"Although I have loved this – this little game of ours," Jim says aloud causing me to grimace.
"People have died," Sherlock mumbles. I don't think he truly cares but he may be trying to prove a point. People have died.
"That's what people DO!" Moriarty shouts furiously as if Sherlock said something absurd.
"I will stop you. We will stop you," Sherlock says as he gestures to me. I stand still, not moving. I'm not sure I can be much help when I have a bomb strapped to my torso.
"No, you won't," Jim tells us before Sherlock looks over at me. Something flashes in his eyes-- Concern? It's odd to think that Sherlock, of all people, would be concerned for me. Concern is a reaction to caring so it must be some other feeling showing in his eyes. Pity maybe?
"You all right?" Sherlock questions in a whisper. God, if only I could respond and tell him that I'm decently scared. Not for myself, but rather what might happen to him. Sherlock, albeit intelligent, doesn't make the best decisions.
"You can talk, Rachelle. Go ahead," Moriarty beams like he is talking to a dog. I don't say anything, worried if it is some sort of trick. One of Moriarty's games. My gaze meets Sherlock's and I give him a slight nod. Sherlock takes one hand off the pistol and holds out the memory stick toward Jim.
"Take it," Sherlock demands, hoping it will prevent anything else from happening. If that's what Moriarty wants, maybe he'll let me or Sherlock go.
"Huh? Oh! That!" Moriarty says as he reaches out for the stick, grinning. "Boring! I could have got them anywhere," Moriarty shouts as he tosses the stick in the pool. Seeing my opportunity, I race forward and slam myself up against Jim's back, wrapping one arm around his neck and the other around his chest. Sherlock backs up a step in surprise but keeps the pistol raised and aimed at Jim. My grip on his throat tightens, anger pulsing through me. He won't get out of this unscathed, that's for sure.
"Sherlock, run!" I shout, hoping to by some more time. Maybe it wasn't the brightest idea but it was the only thing I could come up with. Moriarty just laughs, his breath hitting my arm.
"Good! Very good," Moriarty says and I can practically hear his smirk. Sherlock doesn't move, still aiming his gun at Jim's head but now starting to look up a little anxiously, as if wondering what action the hidden sniper might take. Fucking hell, Sherlock, I said run, not stand there like some dunce.
"If your sniper pulls that trigger, Jim, then we both go up," I state, unfazed by my own statement. It's a risk I'm willing to take.
"Isn't she sweet? I can see why you like having her around. But then people do get so sentimental about their pets," Moriarty quips and I grimace angrily, clenching his throat tighter and pulling him closer to my body, leaving the bomb sandwiched between us. Jim scowls as he attempts to turn to me.
"They're so touchingly loyal. But, oops!" Jim smiles.
"Not his pet," I growl into his ear. He grins briefly at me, then looks towards Sherlock.
"You've rather shown your hand there, Baines," He chuckles as a new laser point appears in the middle of Sherlock's forehead. I stare in horror as Jim looks round at me expectantly. Sherlock, either seeing the edge of the laser beam shining from the gallery or realizing what's happening from my expression, shakes his head slightly.
"Gotcha!" Moriarty sings and I should have seen it coming. Fuck, how stupid could I be? He chuckles as I release my grip on him and step back, holding my hands up to signal to the sniper that I won't be trying anything else. After stretching his neck, Jim glances round at me, then turns back towards Sherlock while brushing his hands down his suit to straighten it. I lower my hands and stand calmly in front of Sherlock who is still aiming the pistol at Moriarty's head.
"D'you know what happens if you don't leave me alone, Sherlock, do you?" Jim questions menacingly. I look down to the ground, almost ashamed of my actions.
"Oh, let me guess: I get killed," Holmes responds nonchalantly.
"Kill you? N-no, don't be obvious. I mean, I'm gonna kill you anyway someday. I don't wanna rush it, though. I'm saving it up for something special. No-no-no-no-no. If you don't stop prying, I'll burn you. I'll burn the heart out of you."
"I have been reliably informed that I don't have one," Sherlock mumbles as a small glance is sent my way. My mouth opens to speak, but I quickly shut it, knowing now is not the time.
"But we both know that's not quite true. Well, I'd better be off." Moriarty looks away before looking back at Sherlock. "Well, so nice to have had a proper chat."
"What if I was to shoot you now – right now?" Sherlock questions, his eyes not leaving Moriarty.
"Then you could cherish the look of surprise on my face," Jim grins. "'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. Ciao, Sherlock Holmes." Looking back at Sherlock with some distaste, he walks calmly towards the side door which I came through earlier. Sherlock slowly steps forward to keep him in his sights.
"Catch...You... Later," Sherlock says aloud, obviously confused by what just happened.
"No, you won't!" We both hear before the door closes. Sherlock doesn't move for a few seconds, his gun still aimed towards the door, then his gaze drifts across to me and he instantly bends, putting the pistol on the floor, then drops to his knees in front of me and starts unfastening the vest to which the bomb is attached. His hands quickly brush over me, working to get it unstrapped. My eyes close, feeling the relief of Moriarty leaving.
"All right?" Sherlock looks up to me. I lean forward into his arms, breathing heavily. "Are you all right?" He asks urgently and pulls me away when I don't answer. He holds my shoulders as I look into his eyes. His hands brush off my shoulders and fix my clothes for me. My hair, previously put into a bun, has now fallen out and draped across my shoulders.
"I'm perfect," I groan, my eyes not leaving his face. Having unfastened the vest, Sherlock jumps up and hurries around behind me, starting to pull off the jacket and the bomb vest. "I'm fine," I say again, trying to reassure him and myself. Sherlock, also breathing too fast, continues tugging at the jacket and vest. His slender fingers sneak up and feel the pulse on my neck. His cold fingers send shivers down my spine. "Sherlock," I say calmly as he finally manages to roughly strip the jacket and vest off my arms. "Sh-Sherlock!" I stutter in a yell as he throws the vest away from us. I reach up to pull the earpiece from my ear, breathing heavily as the delayed shock begins to hit me. Sherlock turns and stares at me for a moment, then hurries back to pick up the pistol before racing towards the door through which Moriarty left. My knees buckle as I stagger towards the nearest support, the edge of one of the changing cubicles.
"Shit," I breathe out. I turn and drop down into a squat, bracing my back against the cubicle's edge as I blow out a long breath and try to calm myself down. Sherlock comes back in, having apparently seen no sign of Moriarty outside. He starts to pace up and down near me, so hyper and distracted that he doesn't even realize that he is scratching his head with the business end of a loaded and cocked pistol.
"Are you okay?" I ask, genuinely concerned. I should be worried about myself. The shock of it all just hit me and the adrenaline still pumps through my veins, yet here I am making sure Sherlock's okay.
"Me? Yeah, I'm fine, I'm fine. Fine." He turns to me, wide-eyed and breathless. "That...thing that you, er, that you did – that, um ... you offered to do. That was... good."
"Shut up... God, I'm glad no one saw that." I look ahead, realizing all that just happened. Sherlock had temporarily lowered his hand long enough not to be risking accidentally shooting himself in the head, although he had terrible jitters as he held the gun down by his side. Now he lifts the gun again as he raises his hand to rub his chin while looking down at me in confusion.
"Hmm?" Sherlock asks, wondering what I'm referring to.
"You, ripping my clothes off in a darkened swimming pool. People might talk.," I mention with a grin, trying to lighten the mood.
"People do little else," Sherlock says as he looks down at me with a grin. I laugh as I attempt to stand up. But before I can move, the beam from a sniper's laser begins to dance over my chest. I look down at it. I can feel my face fill with horror while my stomach drops. Of course.
"Oh..." I mutter as a door near the deep end of the pool opens and Jim comes through, clapping his hands together.
"Sorry! I'm sooo changeable!" Jim smirks causing me to shake my head in disbelief. Sherlock keeps his back to Jim, looking up into the gallery to try and judge how many snipers there might be up there.
Quite a few.
At least five.
"It is a weakness with me 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!" Moriarty beams. Sherlock, who had looked away from me for a moment, now turns and looks down at him again, his face showing no emotion but his eyes screaming a silent request. That look is quite familiar to me. I respond instantly with a tiny nod, giving him full permission to do whatever he deems necessary.
"Probably my answer has crossed yours," Sherlock voices while raising the pistol and aiming it at Moriarty. Jim smiles confidently, with no fear in his expression. Slowly Sherlock lowers the pistol downwards until it's pointing directly at the bomb jacket. All three sets of our eyes lock onto the jacket. My breath is still-- I trust Sherlock... To a certain extent. Moriarty tilts his head, looking a little anxious for the first time. As Sherlock holds his hand steady, continuing to aim toward the jacket, Jim lifts his head and locks eyes with his enemies. Sherlock gazes back at him and Jim begins to smile.