You Are My Mystery {Sherlock Holmes}

Chapter 24*

Sherlock opens a door that leads into an area around an indoor swimming pool. The lights are on but there is nobody visible in the area. Somewhere between Baker Street and here, he has taken off his Coat and is just wearing his suit, so presumably, the heating is on as well. He walks slowly towards the shallow end of the pool, probably very aware that the upper gallery where people sit and watch the swimmers is still in darkness. He stops at the edge of the pool and turns, trying to see up into the viewing gallery. Finally, he turns towards the pool again, raising one hand and holding up the memory stick.

"Brought you a little getting-to-know-you present. Oh, that's what it's all been for, hasn't it? All your little puzzles; making me dance – all to distract me from this," I hear from outside, around the pool. I am shoved from behind, out a door, fear pulsing through me. I look out to see a shadow of a man with his back turned to the pool. He looks over his shoulder holding 'the memory stick', or whatever they had told me it was. I walk through the door and into the pool area, wrapped snugly in a hooded jacket with my hands tucked into the pockets. Once the man sees me, I realize it's Sherlock. He looks at me in complete shock.

"Evening," I mumble not surprised one bit to see Sherlock. I don't know what he or I am doing here. Sherlock's raised hands begin to lower slowly. He still stares over his shoulder in utter disbelief at me. "This is a turn-up, Sherlock?" I ask. "I didn't even realize you were doing a case without me..."

"Rachelle. What the hell ...?" He starts but he is cut off. I hear Moriarty's voice in my ear, telling me what to say.

"Bet you never saw this coming, because I sure didn't," I fake smirk, just relaying what Moriarty tells me. Sherlock moves and starts walking towards me, the person he thought to be his 'friend'. The shock on Sherlock's poor face. I wish I could tell him it's not me doing this. I'm not the one saying these things. Moriarty then speaks to me through my earpiece, telling me to reveal what's hidden in my jacket.

Then, with a look of despair that matches Sherlock's, I take my hands from my pockets and pull open my jacket to reveal the bomb strapped to my chest.  From somewhere in the upper gallery, a sniper's laser immediately begins to dance around over the bomb on my torso.

Damn you, Sebastian Moran.

"What ... would you like me ... to make her say ... next?" I say after hearing that in my ear, shaking my head in shame. Sherlock steps forward to me but looks everywhere but at me. He's trying to find where Moriarty is hiding. "Gottle o' geer ... gottle o' geer ... gottle o' geer," I announce, my voice cracking.  I shake my head, trying to rid of the nervousness I have inside of me.

It could be a lot worse.

"Stop it," Sherlock demands, making my heart jump. His eyes show fear-- something I have never seen in his face.

"Nice touch, this: the pool where little Carl died. I stopped him," I narrate, trying not to cringe at the next words. "I can stop Rachelle Baines too," I say for Moriarty. I look down at the laser on my chest before speaking again, "Stop her heart."

"Who are you?" Sherlock asks after he turns around on the spot. A door at the far end of the pool opens, and a soft male voice speaks.

"We've spoken," I hear, catching a glimpse of Moriarty. "I thought you would have recognized me." Sherlock turns toward the body while Moriarty walks out into the open. Moriarty with his hands in his pockets begins to casually stroll alongside the deep end of the pool, heading towards Sherlock and me. All hint of plaintiveness has now left Moriarty's voice.

"Is that a British Army Browning L9A1 in your pocket?" Jim asks, "Or are you just pleased to see me?" Sherlock takes the gun from his pocket, revealing it to Moriarty.

"Both," Sherlock says. Jim stops and looks back at Sherlock, unafraid. Sherlock still holds the gun up. Moriarty turns to face Sherlock just as the sniper's laser flickers over my upper chest. My heart freezes while worry flashes through me. Sherlock briefly turns his head towards me, a questioning look on his face.

"Don't be silly. Someone else is holding the rifle. I don't like getting my hands dirty," Moriarty announces. "I've given you a glimpse, Sherlock, just a teensy glimpse of what I've got going on out there in the big bad world. I'm a specialist, you see ... like you!" Moriarty says in a pleasing way, noticing a connection.

"Dear Jim, Please will you fix it for me to get rid of my lover's nasty sister?" Sherlock says. Jim grins and I don't understand why. "Dear Jim, Please will you fix it for me to disappear to South America?"

"Just so," Moriarty says, stopping again. What am I missing?

"Consulting criminal. Brilliant," He whispers. I feel my heart drop.

He was able to say that pretty fast to someone he just met... He's never called me brilliant before.

"Isn't it? No one ever gets to me – and no one ever will," Jim states causing me to scoff. They look at me, and I shut my mouth.

"I did," Sherlock smiles, cocking the pistol.

"You've come the close. Now you're in my way, just like Rachelle is."

"Thank you," Sherlock smiles.

"Didn't mean it as a compliment."

"Yes, you did."

"Yeah, okay, I did. But the flirting's over, Sherlock ..." Jim says before his voice gets high-pitched, "Daddy's had enough now!"

"Kinky," I mutter. They stroll closer to each other.

"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," Moriarty spits out. I start feeling the strain and I close my eyes briefly. Sherlock's eyes can't help but flicker across to me a couple of times as he tries to keep his focus on the man approaching them, "So take this as a friendly warning, my dear. Back off."