Lost and Found (Sherlock x Reader)

The Great Game (Part 7)

It was very late—close to midnight—by the time you were ready to head home. Everything was locked up, wiped down, and all ready for tomorrow. You placed your hands on your hips and smiled in satisfaction.
You were the only one left in the little cafe, which is why you were so startled when you turned around and saw someone standing just inside the doorway. You gasped and placed your hand over your heart as you tried to calm yourself down.

"I'm sorry, sir, but we're closed for the night..." As you said these words, another thought occurred to you. "Actually, how did you get in? The door was locked."

The man didn't say anything and, suddenly, you knew that this was not just some late night customer. You began to back away from him. He retaliated by stepping toward you.

"Sir, please...uhm..." You fumbled around, searching for your phone.

You needed to call someone. The police...or Sherlock...someone—anyone. The man's pace quickened and, in a split second, he had grabbed your arm. You let out a shriek of panic.
In the next moment, a cloth was placed over your mouth. You had no choice but to breathe in the chloroform. Despite your struggling, you were unconscious just minutes later...

***

"Brought you a little getting-to-know-you present," Sherlock said loudly, holding up the memory stick. "Oh, that's what it's all been for, hasn't it? All your little puzzles making me dance—all to distract me from this."

On the memory stick was the plans for a missile system called the Bruce-Partington Plans. Sherlock Holmes had kept the stick—despite telling John that he gave it to Mycroft—and used it as a bargaining chip in order to meet the man named Moriarty.
Sherlock scanned the area—the pool where Carl Powers died—searching for the mysterious bomber. He turned around and at that moment a door opened. Sherlock glanced behind him. Out stepped his flat mate—his friend—John Watson.

"Evening," John greeted him.

Sherlock stared at John. Millions of thoughts raced across his mind in that moment.

"This is a turn-up, isn't it, Sherlock?"

"John..." Sherlock thought back to just the other day. Your words to him as you spoke of Moriarty.

"So, he couldn't risk the old woman telling you anything about him. Especially if, say, you had already met him," You said, thinking out loud.

"But I've never met him, so that wouldn't be a problem."

"How do you know? You could have met him in disguise. He could be anybody."

"That's absurd," Sherlock stated. "What kind of bombing serial killer would risk meeting me? I would have been able to figure it out, I'm sure."

You held up your hands in surrender. "All right, all right. I was just thinking out loud."

It was the one line you said that really stuck out to him in that moment: "He could be anybody!"
Sherlock could not believe that his flat mate—John Watson—was the one behind all this. And just a minute later, he would realize that he was right about that.

"Bet you never saw this coming," John continued.

The two men stared at each other. Then, a look of despair crossed over John's face. He removed his hands from his pockets and pulled away the coat to reveal a bomb strapped to his chest.
For just a second, Sherlock felt relief, knowing that John wasn't the serial killer. But the panic and fear returned as he came to the full realization of John being strapped to a bomb.