Okay; I wrote this originally for my (newish) LiveJournal account but I belatedly realised that I couldn't put it on LJ and leave all you people on FF hence this.

Enjoy and tell me what you think... oh and just for the record; I was listening to the most random mixture of music on the PLANET! Rhianna, Gaga, Take That, and a load of others I actually can't remember.

Kaseykc

The Final Game

(What you don't see when the screen goes black!)

"You have a choice Sherlock," Moriarty smiled at the world's only consulting detective, "of course, I don't think you're going to choose the right option, are you?"

Sherlock raised an eyebrow and fixed Moriarty with a contemptuous stare which would have made a lesser man wither; in fact it may have made any other man except one who was ever so sociopathic as one Jim Moriarty run away and cower in the shadows. His mind was travelling at speed which most likely surpassed that of light; perhaps he could one day develop an experiment to actually test the speed of a brain wave, interesting. He was trying to think of a way out for himself and his dear doctor who was looking at him oh so expectantly with that same look on his face that Sherlock could imagine him wearing when he was out patrolling in Afghanistan. Sherlock didn't want to disappoint his doctor by failing in protecting him; he didn't want to have to think 'sorry John' just before they were hit by the resulting blast from the Semtex explosive that he was currently aiming his firearm at.

Of course; that all said and done, it doesn't really matter that much since he doesn't have a plan and he doubts he's going to get the chance to put any into action if the sheer number of glowing red dots swirling about his and John's persons are anything to go by. Still, can't blame a high-functioning sociopath from trying can you?

"Really Jim? Do tell since you're obviously such an intelligent boy," Sherlock sneered in the way that is uniquely his; a mixture between curiosity and absolute scorn that it would soar over the heads of most of the mundane fools that Sherlock had to interact with daily just so he could try and elevate his boredom.

Moriarty's smile faltered for all but a fifth of a second and if Sherlock hadn't been watching his enemy he doubted that he would have picked it up; so Sherlock was able to shake even the great Jim was he? Interesting, now he's got to figure out how to use that to his advantage. Easy right?

"Well Sherlock," Moriarty waved a hand about in the same way that Sherlock had often witnessed his father doing when he'd been younger and his father had been trying to explain to him why he couldn't just tell one of his father's friends about the fact that they stunk of the cheap perfume of a call-girl; and it was something that Sherlock didn't like all that much. Too much of a reminder of how ostracised he'd been by his own family, "you can either pull that trigger and blow up this marvellous looking bomb," Moriarty's voice rose in the same way Sherlock thought a child's would when in a toy shop; it was filled with a dramatic excitement and made Sherlock hate Moriarty more than he already did, "which by the way, I don't think even you're quick enough to beat my rather bountiful number of professional snipers," Moriarty smiled condescendingly at Sherlock and looked down at John who had dared not move from where he was partially crouched, leaning on the wall, "and I might just tell my shooters to make sure you don't die right away; so you can watch your precious Doctor Watson bleed out from a hole in his stomach, what do you think of that option hm?"

Sherlock's hand shook minutely as he grasped the weapon tighter and he fought with the almost insatiable urge to point the gun at Jim and blow that smile right off his bloody face! But that would most definitely doom both he and John; and he couldn't, he wouldn't, do that to the one man who seemed to actually give a damn about him beyond being a case-solver. He doubted Moriarty had seen the tremor in his hand, but he'd forgot the fact that John was much closer than Moriarty; and John was a doctor so of course he was trained to see something as minute as a slight tremor.

"Certainly not Jim," Sherlock managed to ground out in a tone of voice just higher than that of a primal growl; this little fool was threatening his John! Well, that was definitely justification enough for him to shoot him but once again that would result in John's slow death by Moriarty's hands; he'd rather he killed John than that... monster, "so do tell; what is the other option?"

Moriarty scowled at Sherlock as he waved his hands about and answered rather maliciously, "maybe I'll remove that other option Sherlock? Maybe I'll make you watch as your lover-boy there dies whilst you can't do anything to stop it? Maybe I'll kill him myself? Maybe I'll thrust his head into this pool and let him thrash about until he drowns? Maybe I'll have you shoot him to save him from me?"

Sherlock's hand now did shake enough for Moriarty to see and Sherlock inwardly cursed his body for giving him away; but that was a momentary thought as Moriarty laughed mockingly at him and John looked at Sherlock in surprise, "Of course! Isn't it ironic hmm? The great Sherlock Holmes; the world's only consulting detective, has a weakness... and it's sitting less than two feet away from you!"
Moriarty laughed again and, as if he'd somehow signalled the snipers, the swirling red dots on John suddenly aligned themselves almost perfectly; travelling in a straight-line from his forehead right down his chest to come to a stop when his the third button of his shirt was which Sherlock had accidentally pulled off when he'd been ripping that confounded bomb off of his doctor!

Sherlock took a breath; a deep long and calming breath that did for him what it seemed nicotine patches couldn't; it made his emotions sort themselves out into perfect order and his heart beat loudly in his ears, his blood gallivanted around his body faster than a racing horse pelted around the Aintree race-track, his eyesight sharpened and his hands became rock-solid steady.

Moriarty was spinning around, periodically laughing, and Sherlock quickly shifted his eyes from the manic power-freak onto John who too was staring at the rather crazy-looking Moriarty; but when he felt Sherlock's eyes on him, his gaze shifted back onto the man who seemed to be so deeply affected by Moriarty's taunts about his, John's, demise. The look in Sherlock's eyes seemed to be perfectly clear to John and belatedly he wondered when he'd acquired the ability to read Sherlock. It was so strange and weird that for some reason John thought it was entirely normal for the lives they led; they weren't exactly normal were they? No, more like certifiable.

It was look that John had seen in the eyes of soldiers who had thought they were going to die and that John was meant to be the one to live with their deaths as he helplessly watched the blood stain the sand and the metal twist and sharpen in the glaring sun of Afghanistan. No way. Not this time mate!

Doctor John Watson, once a Captain in the British Army, was not going to let Sherlock Holmes die; not now and not ever if he could manage it. So with a slight nod at his friend, and maybe one day something more, John acknowledged that Sherlock was planning on blowing up that bomb and then diving in front of John to save him. Only John was going to do one better; he was going to save them both.

"Jim," Sherlock said loudly, catching the attention of the world's one and only consulting criminal, "I do believe I've made my decision," Sherlock smiled rather darkly at Moriarty who had now stopped his foolish prancing and was focused entirely on Sherlock leaving John to slowly and covertly inch his way up the wall to the point where he wanted to be.

"Really? Well don't keep me waiting now Sherlock!" Moriarty exclaimed as he waved his hands in much the same manner one of John's old friends had done when he'd had too much to drink when they'd been out for the weekend back in med-school; like a half-dead chicken crossed with a dodo.

Sherlock continued to smile and he dramatically waved the hand that wasn't holding the loaded weapon in an attempt to distract both the snipers and Moriarty's attention on his other hand; and it worked, "this is my decision Jimmy!" he declared and with a final flourish of his free hand Sherlock pulled the trigger of the weapon in his hand and thought about the speed of a bullet as the sound of the bullet being fired echoed in his ears; but he didn't have much time to think about it when John barrelled into his with so much force that Sherlock felt like he'd been ran into by a rugby player.

The typical speed of a twenty-two calibre LR bullet is about 320 metres per second and Sherlock was positive that the average speed of sound was only 300 metres per second so that meant that when he'd fired the bullet it was about to impact with the bomb as he heard the obvious crack that came from an army-issue Browning L9A1. And he highly doubted he'd have ever survived if it hadn't been for that little ray of military capability that had thrown them into the chlorine filled pool of water which served to save both their lives.

Only he doubted John had considered the possibility of surviving the explosion and then drowning because he was now trapped underneath a piece of ceiling that had been inconsiderate enough as to fall into the pool just where he and John were. How he'd managed to swim out of the way was quite the mystery to Sherlock since he knew that he was no Olympic swimmer; as Mycroft had often reminded him. But John was trapped. No. John had just saved them, saved him, and now he was going to drown because of a piece of bloody metal! No. Absolutely not!

Sherlock kicked his way to the surface and gulped in several lungfuls of air before bravely diving back down to the bottom of the pool; luckily they had been near to the shallow end so it was no great distance, but it was still a problem. He gabbed hold of one of John's arms and tried to tug him out from under the twisted piece of metal that was resting across his waist but it was too heavy and Sherlock was too weak; he watched as John lost precious oxygen as he screamed out silently in the water and then the water began to turn reddish around his side. Sherlock did the only thing he could think of in the space of a second and his covered John's mouth with his own and gave his doctor as much oxygen as he possibly could before he had to swim back to the surface before he succumbed to oxygen-deprivation himself.

His head broke the surface and he thought he could hear the sound of sirens in the distance but that mattered little to him as he prepared himself to dive back under the water only to stop at the shout of his name by a voice he recognised.

"SHERLOCK!" Mycroft shouted as he ran towards the pool followed by several men clad in the standard uniform for the British Secret Air Service, the SAS.

Sherlock looked at his brother and shouted, or rather croaked, "John's trapped!" before he dove back under the water and swam down to his doctor who was holding his breath almost desperately; Damnit! He shouldn't have waited to say hi to Mycroft, John was trapped and didn't have the option to swim up to the surface and breathe because he was trapped!

Sherlock quickly gave John as much precious oxygen as he could when he detected the change in the water as several men dived in and moved to help him with John; one of them had what looked to be a miniature breathing apparatus which they quickly gave to John so the guy could breath oxygen that wasn't coming from the mouth of a certified sociopath; even though the bottled air would probably taste stale it was far better than drowning Sherlock was sure.

Together the three SAS soldiers and Sherlock managed to lift up the piece of metal that had John trapped, though Sherlock nearly dropped it when he saw how much pain they were causing John, and the fourth SAS solider who was beside John pulled him away from the metal which Sherlock let go of the moment John was free. As the fourth SAS soldier pulled John up through the water towards the surface a trail of red blood behind his and Sherlock avoiding swimming through as his head broke the surface of the water just after John and the fourth SAS soldier did.

Sherlock helped John and the SAS soldier reach the edge of the pool and he climbed out, resolutely ignoring both Mycroft with his constant questions about him and Moriarty and his own thoughts which were screaming at him to either start crying or stop caring; and he was going to neither as he helped haul John out of the pool before he was unceremoniously shoved aside by the SAS medic who began to order the other soldiers to do this and that.

Sherlock sat on the cold floor as he watched the medic work on his friend, his doctor and he couldn't help but think that this was all wrong. John was the army doctor. John was the one who was meant to work and save people, not someone working on John to save him. It was so... wrong... so unnatural and he wanted to shout and tell everyone that it was so wrong.

And that was the last thing he could clearly remember thinking as the world blurred, as John blurred, and everything was replaced by a strange and weird darkness which Sherlock reasoned was what normal people experienced when they passed out; but he wasn't normal so why was he experiencing it too? Oh, needle with a sedative in his arm from another medic might explain that one.
John... he's meant to be alright... he's the doctor... he's not meant to be a patient... he needs to be okay...

And Sherlock Holmes, the world's only consulting detective and self-proclaimed high-functioning sociopath, finally slipped away from the conscious world and into the dark and blissful black of unconscious.

OH MY GOD!

I might have to do a sequel; what do you all think?

And it may or may not be longer than this...

You must review and tell me 'yes or no'.

Kaseykc