Countdown

Mycroft had called himself his nemesis before but until this moment Sherlock had not thought it was possible to truly have one. It had been something of a joke between the two of them, something to laugh at, but as he stared down Jim Moriarty Sherlock was quickly beginning to realize how wrong he had been. This was his nemesis, his worst enemy, his biggest threat, because Moriarty could see through the deception. Everyone believed that he was a sociopath incapable of having any real connections with human beings but Moriarty saw through that lie. The moment he had taken John and used him as a puppet he had known that Sherlock did have a heart. That heart belonged to the select few people in the world that he deemed worth his time. Now he was pointing a gun at a bomb, ready to pull the trigger, and kill Jim Moriarty. This was the logical thing, this was what he should do, but he hesitated.

Given how close they were to the bomb he and John would be caught in the blast as well. A million calculations ran through his head as he thought about the likelihood of John getting hurt, because he was perfectly fine with himself getting hurt but John Watson was another animal. Logic once again dictated that pulling the trigger was the right thing to do because Moriarty was dangerous and destroying a dangerous criminal was more important than one army doctor. Yet he could not force himself to think that about John because it was John. Moriarty seemed to know this as well because he did nothing to diffuse or ignite the situation. He was the picture perfect version of a man that knew exactly where this was going. Sherlock knew he could not risk John but he could not let Moriarty walk away either. Sherlock risked a quick glance at John who nodded. He stared down Moriarty and pulled the trigger.

The blast was deafening and Sherlock's ears were ringing but he was alive. The explosion had knocked him off of his feet and he could taste blood but judging from the aches nothing essential was broken. His left wrist was sprained, a concussion, bruised ribs (two on the left and one on the right), lots of cuts and scrapes, one on his leg that probably needed stitches, but considering he had blown himself up Sherlock was pleased with the outcome.

"I must say I'm impressed, Sherlock," Moriarty's voice barely carried over the ringing. "I wasn't sure if you'd risk him. I put the odds at 40-60." Him, John. Sherlock glanced over and saw that John was still on the ground. There was a piece of debris on his leg that must have hurt, blood flowing from a wound on his temple staining John's blond hair. He was breathing, Sherlock could see that from several feet away, but his eyes were closed. John needed a hospital because there could be internal damage but his damnable body was not working. "Wakey, wakey Johnny boy." Moriarty moved into Sherlock's line of sight and Sherlock found himself irrationally angry that Moriarty was standing. There was blood on his suit, debris in his hair and his eyes were wild. He was making his way toward John limping, and Sherlock wanted to jump to his feet.

"Stay away from him," Sherlock said surprised by how raspy his own voice was.

"I think it's adorable how you think you and that big brain of yours have any power over me," Moriarity replied grinning; there was blood on his teeth. He looked down at John and he almost looked a little fond. "I can see you why you keep him around. Very useful to have someone who lets you walk all over them." Sherlock wanted to argue but his tongue felt heavy in his mouth. Maybe he was more injured than he had initially thought. "Why don't you get some sleep?" Moriarty walked over and all but leered over him. "We'll see each other soon." The sharp kick to his temple knocked him out instantly.

Sherlock was only a little aware of his surroundings. He was able to deduce that he was in a hospital and that someone stayed by his bed often. Sherlock was not sure who this person was but the list of people that would sit with him while he was in the hospital was limited to one so he had to conclude that it was John. The smell of anesthetic and hospital soap overpowered any evidence of what was going on around him but considering he had been blown up Sherlock felt okay. It was the knowledge that John was okay that let Sherlock sleep longer than he had originally planned. When he finally opened his eyes he knew it had been two days from the slight subtle on his chin. He expected to see John's eager face waiting for him and he was surprised when he saw Mycroft sitting in a chair nearby.

"So you're awake," Mycroft said and Sherlock did not have it in him to be annoyed at his brother's presence. "The doctor said you were being lazy about waking up. I told them you were often bored but never lazy." There was an awkward pause. "How are you feeling?"

"As good as one can expect for being blown up," Sherlock replied. "Did you catch Moriarty?"

"I'm afraid we didn't. He was gone when we got there and I was a little distracted," Mycroft replied. Sherlock was not sure what he could have been distracted by, maybe all of the evidence and making sure Sherlock was not arrested for setting off a bomb, but that did not seem relevant.

"Give me some time at the scene and I'll find something he left behind. Where's John? The sooner I get there the better," Sherlock said.

"Sherlock, now is not the time to be playing games," Mycroft said lowly and he sounded so serious. As if there was something very wrong that Sherlock should know about.

"That's what this is to him so I need to move fast. Where's John?" Sherlock repeated. Mycroft stared at him a perfectly blank expression across his features.

"John is missing." The words hit him like freight train. John could not be missing because he was hurt and the cut on his head needed stitches. John could not be missing because the last time he had seen his friend Jim Moriarty had been leering over him. It took less than ten seconds for Sherlock to deduce what had happened but a voice in his head was screaming for it to be wrong. "I have footage of you going into the pool and the explosion. I see him leaving the flat but he's just gone when he hits a blind spot. He's vanished and you know more than anyone it is very hard to hide from me."

"I need to leave," Sherlock said after a beat of silence. "The game isn't over and now he has John. He promised that he would burn me and now he has John. I need to leave." Mycroft studied him intently. Sherlock could feel that Mycroft was judging him, but Mycroft was not so stupid that he could not see how important this was. If they never agreed on another thing then Sherlock hoped they could agree on this.

"You'll be out within the hour," Mycroft said.

John's head felt like it was trying to split open. It was painful enough that he jerked awake. The last thing he remembered was Sherlock shooting the bomb and pain. John's stomach lurched and he had to do some deep breathing to keep from throwing up. He was not in a hospital but a dingy apartment. There was an IV in his arm but whoever had administered it had done a poor job. John's mind felt foggy.

"I was wondering if you would wake up," an all too familiar voice said from across the room. John looked at Moriarty standing in the doorway. Something like dread clenched John's stomach. "Good to see you again, Johnny-boy. We're going to have fun."

"What do you want with me?" John asked.

"What do I want with you?" Moriarty asked. He folded his hands and looked thoughtful. "What I want is to burn Sherlock Holmes and the fastest way to do that is to hurt John Watson. So this is how this will work. I am going to hurt you and nothing is going to change that. However if you put on a show and act more hurt than you actually are then your precursor to your death would't be so terrible. If you insist on being stubborn it'll just get worse. You are in control of your pain." Moriarty smiled and it was vile. "We both know how this is going to end."

Sherlock was back at 221b Baker Street in sixty two minutes. He had checked out against doctors orders but whatever strings Mycroft had pulled worked well enough. The pink phone was in hand and Sherlock wondered if he could will it to ring. Mycroft was getting all of the CCTV footage and bringing it by later. He seemed to have a firm grasp of how dire this situation was and had promised to hurry. No matter how fast he moved it was not going to be fast enough. John was not going to walk away from this unscathed.

The phone rang once before Sherlock picked it up. He did not recognize the number but it was a local.

"Where is he?" Sherlock said without missing a beat.

"Manners, Sherlock," Moriarty said, amused. "After all I have your pet and I'm sure you don't want your bad manners to be the reason he gets hurt."

"What do I have to do to get him back?" Sherlock asked.

"Here are the conditions for this game," Moriarty said as if Sherlock had not said anything. "First I'll let your pet say 'hi' so you know he's alive. Johnny-boy, you can say 'hello' but if you say anything else I'll put a bullet in your foot." Sherlock held his breath because there was always a chance that Moriarty had killed John already and now he was being mocked.

"Hello," John's familiar voice said over the line. Good so he was not dead and he could speak clearly. So far Sherlock calculated that John was not hurt yet aside from injuries sustained during the explosion.

"Good boy. You've trained him so well. Are you lost without him?" Moriarty laughed and did not wait for an answer. "Here are the terms of our game. The stakes are simple; you have ten hours to find John Watson. The longer you take, the more he'll suffer. I will call on the hour and you get to listen to what he's going through. If you fail to locate him in ten hours you will have a murder to solve. Well I guess there won't be much of a mystery as to who killed him. A dull case for you."

"And what happens when I do find him?" Sherlock asked because he had to be confident. Using his mind clearly and quickly was the only chance they had.

"He gets to live, of course," Moriarty replied. Sherlock noted that there was no mention of his own fate but that did not concern him. John was all that mattered. There was the sound of some shuffling and the sound of the phone changed; it was on speaker. "Time for the games to start, Sherlock. I want your best game." There was the sound of a fist hitting flesh and a grunt that was definitely of pain. Moriarty laughed and the line went dead.

For the first hour Sherlock had nothing to work with. Moriarty liked his games so he tried to think about any clues he could glean from their conversation. The echo told Sherlock that the room was small but not a closet. There was a click whenever Moriarty took a step but it was a wood floor, not cement. Getting out of the city with an injured man would be difficult so Sherlock had to assume that they were still in the city. He hated assuming anything but there was nothing to go on. Exactly one hour later the phone rang and Sherlock was forced to listen to John getting beaten. Sherlock grit his teeth because it lasted longer this time and Moriarty was not pulling his punches. They were relentless and brutal and if they kept up this pace John might not make it ten hours.

"It isn't much of a game if I have nothing to work with," Sherlock said when he could not stand to listen for a second longer. There was a chuckle before the line went dead. It took a fair amount of control to not throw the phone across the room. It was good that he resisted because it dinged with a message. It was a single picture message but it was something.

John was sitting on what looked like a dirty cot holding a sleeve to his bloodied nose. His left eye was already turning an ugly black and he looked deeply annoyed. There was a fair amount of blood on his clothes and some messy stitches on his head from the pool but he was alive. Sherlock downloaded the picture to his laptop and began to take in every detail. There was a small window above John's head. Sherlock could just make out the edge of a building. The shadows told him that the building they were in was facing west. It was a flat, like he thought, and it did not look well kept. The paint on the walls was chipping but Sherlock could only make out so much from the grainy picture.

"At least he is alive," Mycroft said and Sherlock did not show that he was startled.

"For now," Sherlock replied. "He won't last through the time frame if Moriarty continues to escalate at this rate."

"Even if you find him you know you're walking into a trap." Mycroft set a DVD on the desk.

"Obviously." Sherlock eyed the DVD and decided it had to be the CCTV footage.

"I'm not going let you walk to your execution," Mycroft said.

"And I'm not going to let him die so it seems we have come to an impasses," Sherlock replied finally tearing his eyes away from the image. Mycroft was eyeing him with that same look he used to give him when Sherlock's cocaine habit was out of control. Like Mycroft was fighting against those older brother instincts that seemed to kick in at the worst possible moment. There was no talking him out of this, Sherlock would not let John die, and that was the end of that. Sherlock took the DVD of the CCTV footage and popped it into his computer. "Now are you going to help me look over this footage or not?"

"Let's get started," Mycroft replied after a beat of silence.

Four hours had passed since Moriarty had called Sherlock and give him the ultimatum. This would not have been much of a problem if it were not for the fact that Moriarty was not holding back and John was beginning to have trouble thinking straight. He knew that he was not going to live for another six hours of these beatings and there had to be something he could do. In one sense he wanted to find some way of letting Sherlock know where he was so the pain would stop. At the same time John also knew that Moriarty was waiting for Sherlock to arrive so he could kill his friend, and letting Sherlock walk into a trap was the last thing he wanted. Another two or three hours and John would be unable to defend himself if Moriarty gave him the opening. He was confident he could take the other man if given the right opening, but the longer he waited the more pain he was in.

Moriarty had just left and John spit some blood on the floor. He had to find some way of letting Sherlock know where he was. Sherlock had seemed too distracted at the pool to notice him blinking SOS and he would get a bullet in the foot if he said anything. John winced painfully as he pushed himself to his feet and looked out the small window above his bed. He was in the city and the landmarks outside looked familiar. In fact the landmarks made it easy to tell where he was and that surprised him. Why would Moriarty make it so easy to tell where he was? Mock him for not being able to tell Sherlock how to help him? That seemed like something Moriarty would find hilarious.

John sat back down on the bed and clenched his fists tightly. He weighed the pros and cons of just flat out punching Moriarty when he came back in for hour five. He would relish the grunts of pain and the sound of surprise even if it made things worse.

Then it dawned on him how he was going to let Sherlock know where he was. John was careful not to let the realization show on his features since he knew he was being watched. He was not looking forward to it but John Watson was not going to roll over and die.

The CCTV footage turned out to be useless. That did not surprise Sherlock nor did it seem to surprise Mycroft and now they were left looking at that single picture again. Mycroft saw all the details that Sherlock already had seen but the edge of the building in the window was not enough to go on. Without some sort of general location it did them no good. Sherlock chewed on the tips of his fingers until he tasted blood because he could do nothing. Time was running out and the thought of John being in pain made him a little sick to his stomach. They had not called Scotland Yard, there was no point, because that would just make things worse. While Moriarty had not said they could not consult the police that did not mean he would not make John pay for the intrusion. This was their game and it was Sherlock's move. The clock was ticking and he had no idea what to do; he hated the feeling of helplessness.

The phone rang on hour five on the dot, and Sherlock answered despite how much he wished he could ignore it. Maybe there would be another clue.

"Halfway there, Sherlock, are you getting worried you're not good enough yet? I gave you a clue and it still wasn't enough," Moriarty said chuckling. "Oh hello, Holmes senior as well. It's adorable that you're helping your little brother and everything. I wasn't expecting that. You can hold his hand when he claims the body of his BFF." Mycroft did not dignify that with a response and nothing Sherlock could say would change the situation.

"I'm coming for you, John. I won't let this happen," Sherlock said feeling like he had to reassure his friend that he was not going to sit idly.

"I know," John said but he barely spoken a word before there was the sickening sound of flesh hitting flesh.

"I didn't say you could talk, Johnny-boy," Moriarty said and Sherlock could hear the contempt in his words. It hurt because John was grunting in pain with every punch, every kick, it must have hurt and his friend was no longer able to hold back how much. It made Sherlock see red and he was going to make Moriarty bleed. Suddenly there was a deathly silence. "What did you do?" Moriarty asked.

"I didn't do anything," John replied. There was the distinct sound of joints popping and dear god, was he breaking John's fingers?

"I'll remove it next time. What did you do? What did you do?" Moriarty was screaming and he sounded furious. John had done something to merit this sudden mood swing and Sherlock was not sure what it was. There was the distinct sound of someone spitting and Moriarty sounding disgusted. "You're trying to tell him where you are, huh? You think that's going to save you? You just signed your own death certificate."

"He didn't tell me anything," Sherlock said as if this type of madness could be reasoned with.

"Your pet broke the rules and now time is up. You have one hour before I put a bullet in his stomach and let him bleed out," Moriarty snapped and the line went dead. John had communicated with him somehow and Moriartyhad realized it. John had been trying to tell him where he was and now the timer was counting down.

"Shut up," Sherlock said even though he knew that Mycroft knew better than to talk to him right now. John had said something and now he had to figure out what it was. Looking back at his memory of the pool, Sherlock realized that John had been blinking SOS the moment he stepped out into the open. John knew code and there was nothing in the words 'I know' that could be taken as code. Sherlock ran the moments through his head and pictured John's grunts of pain. They were timed and prominent, as if important, and he could see the pattern. John had purposely made the noises as code to spell something out but there had only been only time for two letters. "B S."

"BS?" Mycroft said.

"Yes. John's reactions to the punches, the grunts of pain, they spelled out 'B S' but what does that mean? What is he trying to tell me?" Sherlock looked at the clock and realize nearly twenty minutes had passed. It seemed like seconds in his head and he was running out of time. "B S, B S, B S, what do you mean? What? What are you trying to tell me, John?" Millions of things ran through Sherlock's head as Mycroft paced the room looking deep in thought. He was trying to help, Sherlock knew he was, but right now he just wanted his brother to go away. "Baker Street."

"What?" Mycroft said pausing.

"John is on Baker Street, that is what he's trying to tell me." Sherlock turned and looked at the picture. The very edge of a single building but in context, with an area, they could pinpoint it. The entire length of Baker Street ran through Sherlock's head like a movie and it felt like his head was going to explode.

"He's five blocks away," Mycroft said and Sherlock looked up. "Here is the address." He held up a picture of the building from google maps.

"Three floors up and two over to be exact," Sherlock said and he wasted no time thanking his brother, he was on his feet and ready to run out the door, but a hand stopped him. Sherlock was about to berate his brother, yell at him that there was no time, but Mycroft simply slipped a pistol into his pocket.

"I won't tell you to wait for backup because there is no time, but I do not wish to bury you, do you understand?" Mycroft said carefully.

"Understood," Sherlock replied pulling his arm free and running out the door.

Sherlock was not sure what made people get out of his way as he ran down the busy street but whatever it was he was thankful for it. The gun felt heavy in his pocket as he raced up the stairs of the building. Sherlock slipped a hand in his pocket and went up the stairs two at a time knowing that he was walking into a trap. Moriarty would be waiting, he was sure of it, but he was not sure in what context. It did not matter because he was close, he had to be, John's life depended on it. When the door to the flat where he knew John was opened easily it was almost a relief. There was blood in the air and that made him nervous but Sherlock pulled the gun out and held it in front of him. The flat was empty and one of the bedroom doors was locked from the outside. Despite the logic that the door could blow up if he touched it Sherlock opened the door.

John was standing on the other side of the room, blood on his clothes, his left eye was swollen shut and his right thumb was twice its normal size. Sherlock lowered his gun slowly and walked across the room without hesitation . He put the gun down and cradled John's head in his hand as he his friend smiled; his teeth were red.

"Knew you would get it," John said. His voice was hoarse and the wound on his head needed more attention but he was alive, he was breathing, and it was almost too much for Sherlock to handle. There were minutes left on the clock but that did not matter because he was alive. Sherlock leaned forward and did what he had wanted to do for weeks, pressed his lips to John's in a rough kiss. He tasted blood, fear, sweat and everything that was John Watson in that kiss. It couldn't last and Sherlock broke the kiss, pressing their foreheads together. "Well that was unexpected."

"No, it wasn't," Sherlock replied and John chuckled but sounded like it hurt

"You're right, it wasn't." John said and Sherlock wanted to stay right where he was because he could feel John's pulse, which was racing beneath his fingers but someone slowly clapping behind him ruined the moment. He released John and turned around slowly to seee Moriarty smiling at them. There was blood on the collar on his white shirt and Sherlock wanted to stain it more.

"I was taking a bit of a guess as to how much you actually cared but this just makes things all the sweeter," Moriarty said. Sherlock eased himself in front of John but Moriarty had a gun in hand before Sherlock could retrieve his. "Now, now, you might have gotten here in time but your pet still broke the rules. He needs to be punished unless you want to be the one to put him down."

"Mycroft knows where I am. Even if you kill us both, half of the British government is no doubt mobilizing outside. It's over and you know it," Sherlock said.

"After your little stunt with the bomb I'm starting to think I might have overestimated you, Sherlock. I didn't think you'd pull the trigger then but I'm fairly confident you won't let your brother catch me. You want it to be you because this is about us, you and me, and no one else. Not your brother or your little pet behind you or the Yard; this is about us. This will always be about us." There was the sound of a phone ringing and Moriarty pulled his phone out, looking at it smiling. "And it seems that our time hasn't come quite yet but take this bit of advice; standing between me and the ordinary people isn't going to save them. Step aside and you might live a little longer."

"I won't step aside. Not for you and not for anyone." Sherlock clenched his fists tightly at his side as Moriarty smiled.

"I know you won't and that's just going to make this all the more fun. I'll be seeing you soon, Sherlock." Moriarty fired a single shot and Sherlock all but threw John to the ground. Moriarty had missed. He scrambled for his gun but Moriarty was gone. He looked down at a bloody John who was having trouble catching his breath. Sherlock could hear people entering the flat but Sherlock did not look away from John. He took his friend's hand and held on tight as the reinforcements arrived.

John was in the hospital for two days before they released him to Sherlock's care. A broken thumb, three cracked ribs, a twisted knee, a bruised cheekbone, a rather nasty shiner, a nasty cut on his forehead and lots of bruises but alive. They did not speak as they walked into the flat and Sherlock kissed the one person that mattered most to him. He did not care if caring was a weakness because he could not imagine a world without John in it. I will always stand between you and those that would hurt you, Sherlock thought as he held onto John tightly. He would protect this man with everything he had because John Watson was anything but ordinary despite what Morarity might think. He had underestimated them once, he would do it again and this time they would be ready for him. Sherlock smiled and John smiled back because next time they would be the ones to make Jim Morarity bleed.

Follow me on tumblr: safaiagem