It feels like ages pass as you sit by the crates. Watson has disappeared and you're alone aside from the noise of the factory. You watch the opening carefully. A large man walks past and you sink down, hiding further. He is a silhouette as he walks over and grabs a box. Then he turns and walks back the opposite way. His face is illuminated by the light coming from inside. You recognize him.
"[Father's Name]?" You can't help yourself from whispering.
He doesn't hear you. He keeps walking until he disappears past the door.
You creep forward until you are at the edge of the opening. You look inside the building and feel heat on your face. You don't see anyone walking around, but you do see a room in the direction your father was walking. You hear a crash and jolt. Looking up, you find metal catwalks that lead around the room and through the middle. You recognized Holmes struggling on the suspended walkway with another man. Is that Moriarty? You stare for a moment.
To your left is a giant container of molten metal. It was at least one story high and cast an orange glow on everything above it. It was hotter than a sunny day in the middle of summer, and the air was thick. You look back to the room you assume your father walked into. Seeing no one else, you stand and start walking. You would find your father, let him know everything would be okay, and then find a way to help Sherlock.
A yelp escapes your mouth as a man steps in front of you. Eyes wide, you recognize him as the man that had attacked Sherlock at home. He grinned down at you and stepped closer.
A metallic clang sounded and the man stopped.
"Dammit," you heard from behind him. The man turned and you saw Dr. Watson on the other side. He was holding a long piece of rebar, which he had apparently used to hit the man on the head. It was singing and vibrating in his hands. Watson jumped back as the man reached for him, then glanced at you. "I told you to stay put!"
The large man's attention was now drawn by Watson. The doctor dodged a giant fist and then swung his weapon at the man's side. It barely made an impact.
Your hand hovered over your pocket. No, that's a last resort. Quickly, you looked around the room. Tools were laid out on a metal table against the wall. You ran over and held your hands up as you looked across your options. Finally you grabbed a monkey wrench the size of your forearm and a sledgehammer. You struggled to lift both but managed to get them off the table. You turned around to make your way back to Watson. Glancing up, you watched Moriarty and Holmes struggling. Sherlock took a punch to the face and stumbled back against the thin metal railing, catching himself. With renewed haste, you walked up to Watson. He was locked in place by the large man fighting him. They both held onto the rebar, each trying to rip it out of the other's hands.
"Watson!" you shouted.
The doctor looked over at you, noticed what you were carrying, and then let go. The man stumbled forward and Watson ducked to the side, hand outstretched to you.
You grunted as you threw the sledgehammer, using the heavy end as a pendulum. It spun in the air before landing in Watson's hand. His other hand quickly followed, grasping tightly. He used the momentum of the throw to carry the hammer around him and then into a swing at the man. There was a crack as it landed on his shoulder. The man roared in pain and turned to Watson, glanced at you, and then refocused on Watson.
"Oh!" Watson ducked as the man dove at him, but he couldn't get out of the way in time. The man had a hold of his arm and threw him down onto the concrete. You winced at the sound of his body hitting the floor. Watson wheezed as he tried to put air back into his lungs.
"Hey!" you shouted at the large man before he could attack Watson on the ground.
The man turned to you. You raised your wrench. He snickered and came forward. He was in front of you in two giant steps. He tried to grab you, but you cried out as you swung your wrench. It connected with a hand and then kept going, spinning you in a dizzying circle. The large man growled and grabbed for you with both arms. Panicking, you threw the wrench at his face as hard as you could. He was forced to stop and lift his arms up to block it. The wrench smacked into his forearms before clattering to the ground. You ran. He was blocking the entrance to the room, so you changed course to the far stairs. Maybe your father could wait. You heard Watson shout at him and looked back to see he had gotten up and was clutching the sledgehammer in his hands again. You glanced up and found that Holmes and Moriarty were still locked in a fist fight and they had pushed towards the other end of the catwalk by the giant container of liquid metal. You stumbled, and returned your sight to where you were going. Grabbing the railing, you started up the stairs.
—-------
Holmes blocked a side swipe and then dodged an uppercut before being hit with a knee to the chest. Moriarty was certainly the better boxer. He could pull his gun, but with their proximity Moriarty was guaranteed to knock it away. The only thing that might lead to is a misfire, most likely at someone or something he didn't want to hit. Holmes took the blow and swung with his own fist, glancing a blow off of Moriarty's shoulder. Of course the professor knew he would try to take out the boxer's arms and dodged.
Sherlock had noticed [Name] run in, and then the subsequent rescue from Watson. Ever resourceful, she had found some tools to use as weapons. The detective wouldn't admit it out loud, but she was being slightly more brash than he had anticipated. Watson was holding his own against Moriarty's man, but that was to be expected. He was quick on his feet, and generally a step ahead. That's why he had led the goon up the far stairs of the catwalk. Everyone was getting into position.
The temperature rose as he got closer to the liquid metal. Orange light cast over Moriarty's face as he swung and parried. Sweat dripped from his face and sparkled as it fell. Sherlock knew he wouldn't win, but he wasn't trying to. Something Moriarty took for granted was that it wasn't a fight against Sherlock alone. Sherlock had taken this for granted before, but not this time.
The catwalk shook as Watson ducked a swing from the large man. They had made their way to the middle of the walkway. The doctor swung up with the sledgehammer from his crouched position. The heavy end met the man's bent-over chest, and sent him in the air and backward. He caught himself on the railing. Watson turned the handle upside down in his hand and held the hammer up, pointed at the big man like a javelin. With a grunt, he threw it. It connected with the man's throat and pushed him over the edge. The sledgehammer cracked against the concrete below, followed immediately by the thud of a body. Watson took a breath, then turned to Holmes and Moriarty.
—-------
Watson had led the big man up the stairs and beat you to the catwalk. Now, as you took the last step up, you watched him knock the big man over the railing. Briefly, you wondered if the man would survive that fall, too. You hurried forward, your shoes clanging against the metal path.
Now closer, you had a better view of the fight. The two were at the crossroads where the catwalk Watson was on met the one you were on. Moriarty was skilled, and Holmes attempted attacks, but few of them landed. It was clear to you that Moriarty was winning. From the cold smile across his face, it was clear to Moriarty, too. You had for some reason imagined the professor to be a lanky, lithe creature, perhaps because you were told of how he had escaped Sherlock's grasp, but he was actually fairly stout. He had somewhat broad shoulders, which allowed for strong punches. He was older with grey hair and a grey mustache. His eyes were calculating, even as he attacked.
Sherlock spun, putting Moriarty between him and the vat of metal. The detective glanced at you, then behind him at the doctor. He didn't seem surprised. "Watson!" he called out.
Watson ran forward.
In a flash, Moriarty grabbed Sherlock by the shoulder and knocked out one of his feet. The two spun until they switched positions. Moriarty grabbed the collar of Sherlock's shirt and shoved him against the railing. His feet lifted off the ground. With his other hand, the professor pulled a gun out of a holster on his pants. He aimed it down the catwalk at Watson, who froze in place.
"Now, now," Professor Moriarty smirked at Watson. "I wouldn't come any closer."
You stopped. Sherlock's eyes were wide as they stared at the firearm. Apparently the gun had been well-hidden. His hands were locked onto the railing so that he didn't fall.
All Watson could do was put his arms out. "It's over, Moriarty."
The professor laughed. "You're wrong."
Your hand slid into your skirt pocket, and pulled out the pistol. You held it up and cocked the hammer. At the sound, Moriarty's surprised eyes turned to you. From the corner of your eye you saw Watson start moving forward again as Moriarty got distracted. The professor started to turn his body, his arm with the gun swinging in your direction, but it was too late. You pulled the trigger.
The bullet hit Moriarty in the shoulder and knocked him away. He let out a growl of pain through gritted teeth. He dropped the gun, but you watched his opposite arm shove forward with a final bit of strength. Sherlock, unable to hold on to anything after being shoved away, spun over the railing.
You found yourself shouting his name. Watson dove. You watched in slow motion as the doctor reached out past the railing. His hand slid past the buttons on Sherlock's coat, then past his shoulder, and finally they clawed at his wrist. Watson grabbed at the support of the railing with the other hand as he clutched Sherlock's wrist. The detective jerked to a stop, hanging above the molten metal, which pulled Watson halfway off the platform with a cry of pain.
You ran forward, dropped the gun on the platform, and grabbed the back of Watson's coat. You yanked upward as hard as you could, falling back onto your butt from the force. Watson was able to pull himself back the rest of the way. Panting, you watched as Watson pulled Sherlock's upper body back onto the platform. You crawled forward, grabbed Sherlock's other arm, and joined the effort. Watson hadn't been expecting your help, and so Sherlock flew up over the edge of the platform easily. The momentum knocked you backward again and you found yourself breathless under a rescued Sherlock.
"Are you... alright?" you breathed. He propped himself up far enough that you could lift your hands to his face. You could already see bruises forming.
He started to lift himself up further and groaned, but he smiled down at you. "I'm still in one piece."
In the meantime, Moriarty scrambled for his gun. He picked it up with his left hand and aimed it at Sherlock, letting out an angry growl.
Sherlock rolled to your side, away from you, and pulled his own gun from his pocket. He fired at Moriarty as the Professor pulled the trigger. Sherlock's bullet hit him squarely in the chest and his gun was thrown to the side as it fired. The bullet ricocheted off the equipment holding the molten metal.
Sherlock sat up. He looked over at you, concerned.
"I'm alright," you reassured him. You put your shaking hands under you before pushing up.
"Yes, I'm fine!" Watson waved a hand as the two of you ignored him and then rolled his eyes.
You found yourself laughing with Sherlock; half at Watson's sarcasm, and half in shock and relief that you had all survived. The three of you sat in a small circle, catching your breath. Moriarty lay to the side, still.
You looked over at Sherlock's face. His hair was a disheveled mess, and sweat dripped down his forehead. Blood dripped from a rip on his cheek. Moriarty had punched so hard he broke skin. You wiped at your own wet face. When you looked over again the detective was looking at you.
"You shot him," he said curiously.
You sucked in a breath and then huffed. "Yes, I did." I shot Moriarty. You weren't sure how people felt after they shot someone, but you felt too calm about it, you thought.
Watson looked between the two of you, rubbing his sore shoulder.
Sherlock didn't respond, so you continued. "I think, if you knew that I thought I could shoot him, it wouldn't have worked."
"Well, no, but... you stole my gun." Sherlock's eyes narrowed. "I didn't take you for a thief."
You glanced at the pistol you had used, then looked back at him. "I've never stolen anything before. I suppose... people change."
Sherlock hummed thoughtfully.
You were quiet for a moment before adding, "You can have it back," and gesturing to the pistol laying on the catwalk.
Sherlock glanced at the gun, then to his own, and finally looked over at Moriarty.
Watson followed his gaze, then turned so that he was on his knees and he could reach Moriarty's wrist. He held a hand to it for a moment, then let go with a sigh. "He's dead."
Sherlock started to stand. "That went well."
Watson's eyebrows pushed together as he started to stand with him. "You almost died."
"Almost," Sherlock nodded. "Meanwhile, he isn't going to be stealing anyone's father again."
You sucked in a breath and then scrambled to your feet. Without a word, you took off down the catwalk and then down the stairs.
"Did you know she had my gun?" Sherlock leaned over and asked Watson.
"I had no idea," the doctor answered honestly.
—-------
You found your father in a storage room on the first floor. He had hidden when the fighting started. Holmes and Watson met you at the door to the factory, where you introduced them. The detective gave you the key to a hotel room. Apparently on his way out of the hotel he had gotten a second room– one with two beds– that he had planned to have you and your father use once your father was rescued. He also quietly told you that there was no final payment. He was glad the case was closed and seeing you able to go home with your father was payment enough. He wouldn't hear anything to the contrary. After that, the two told you they would wait here for the police, and that you and your father should head to the hotel. Your father looked exhausted and hungry, so you obliged. He thanked them both with his arm around you tightly before you left.
You spent two days in the hotel with your father. By then, he had almost returned to his normal self with enough sleep and food. You sent him back home, telling him you were going to pay the last of what was due to the detective and you would let him know when you were coming home. He didn't want to separate, but agreed that the detective should be paid and your mother had been home alone long enough.
And so you found yourself again standing in front of 221B Baker Street. You lifted your hand to the knocker and swung it twice. You heard movement inside and then the door swung open. Mrs. Hudson stood on the other side, smiling.
"Oh, hello, dear. I heard your father was found. I'm so happy for you!"
"Thank you, and I appreciate everything you did for me while I was here," you returned the smile. "I was hoping to talk with Sh- Mr. Holmes." You caught yourself in your anxiousness.
"He's upstairs," she told you with a pursed lip frown. "I can go get him for you..."
"That's alright, I know the way," you grinned.
Mrs. Hudson returned the expression, apparently relieved to not have to go up to Mr. Holmes' room. She held the door open for you and let you walk past. "Let me know if you'd like me to make some tea."
"Oh, thank you, Mrs. Hudson, but I don't think that's necessary."
"I'll be down here if you change your mind!" she called as she turned to walk through to the kitchen.
Alone again, you took a breath as you stared up the stairs. After steeling yourself, you made your way up. His door was slightly ajar. You wondered if he had heard you enter the house. Through the opening you could hear cranking. You knocked on the wood as you swung it open.
Sherlock was messing with his home cannon. It looked to you like he was changing out the gears for the hand crank. He had on a white shirt, but the sleeves were rolled up to his elbows. His forearms tensed as he turned a bolt with a wrench. "Yes?" he called out without turning.
"Mr. Holmes," you addressed him formally, playing it safe after the way things had ended off, "I wanted to come back and thank you personally. And I know you said that my payment was complete, but I couldn't leave without offering to pay at least what we agreed."
He had stopped cranking. He set down the wrench and grabbed a rag from on the floor next to him. Wiping his hands, he turned to face you. You couldn't read his expression. "I won't accept any further payment. I'm glad we found your father."
His use of we caught you a little off guard. Your lips lifted in a smile. "I assumed that's what you would say, but I needed an excuse to come back."
His hands paused for a second, then he lowered them to his sides as he looked at you. You thought you had seen surprise on his face, but it shifted to flippancy. "You sent your father home to your mother?" it was a statement, but he was asking you to validate it.
"Well," you took in a breath as you thought of your response. "Yes, she's been alone long enough... and I wanted to come see you."
One of his eyebrows rose. "You know I'm intolerable."
You grinned, but nodded.
"Ridiculous, really, all of these inventions," he gestured to the home cannon and then turned to look at it. "And I'm difficult to talk to."
You wiggled your head before nodding, "Most of the time."
"I'm distracted, and rude..." he started counting on his fingers, "and selfish..."
"Sherlock?"
The detective looked up from his hands and met your eyes. His tone was playful, but his expression was serious. You could see it in his dark blue eyes.
Your smile turned nervous and you felt a flutter in your stomach. You could feel heat in your ears. "Can I kiss you?"
Slowly, he nodded.
You stepped forward and he caught you in his arms. You wrapped your arms over his shoulders and felt your fingers slide into the hair at the nape of his neck. One of his hands curled around your side and held you against him and the other held your cheek softly against its palm. His hand curved around into your hair as he guided your face closer to his and then your lips met. You felt him sigh into the kiss and pull you still closer. When you both released for air, he didn't let you go. He looked down at you and his dark blue eyes seemed to sparkle.
"I want you to know," you told him quietly, "that these past few days have been the craziest of my life, but I'd do it all again if I were doing it with you."
His smile widened before he kissed you again. It was shorter this time, as if just to make sure you were real– that you were still there. You rested your head against his shoulder and took in his smell with a smile. It was leather-y and woods-y and a little bit of mechanical grease.
"I'll always tell you not to come," he told you with eyebrows raised. A challenge.
"I'll always follow anyway."