Nobody Knows My Heart Like You

The Pool: The Final Pip

There were a few points where you simply had to ask 'how did I get here?' There are a lot of reasons why you asked yourself that. It helps you remember the key points in your past. The circumstances of life that sent you spiraling.

Sometimes you'll be happy, with a smile that strains your cheeks and stars in your eyes. Your steps will turn into skips. Each happy memory brings a giggle out of you.

Sometimes you'll be angry. Your fists curl up. Your face scrunches up, as if to hide itself from what's happening. Little moments flash in your eyes, things that didn't make sense before now in crystal clear/surround sound. There's that rushing noise in your ears as blood pumps into them. All you can feel is fire raging under your skin.

The worst is when you're heartbroken. Your feet are like concrete bricks, each step weighing on you. Memories come out as tears on your cheeks, staining shirts or falling to the ground in a hurricane. Your words can't explain it. Your mind can't make itself connect. The part that makes it hurt most is that you usually know how you came there.

Danielle knew how she came to this point. She knew why there was an ache deep inside her bones as she walked into that pool. She knew why the smell of chlorine didn't fill her with the calmness it usually did.

Now the smell was a betrayal. How dare this place bring happy memories? How dare Danielle want to smile as she remembered learning to swim with her siblings, when she was dressed with a bomb on her chest?

Except she didn't learn with her siblings, did she? It was because of that lost sibling, because of this exact pool, because of her mother's lies that Danielle never knew the truth about her siblings.

Because of her brother she was more scared than she had ever been in her life.

Tears burned in her usually bright blue eyes. She refused to let them fall. Refused to let her brother see how hurt she was. Sherlock may not think so, but he was one of Danielle's heroes.

Him and John, the boys of Baker Street.

She was hidden in the stalls. She wished she could see those boys now, reach out to let them know she was there. She needed to know that she wasn't alone. At least when General Shan happened she could see John, hear John, know John was there. The young landlady didn't have that here.

Horrible as it was, Danielle saw the purpose. She was isolated. Better that she be psychologically tortured before her end. Unlike the others, she had seen Moriarty's face. She would be killed by the time the night ended. The bomb on her chest would make sure of that, along with the heavy coat Moriarty wrapped around her to make it more cumbersome to get the bomb off. Because she wore her favorite loafers she couldn't even run.

She wasn't a soldier. She wasn't a consulting detective. She wasn't a Nolan apparently.

She was just Danielle Nolan...or was it Danielle Moriarty? Her heart hurt just thinking about it.

"Showtime, Danny!" Moriarty's overly cheerful voice spiked in her ear.

Danielle took a deep calming breath. Sherlock and John were here. Sherlock and John would see what was wrong. Sherlock better see it or else Danielle would hit him so hard his curls would go straight!

From behind her, the door to the pool opened. Danielle's body locked up.

The familiar sound of suede shoes and men's boots echoed. Her previously racing heart slowed, her shoulders relaxed. She knew those sounds- knew the people in those steps.

Get me out of here, she begged.

Please save me.

I need you both to save me.