A/N: Okay, I know that I really need to finish Loophole, but this little thought of "what if" popped up, and we all know what that means: Story time! Enjoy!

John took a deep breath and expertly set his expression, doing his best to raise his heart rate. It had to be convincing. He stepped out of the stall slowly, ready for a show. There he was, Sherlock Holmes, back turned and speaking into the air, holding up the memory stick. John's jaw tightened and he shoved his hands into the pockets of the bulky coat to hide his clenched fists. He swallowed.

"Evening," he said. The detective turned, genuine concern and confusion covering his face. He seemed to be searching for words and John was struggling not to crack a smile. He spoke slowly to convey the illusion that Jim was telling him what to say. "This is a turn-up, isn't it, Sherlock?"

The bumbling detective finally found his voice, "John, what the hell–"

"Bet you never saw this coming." John bit his lip in order to control himself. Sherlock took a few steps towards him, understanding starting to dawn on his features. At least, he thought he understood.

'Keep up the act, keep up the act' John kept telling himself, he couldn't let Sherlock be the wiser. Had to carry through with the plan. He carefully opened the jacket, exposing a plethora of explosives, a laser sight dancing over the vest. All for show, of course. He resumed talking to stop the grin that teased at his mouth. "What would you like me to make him say next?" Jim always did like having the upper hand, may as well make him happy. The detective continued forward, spinning in circles, looking for him. "Gottle o' geer, gottle o' geer, gottle o' geer" He nearly laughed by the time he finished talking. Sherlock took it as nearly crying, still so ignorant.

"Stop it." he said, still searching for Jim. There's never any appreciation for the people in the background. Even if they do all the work. 'Well be in the background no more,' thought John, 'almost, almost. Just keep talking.' "Nice touch, this. The pool where little Carl died." John bit hard on his lip, "I stopped him. I can stop John Watson too. Stop his heart."

John barely finished the sentence. It was just so ridiculous! Once he finished talking, a smile finally broke through. The doctor stifled giggles for a second then all but doubled over in laughter. "I'm sorry just can't do this anymore," he managed to blurt in between laughs.

So many emotions passed through Sherlock's features: worry, confusion, surprise, and, was that fear? 'Oh,' John thought, 'this is just too good!' The detective took a few small steps back, "J-John? Are you alright?"

He let himself settle down. "Moriarty!" Sherlock's heart dropped at the name. "You can come out now," John called out while stripping free of the winter jacket and Semtex to reveal a sleek black suit, much different from his usual jumper. He nonchalantly smoothed the fabric and looked Sherlock squarely in the eye, his face finally settling into the dangerous, maniac grin it had been yearning for. He would relish the look on Sherlock's face for a long time.

Another man stepped out of the shadows from the opposite end of the pool. "Come on now," he whined, "I was going to make a dramatic entrance! I had a speech. Hello there, Sherlock."

"Sorry, Jim. I just couldn't keep it up. Did you see his face? Poor Sherly was really worried about me." His voice simply dripped with faux sympathy. Moriarty came to stand just a few feet behind John and Sherlock finally understood. Allowed himself to understand. The man that he trusted, his only friend, was a fake. He had been working with the consulting criminal, leading him on a chase after who turned out to be John's own colleague! Sherlock had allowed himself to be played by an army doctor. But all of the details, all of the times that he'd deduced him, Sherlock could find nothing that would even hint to something like this.

"But I don't understand–" he started, only to be cut off.

"Of course you don't, because you're so THICK!" John suddenly spit the last word in a way that made Sherlock jump inwardly. He tried to seem unfazed.

"I deduced you," he said, reciting his thoughts like he had so many times before. "I knew everything about you, I lived with you for months. It would take a genius to fake all of that."

John simply put his arms out for display. "And what do you see now?"

Sherlock scanned over the man standing before him and within a second had deduced everything about him once again, but what he found was notably not John. No, this was someone else, because Sherlock had gotten to know John Watson, and he was nothing like this.

"I see a man that is not John Watson." he said simply. "A genius, a heartless criminal, and a grade A maniac."

"Good, Sherlock. Very good. You know, Jim never thought it would work. But I always knew you would fall for it, I always knew you were thick. You just had to believe that you had a friend." John slowly sauntered toward Sherlock, who was now the one struggling to be controlled. He was done with the feeling of betrayal, now he was just mad. He was trying not to punch that terrible grin right off his face.

"So you do the background work, is that it? People go to Jim with their problems while you're doing the work." Sherlock said, shoving aside emotions and settling into simple deduction. The only thing he could rely on.

Jim piped up, "Actually, Johnny does all of the people work. He's the actor." John took a shallow bow. "Whereas I do all of the organizing. But we both don't mind a bit of... hands on work every once in a while." The look on Moriarty's face was reminiscent of a panther: sly and quietly dangerous, as if he could pounce at any moment. Both men had now stepped past the discarded bomb and were only a few feet away from either side of the detective.

"Why are you doing this?" Sherlock asked. "Why bother?"

"Why does anyone do anything, Sherlock?" Moriarty responded, "Because we're bored."

John joined in, "you aren't the only one that inflicts damage to stave off boredom. We just have better targets than a wall. I'd heard of you and I thought 'hey, why not play with him a bit?' And you were interesting, you really were. But play time's over. Now you're just getting in our way. And believe me you, that is not a good place to stand.

"But I have a problem, Sherlock, because Jimmy here thinks that you're too interesting to kill just yet. I can't say I disagree, but what are we going to do with you?"

"I say we make you dance. Play with your head a bit. I've got tons in store for you up here" Jim tapped his temple. He turned to fully look at John, "what do you think? Shall we?" Sherlock's hand twitched towards the gun in his pocket.

"I think so." Watson replied, then turned back to Sherlock. "I look forward to meeting you again, my friend." he said with a wink. In a wonder of synchronization, John gave a small nod and kicked the vest into the pool and before Sherlock could react, Moriarty had pulled out a handgun and shot it. There was a small pause in which both men gave a small wave conveying something along the lines of "Ta!" There was a dull noise, and then a much louder boom as the explosion surfaced, filling the air with mist. Sherlock was momentarily disoriented and the concussion knocked him off his feet on the slick tile.

By the time all of the water had fallen, which, granted, didn't take long, Sherlock was standing with his gun at the ready in trembling hands. But both of his enemies were already gone.

A/N2: If your mouth is hanging open, I have done well. I feel delightfully evil for posting this. Please review and tell me what you thought! Thanks for reading! Ta!

-BAngel