Why Fireflies Flash
Chapter Thirteen
"The Meaning of a Tragedy"

The Pool

"I gave you my number. I thought you might call." Jim walks slowly into the pool room. "Is that a British Army Branning L9A1 in your pocket? Or are you just pleased to see me?"

"Both," Sherlock says as he raises his weapon.

"Jim Moriarty," the criminal says in greeting. "Hi!" He takes a few steps. "Jim? Jim from the hospital? Huh. I really make such a fleeting impression? Although, I suppose that was rather the point."

Sherlock corrects his stance but otherwise remains silent.

"Oh, don't be silly someone else is holding the rifle. I don't like getting my hands dirty. Miss Quinn doesn't mind though." Jim smiles at the slight confusion that passes over Sherlock's face briefly. "Oh, did my lovely assistant not tell you? Shame." He walks closer to John and Sherlock. "I've given you a glimpse Sherlock, a teensy glimpse at what I've got going on out there in the big bad world. I'm a specialist, you see." His face picks up like he suddenly realized something. "Like you."

"'Dear Jim,'" Sherlock begins, "'Please will you fix it for me. To get rid of my lover's nasty sister.' 'Dear Jim, please will you fix it for me to disappear to South America.'"

"Just so."

"Consulting criminal. Brilliant."

Jim squeezes his eyes shut briefly. "Isn't it? No one ever gets to me. And no one ever will."

Sherlock flicks the safety off and cocks the gun. "I did."

"You've come the closest. No you're in my way."

"Thank you."

"Didn't mean it as a compliment."

"Yes you did."

Jim shrugs over-exaggerated, "Yeah, okay, I did. But the flirting's over, Sherlock, daddy's had enough now. I've shown you what I can do. I cut loose all those people, all those little problems, even thirty million quid just to get you to come out and play. So take this as a friendly warning... my dear... back off. Although, I have loved this... this little game of ours. Playing Jim from IT. Playing gay, did you like the little touch with the underwear?"

"People have died," Sherlock tells.

"That's what people DO!" Moriarty yells.

"I will stop you."

"No you won't."

Sherlock glances over to John. "You all right?"

Moriarty closes the distance between John and himself. "You can talk, Johnny boy. Go ahead," he says leaning over John's shoulder and nodding.

Sherlock holds the flash drive out. "Take it."

Jim pulls the plastic piece into his grasp and flips it over. "Ah, the missile plans." He smiles. "Boring. I could have gotten them anywhere," he tells tossing the small device into the pool.

Behind him John runs up and pulls the criminal into a choke hold. "Sherlock run!"

Moriarty laughs. "Good! Very good!"

"Your sniper pulls that trigger, Mr. Moriarty, then we both go up."

"Oh, she's not my sniper," he snaps, his voice a little too high. "She's not my anything. Not anymore." He looks back to Sherlock. "He's sweet, I can see why you like having him around. People do get so sentimental about their pets. And so touchingly loyal." He shifts he weight suddenly. "Oops! You've rather shown your hand there, Dr. Watson."

The laser from another rifle shows itself against the dark mop of hair against Sherlock's forehead.

"Gotcha!" Jim announces. "Westwood." He straightens his suit back out. "Do you know what happens, Sherlock, if you don't leave me alone, to you?"

"Oh, let me guess," Sherlock deadpans. "You're going to kill me."

"Kill you?" Jim rolls his eyes. "Oh don't be obvious, I'm going to kill you someday. I don't want to rush it though. I'm saving it up for something special. No no no no." He shakes his head subtly. "If you don't stop prying, I will burn you." He glances down Sherlock's person like what he sees disgusts him. "I will burn the heart out of you."

"I have been widely informed that I don't have one." Sherlock's voice is softer than it has been, less confident.

"But we both know that's not quite true." Moriarty shrugs and looks around. "Well, I better be off. It's so nice to have had a proper chat."

Sherlock breathes in deeply. "What if I was to shoot you now, right now?"

"Well, then you could cherish the look of surprise on my face," Moriarty says halfheartedly as he puts on a faux look of shock. "Cause I'd be surprised, Sherlock. Really, I would. And just a teensy bit... disappointed. And of course you wouldn't be able to cherish it for very long, Miss Quinn would see to that." His half smirk drops. "Ciao, Sherlock Holmes."

"Catch... you... later..." Sherlock says as he watches the man leave.

"No you won't!" Jim shouts back.

When the door echos shut, Sherlock races towards John and starts tearing at the jacket he wears. "All right? Are you all right?" he interrogates as he yanks the jacket of the other man's shoulders and throws it to the other end of the pool.

"Yeah yeah yeah, I'm fine. I'm fine, Sherlock," John mumbles. "Sherlock!"

Said man rushes into the hallway Moriarty left through. John crouches against the wall, the adrenaline starting to wane away. Anabeth shoves through the doors previously entered by Sherlock, wearing a catsuit of all things.

"John!" she gasps, rushing over to the man's side. "Are you all right?"

"Fine, fine. Sherlock-"

The sound of another door opens and Sherlock walks back in, scratching his temple with the pistol.

"Are you okay?" Anabeth asks.

"Me?" Sherlock says, not pausing in his pacing. "Yeah, I'm fine. That, uh, thing you did," he says to John. "That you offered to do, erm, good."

"I'm glad no one saw that."

"Hmm?"

"You ripping off my clothes in a darkened swimming pool. People would talk."

"People already talk." Anabeth smirked. "Holmes ripped your clothes off?"

They shared a quick snort before Anabeth's eyes widened at the little red dot on John's chest. "Son of a bitch," she mumbles.

"Sorry boys. I am so changeable! It is a weakness with me."

Anabeth closes her eyes and groans.

"But to be fair to myself, it is my only weakness. You can't be allowed to continue. You just can't. I would try to convince you, but everything I have to say has already crossed your mind."

"Probably my answer has already crossed yours," Sherlock says turning around and aiming the gun at Moriarty.

"Holmes," Anabeth breathes softly as she watches the sights on the gun slowly move toward the jacket full of plastic explosives. "Don't." She un-holsters her own government issue from its place on her side and aims it at the criminal.

Staying Alive by the Bee Gees starts playing, echoing through the room.

"Honestly?" Anabeth asks.

"Mind if I get that?" Moriarty wonders.

Sherlock shrugs and waves the gun. "Oh no, please. You've got the rest of your life."

Jim pulls the phone from his pocket and unlocks it. "Hello?... Yes, of course it is. What do you want?" He glances up to Sherlock and Anabeth both and mouths the word "Sorry."

"You're fine," Sherlock mouths back.

"SAY THAT AGAIN!" the consulting criminal shouts. "Say that again and know that if you're lying to me I will find you and I will sskin you."

Sherlock and John exchange a glance. They both turn their noses up to view Anabeth's reaction, though her face is still stoic and trained on Moriarty.

"Wait." The phone is pulled away from Jim's ear and he slowly walks toward the threesome. He pauses right before he has to step over the jacket.

Anabeth's head tilts ever so slightly and she releases the safety. "Better offer?"

"No offer is as good as yours Annie-belle."

"They never are."

"I will be in touch," he breathes as he stalks away.

"I'll be waiting."

John breathes a sigh of relief when Moriarty leaves the room for the last time.

Sherlock drops his arm "Someone changed his mind. The question is who."