some excitement?"
John glared at him. His gaze traveled down to the backpack and then back up at Seb's face.
Seb handed the bag over cautiously. "Might not want to jumble this around much. We don't need any casualties, especially our little Johnny boy," he smirked.
John slung the bag over his shoulder, careful not to let it hit his body too hard and cause an explosion.
"Take it inside and place it by the pool exactly where Sherlock was standing those years ago. After you're there, open the bag and place the bomb, carefully, on the tile," Seb opened the door, "After you've planted it, run like Hell."
Seb motioned him through the door and John slipped in, taking cautious steps in order to keep the bag level and in place. He made his way through the lobby and locker-rooms, trying to forget the last time he was there. He pushed all memories aside and pushed the door open that lead to the pool itself.
An overwhelming scent of chlorine flooded his nostrils and caused him to cough. He tried to hold it in, but the smell was so strong, he couldn't stop; every time he breathed in, the more the aroma stung his throat and nostrils.
He jogged steadily over to where Sherlock had stood, and placed the bag down. He let loose all the coughs that had threatened his life when he was carrying the bomb and took in some deep breaths. If he were to work with a bomb using shaky hands from all the coughing he had done, he'd definitely blow himself up. He calmed himself and steadied his hands. Doctors hands, he thought, doctors hands don't shake.
He knelt down and carefully unzipped the bag, holding his breath. He put his hands beneath the large metal device and began to lift it-
"Hey! What are you doing?" A voice echoed through the large room.
John turned his head and saw a night guard pointing a flashlight at him. Shit, he swore. He set the bomb down and put up his hands in a defensive gesture.
The night guard approached and shined the light on the bag, bending over to get a better look at it.
John took that opportunity to wrap his arm around the man's neck and pull back, cutting off his air supply. He used his other arm and searched for the gun in the man's holster. He removed the gun and shoved the man to the ground. He felt his senses sharpen and an adrenaline build within as he raised the gun to point at the man's head.
The man stared at John in shock, "Please, sir, I have a family."
John took the gun off safety and put his finger on the trigger, "Don't care." He pulled the trigger and the man ducked, the bullet grazing the side of his head. John felt anger bubble inside as he cursed himself for the bad shot. He poised to kill again and this time, he made sure the man would die. He pistol-whipped the man's head, causing him to go unconscious. John pulled the trigger and watched the bullet crack through his skull and embed itself in the tile beneath him. He tossed the gun away and went back to his task at hand.
John lifted the bomb carefully and examined it. His eyes widened as he read the note left by Moriarty.
'Run, Johnny boy, run.'
John shot up and sprinted from the building, pushing his legs to move faster.
Sebastian grabbed his arm as John exited and dragged him toward the car. "Jesus, John! What the Hell took you so long?" He shoved John into the car and dove in after him.
Moriarty jumped the pedal and sped from the ticking time bomb of a building.
John waited till Sebastian had righted himself in the seat before using his arm to hit his neck, crushing his windpipe enough stop air from entering. He positioned himself as Seb started fighting, and used his forearm to press his neck into the backseat of the car. "You said it was empty, that nobody was inside!" John screamed.
Sebastian tried kicking John off, but to no avail. "I…swear…I…checked…" he choked out.
John pressed harder, "Check harder next time, yeah?" John released and sat back in his spot.
Sebastian gasped for air as Moriarty grinned from the driver's seat.
John glanced back at the building and jumped as it erupted into flames. The ceiling caved in and parts of the foundation and walls flew into the air, littering the street with falling concrete. The building beside it was engulfed in flames within seconds, the roof already crumbling and collapsing.
"What the Hell was that?" John yelled at Jim. "Bombs don't start fires, they just destroy!"
Jim grinned, "Not my kind of bomb. Think, Johnny, just think. Use your senses…"
John pondered all the possible meanings of what Moriarty had said. Senses…there were five. Sight, touch, taste, hearing…scent…
"The chlorine…that's why it was so strong. You used ammonia or turpentine in addition to chlorine," John deduced.
"Very good, Johnny, very good," Moriarty praised, "but not quite correct. I didn't use ammonia or turpentine; I used ammonia and turpentine…together."
John nodded slowly, "Chlorine mixed in with those two elements would create a flammable substance. Therefore, it did not only destroy, it also lit up into a full blaze." John looked back at the building in the distance, the flames just a tiny glow from far away.
"Exactly."
John sighed, slipping down into his seat with the weight of his regret at what he had just done. They had said nobody would get hurt, but he didn't account for what would happen to the building beside the pool house. Who knows how many people had gotten hurt in the explosion…or worse, died in the flames.
John looked down at his hands, "What now?"
Moriarty pulled around and headed back toward the burning building. He stopped a little ways away from the scene –now packed with firemen working to diminish the flames, and their machines, working to water down the fire- and parked the car by the curb. "Now, we sit back and watch the show."
Once again, I am so sorry that this was so late. I have been having such bad writers block, so if this chapter is crap, I'm so sorry. I'd appreciate some feedback or suggestions for where this should head. Thanks, guys. You rock!
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