A/N: This is how I think The Great Game should have gone. There will obviously be spoilers for the episode! Inspired by my friend, Shaken Into a Kitten. This is for you, lovely!

Disclaimer: All rights go to their perspective owners. I don't own anything, and I make no money from this. This is for entertainment purposes only.

Now, without further ado, please read, review, and enjoy!

Found. The Bruce-Partington plans. Please collect.

The Pool. Midnight.

Sherlock's footsteps echoed loudly off the tiles of the floor as he approached the pool where it all began. He opened the door, which noticeably creaked, and entered the pool area. The water lapped quietly as Sherlock walked in, looking around as he did.

"Brought a little getting-to-know-you present," Sherlock spoke suddenly, raising the memory stick high in the air, so that it could be seen by anyone watching. "That's what it's all been for, isn't it? All your little puzzles, making me dance. All to distract me from this." Sherlock turned around, still holding the memory stick high in his hand. Behind him, the door creaked open and Sherlock looked over his shoulder. When he saw who was entering the pool, the consulting detective's blood immediately ran cold.

It was John.

Sherlock's mind began to go on hyper-drive. It had been John the entire time. John, who shot a man for him. Who called him brilliant every time he showed off for him with his deductions. Who lived with him, and listened to him play his violin at three in the morning when they both couldn't sleep. John, who was loyal, compassionate, and brave. But as he kept thinking about it, Moriarty hadn't appeared until John Watson had.

"Evening," John greeted the other man. "This is a turn-up, isn't it, Sherlock?"

"John!" Sherlock choked out, his mouth dropping open. "What the hell…?"

John spoke again, but Sherlock didn't hear him. The consulting detective, who was normally not one for sentimentality, was feeling betrayed. He took a few steps towards John, still in disbelief.

Then John opened the green parka that was lined with fur, revealing the wired vest underneath. A red dot danced across his chest, implying destruction at any moment. The betrayal Sherlock was feeling turned to relief, then immediately to fear. A deep, gut-wrenching fear that he would lose one of the only constants in his life.

"What…would you like me to make him say…next?" Moriarty asked using John's voice. "Gottle o' gear, gottle 'o gear, gottle o' gear." John voice broke on the last word.

"Stop it," Sherlock said as he got closer to John.

"Nice touch, this," John continued, Moriarty using his voice to speak. Sherlock kept walking towards his flatmate, looking all around for the real Moriarty. "The pool, where little Carl died. I stopped him." John hesitated before he kept going, his head turning the the side as he winced. "I can stop John Watson, too. Stop his heart." The caring, kind John that Sherlock knew wasn't meant to say the dark things that he was being made to.

"Who are you?" Sherlock asked, observing his surroundings to try and find the real Moriarty.

"I gave you my number," a voice called out from the other side of the pool. Sherlock spun towards the sound, but he could not see who the voice belonged to. "I thought you might call."

A man, who Sherlock assumed to be the man called Moriarty, walked out from the nearby alcove. "Is that a British Army Browning L9A1 in your pocket, or are you just pleased to see me?"

Sherlock drew the gun out of his pocket slowly, then pointed it at the man in the suit with one hand. "Both."

"Jim Moriarty. Hi," the man in the suit said, confirming Sherlock's deduction. "Jim? Jim from the hospital?" Sherlock took his other hand and put it under the one holding the gun, holding it with both hands. "Oh, did I really make such a fleeting impression? But then, I suppose, that was rather the point." As Moriarty walked across the deck of the pool towards him and John, Sherlock remembered who he was. Jim, Molly's gay boyfriend, the same one he and John had met a few days ago.

At the thought of John, Sherlock glanced over at his blogger, and saw the doctor was looking at him too. But Sherlock was distracted by the red dot, still hovering over John's heart.

"Don't be silly," Moriarty drew Sherlock's attention back to him. "Someone else is holding the rifle. I don't like getting my hands dirty." Moriarty stopped at the corner of the pool deck. "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."

"Dear Jim…" Sherlock began, as the pieces fell into place. "…please will you fix it for me to get rid of my lover's nasty sister? Dear Jim, please will you fix it for me to disappear to South America?"

Moriarty had walked closer as Sherlock was talking. "Just so." He confirmed.

"Consulting criminal," Sherlock said, gun still trained on the other man. "Brilliant."

"Isn't it?" Moriarty asked. Sherlock noticed that John glanced at him again. He wanted to look at his blogger too, but he didn't dare take his eyes off Moriarty for even a second. "No-one ever gets to me. And no-one ever will."

Sherlock cocked the gun, taking it off safety. "I did."

"You've come the closest," Moriarty responded playfully. "Now you're in my way."

"Thank you," Sherlock said.

"Didn't mean it as a compliment," Moriarty quipped.

"Yes, you did," Sherlock responded.

"Yeah, okay, I did," Moriarty agreed. "But the flirting's over, Sherlock. Daddy's had enough now." Jim spoke in singsong, echoing Sherlock thoughts. The consulting detective was tired of the games that the consulting criminal was playing.

"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 continued, and Sherlock glanced over at John then back at Moriarty. "So take this as a friendly reminder… my dear. Back off." Jim walked closer to Sherlock and John. "Although I have loved this, this little game of ours. Playing Jim from IT. Playing gay. Did you like the little touch with the underwear?"

"People have died," Sherlock said.

"That's what people do!" Jim exploded, shouting the last word. Sherlock could tell that the consulting criminal didn't care about the lives that he had been responsible for taking. And while Sherlock didn't let himself get caught up in the fact that there were lives at stake, he did care. That's how Jim and Sherlock were different.

"I will stop you," Sherlock said.

"No you won't," Moriarty seemed completely confident in that fact.

Out of the corner of his eye, Sherlock noticed John wince, which turned his attention back to his blogger. "Are you alright?" Sherlock asked John, his worry evident in his voice to the person who knew him best. But John didn't respond, didn't even react.

Moriarty came up behind John, leaning in close to talk to him. "You can talk, Johnny boy." The consulting criminal said, causing John to flinch almost imperceptibly. Sherlock still noticed though. "Go ahead."

John looked over at Sherlock and nodded.

Relieved that his blogger was alright, Sherlock held the memory stick out to Jim, making sure the gun was still trained on the consulting criminal. "Take it." Sherlock said.

"Mm? Oh…" Jim walked up to Sherlock and plucked it out of his hand. The consulting criminal pressed it to his lips for a moment, then lowered it. "…that? The missile plans." Moriarty looked down at the memory stick for a moment, then back up at Sherlock. "Boring! I could have got them anywhere." Jim tossed the memory stick into the pool and John saw his chance.

The doctor ran up behind the consulting detective, his arm going around Moriarty's neck. "Sherlock, run!" John yelled.

Despite being in a headlock, Jim laughed. "Good! Very good!"

"If your sniper pulls that trigger, Mr. Moriarty, then we both go up." John whispered tersely. Sherlock looked around for the sniper that had the red dot flickering back and forth from Jim to John.

"Isn't he sweet?" Moriarty asked. "I can see why you like having him around. But then, people do get so sentimental about their pets. They're so touchingly loyal." Moriarty jerked forward, trying to escape John's grasp. "But oops! You've rather shown your hand there, Dr. Watson." Moriarty looked from John over to Sherlock as the red dot moved to dance over the consulting detective's forehead. "Gotcha." Sherlock shook his head once and John let go of Moriarty, backing away with his hands raised.

Moriarty smoothed the front of his suit, then gestured to it. "Westwood." He said. "Do you know what happens if you don't leave me alone, Sherlock? To you?"

"Oh, let me guess," the consulting detective said, making sure to sound bored. "I get killed."

"Kill you?" Moriarty asked, his face contorting. "No, don't be obvious. I mean, I'm going to kill you anyway, some day. I don't want to rush it, though. I'm saving it up for something special." The consulting criminal shook his head. "No, no, no, no, no. If you don't stop prying…" he paused, almost considering. "…I'll burn you. I'll burn the heart out of you."

"I have been reliably informed that I don't have one," Sherlock responded. John had been the reliable source to that answer.

Moriarty shook his head again. "But we both know that's not quite true." The consulting detective inclined his head slightly towards John, and Sherlock knew he was right. John was the reason he still had his humanity. The reason he wasn't ever going to be Moriarty. John had taken over his heart, utterly and completely. Sherlock loved John, had for a while now, and there was no going back.

Moriarty shrugged. "Well, I'd better be off," he said, looking around. "Well, so nice to have had a proper chat."

"What if I was to shoot you now?" Sherlock asked. "Right now?"

"Then you could cherish the look of surprise on my face," Jim's face changed into one of surprise. "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." Moriarty took a step backwards. "Ciao, Sherlock Holmes."

Moriarty opened the nearest door, and Sherlock took a step forwards, and towards John. "Catch you…later."

"No you won't," Moriarty sung again, the door slamming shut.

A moment after Moriarty had left, Sherlock looked over at the vest John was still wearing, then up at his blogger's face. Instantly, Sherlock set the gun down and rushed over to take off the wired vest.

"Alright?" Sherlock asked desperately as he worked to take off the vest. His fingers trembled as his unbuttoned it, making it more difficult to do. "Are you alright?"

"Yeah, I'm fine," John responded, his eyes not meeting the dark haired man's kneeling in front of him. "I'm fine. Sherlock…" The consulting detective had gone around behind him, and was practically ripping the coat and vest off of his body. Sherlock slid the vest across the deck of the pool, trying to get it as far away as possible from them both.

"Sherl— mmph!" John was cut off as Sherlock closed the gap between them and grabbed the front of his jumper, firmly pressing his lips to John's. The doctor in question froze for a second, which made Sherlock panic, and begin to pull away from the shorter man. John grabbed the consulting detective's arm, not allowing him to go far. Sherlock tilted his head to the side as John pulled him back in, and initiated the kiss.

See, Sherlock wasn't the only one with hidden feelings. John had been in love with Sherlock practically since the consulting detective deduced his life the first time that they met. He just hadn't really realized until that moment.

They pressed closer together, clinging together like two vines wrapped around each other. Their lips clashed against each other, fighting for dominance. Apparently, Sherlock noted, John was quite good at it too. The way John bit his lower lip was driving the consulting detective mad. Sherlock's hands clutched John's hips, forcing them both even closer together. John in turn snaked his arms around the taller man's neck, one gloved hand tangling in Sherlock's dark, curly hair. Sherlock hummed, content to keep kissing John for what seemed like hours upon end. The consulting detective angled his head so that he could kiss his blogger even deeper than before.

They were so consumed with each other that neither of them heard a door to the pool deck creak open. "Sorry boys!" Moriarty voice rang out, causing Sherlock and John to jump apart. Several red dots had appeared, and were dancing across both of their bodies. "I'm so changeable! It is a weakness with me, but to be fair to myself, it is my only weakness." Sherlock turned around, again trying to discern a sniper on the roof. While he was doing that, John bent down and picked up the discarded gun. "You can't be allowed to continue." Sherlock and John glanced at each other as Moriarty was talking. From one look, John knew what Sherlock was planning to do. He passed Sherlock the gun, trying to be subtle about it. "You just can't. I would try to convince you, but everything I have to say has already crossed your mind."

Sherlock looked over at John again, and into his blogger's deep blue eyes, silently asking his question. The doctor nodded his consent to the plan, because he agreed that it was better to get rid of Moriarty than to even survive. Sherlock raised the gun back up at Moriarty with one hand, the other reaching out to take John's hand into his own. "Probably my answer has crossed yours," he said, ignoring a questioning expression from John, and lowered the gun from Jim to the vest resting at the consulting criminal's feet.

Moriarty tilted his head for a moment, then he smirked. It was almost a dare—the consulting criminal didn't think he'd do it.

Sherlock's finger tightened on the trigger, simultaneously pushing John past him and into the pool as he fired. At the same time he had fired the gun, he flung himself to the side, and into the pool as well. Sherlock could feel the heat from the resulting explosion and a sharp pain stabbing into his side as he crashed into the freezing cold water.

Then everything went black.

White.

That was the first color Sherlock saw as he swam back to consciousness. Hospital, he deduced. Which meant he was alive. That, and the faint ache that seemed to cover his entire body indicated that he had survived the explosion. He did a mental check and from what he could tell his left arm was in a cast, and appeared to have several abrasions along the entirety of his body. He had an IV in his right arm, sending new blood into his veins.

"John!" Sherlock remembered suddenly as he finished his mental check. The gut-wrenching fear came back in full force because he had no idea what happened to John. Was he hurt? Or even worse…dead? Sherlock didn't know what he'd do without John. Turn back to his old habits, surely. Which, in his opinion, was no longer an option. John had to be alive…and Sherlock was going to find him.

Sherlock started to push himself up, when a hand was placed on his shoulders. The consulting detective followed the arm up to see John standing over him looking slightly worse for wear, but alive. The doctor must have gone home, because he had changed from the clothes he was wearing at the pool to his favorite oatmeal jumper and a dark pair of jeans.

"John," the consulting detective breathed, taking in all of the details of the face belonging to the man he loved. The dirty-blonde hair with a little gray, the lips he had kissed not that long ago (and wanted to again), and the beautiful deep blue eyes that betrayed how worried John was. About him. Sherlock Holmes, the self-proclaimed high functioning sociopath, called freak by others, and thought to be relatively friendless, had someone to worry about him now. To care. To love him for the person he was, even with all of his quirks.

In response to the newest revelation, Sherlock grabbed ahold of the oatmeal jumper John was wearing, and kissed the doctor until they were both breathless and their lips were swollen.

John was the first to pull away in order to speak to the consulting detective. He sat down on the edge of the hospital bed next to Sherlock. The consulting detective leaned into his blogger's touch as John ran his fingers through Sherlock's hair. John's deep blue eyes roved over Sherlock's face hungrily. "I'm so glad that you're alive, Sherlock."

"John?" Sherlock's unspoken question was evident in his tone. John's hand trailed down the side of Sherlock's face, his touch feather light. It came to rest at the point where Sherlock's neck met the rest of his body.

John clenched his jaw, and Sherlock deduced that what his blogger was about to say would be classified as bad news. John interweaved their fingers together before he began to speak. "You were shot, Sherlock," John began to go into his army doctor mode in order to prevent himself from breaking down. "The bullet pierced your left side, just below your lung. It was lodged there, and you were bleeding internally. The surgeons operating on you said that you almost died twice." John's voice broke on the word twice. The doctor had seen many a violent injury and death, but when it was happening to his best friend and the man he loved… well, then he was a wreck.

Rubbing a hand across John's back soothingly, Sherlock leaned his head on his blogger's shoulder. The doctor wrapped his arms around Sherlock's slim waist, clutching at the back of the hospital gown the consulting detective was wearing. John's face buried itself in Sherlock's shoulder as tears silently ran down his face.

"I'm alive, John," Sherlock said quietly. The consulting detective remembered an earlier conversation with John where he said something about crying at patients' bedsides not helping anyone, but this time he couldn't voice that opinion. All he could do was to hold John and whisper reassurances in his ear.

"Hello, brother mine," a familiar voice said. Sherlock looked up and saw Mycroft standing in the doorway, umbrella in hand. His brother raised an eyebrow when he noticed John sitting next to him on the hospital bed, but decided that it would be better to not mention it. "Welcome back to the world of the living."

Sherlock silently observed his brother, deducing further into his words. Suddenly, it all made sense. Why John had hesitated in telling him of his injury, and why he actually broke down.

He had died on that operating table. Twice.

"There were two bodies found in the wreckage of the pool, Dr. Watson identifying neither as James Moriarty," Mycroft continued. "Though I'd like you to come to the morgue to verify…once you're back on your feet, of course." Sherlock assumed that the last part was added for John's benefit, because at the mention of Moriarty the doctor tensed up and Sherlock knew he was listening intently even though it appeared he wasn't.

"If that is all brother mine," Sherlock said, keeping his arms wrapped around his flatmate. "Then John and I would like our privacy." The expression Sherlock gave his brother clearly dismissed him. Mycroft took the hint with a shrug, twirled his umbrella, and exited the hospital room.

Almost as soon as Mycroft left, John picked his head up from where it was hidden in Sherlock's shoulder, his eyes slightly red and puffy.

John looked at Sherlock and gave him a weak smile. "You know, I'm glad no one saw us—you ripping my clothes off in a darkened swimming pool. People might talk."

The consulting detective smirked back at his flatmate. John must have been feeling more at ease if he was making jokes. "People do little else." Both men chuckled at bit at that, then quickly sobered.

"Sherlock?" John asked.

"Hmm?" Sherlock responded.

"Why…" John faltered for a second, and Sherlock finished the thought for him.

"Why did I…kiss you?" He asked and John nodded. "Ah, well…I…" a rare blush formed itself on Sherlock's face. The consulting detective took a deep breath in to steady himself before he continued. "John… I have never been one for sentimentality, as you well know. The whole caring lark, in my opinion, is a complete and utter waste of time. But…when I'm with you…it makes me wonder if I'm wrong for once. Because I care, John, about you. Probably more than I should."

"It's all right Sherlock," John said, touching the other man's cheek gently. "There's nothing wrong with caring. I…I care for you too." Sherlock looked at John, hope evident in his eyes. Even though John had kissed him back at the pool and just a few minutes ago, Sherlock still was expecting to be rejected.

"I've have little experience in this area," Sherlock said. "What comes next?"

"Well since we both care for each other," John answered. "Then, the next step would be a date."

"All right," Sherlock nodded. "Where should we go?"

"Hmm…" John thought about it for a moment. "What about Angelo's?"

Sherlock smiled. "Perfect."

"Then it's a date," John smiled back at Sherlock.

"It's a date," Sherlock echoed.

Neither of them could stop smiling for the rest of the night.

A/N: Thanks for reading and I hope you enjoyed it! Also, thanks to anyone who has read, favorited, followed, and/or reviewed any of my stories! It really means alot to me! Please leave a review on your way out, as it would be much appreciated!

~ ValkyrieDefender