In The Game of Love

sixteen

 Word Count: 2,045ish

Summary: They try to find Rene and stop Moriarty.

Warnings: bomb, suicide, death, and sexual innuendos

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Sherlock and Y/N fell asleep inside Simza's tent, wrapped in each others arms. When John finally stumbled in after his long night, he was mumbling and loud.

"Do shut up, Watson," Sherlock told John in a soft, yet firm voice. Keeping his eyes closed, he held Y/N closer as he felt her move against him.

"You have no right to tell me what to do," a drunken John responded. "You throw women from trains!"

"Next time I'll make sure he throws you instead," Y/N muttered.

Sherlock chuckled and kissed Y/N's head. "Go back to sleep darling," he said.

Y/N hummed and moved to get more comfortable against Sherlock. John watched carefully. They were both clearly so in love, yet so insistent on not doing anything major about it. John hoped that they could finish this fast so that he could get back to his wife and that his friends could feel like they could be together.

~~~

The next day, Simza, John, Sherlock, and Y/N, snuck into the city in a wagon. When the arrived and the wagon was opened, Simza jumped out first, Sherlock was next, he turned around to help Y/N, with John following after her. The group followed Simza into a nice building, through the bustling kitchen, and down into the cellar. Before they could officially go down into the cellar, men that were standing guard checked them for weapons.

They followed Simza down to see a man sitting at a table in the center of the large room. His back was to them and it seemed that he was eating, all by himself.

"Still hiding in basements?" Simza questioned as she lead them towards him.

"It is hard for me to get out these days," the man, Claude Ravache, replied in French. "I am happy to see you."

"I'm not here to see you."

"Yeah," he continued in French. "I would rather share this moment... with your English friends." His last four words were spoken in English.

John walked over to another table and found a blank paper in the midst of the newspapers. He picked it up and sniffed it.

"1789, a seminal vintage," Sherlock stated as he noticed the wine near Claude.

"The year of our glorious revolution," Claude responded, holding up a glass.

"Is he here?" Simza asked.

"When freedom triumphed over tyranny."

"Is my brother here?"

"I haven't seen him for a long time."

"You're lying."

"Sit." He held his hand out, pointing to the chairs. "Please."

Simza sat down first. Sherlock helped Y/N into a seat before taking the one beside her.

"A letter was received from Rene using this same paper," John said, holding up the paper he had sniffed.

"Of course," Sherlock concluded. "He took it with him wherever he went."

Y/N observed Claude as he ate. "He's telling the truth," she said. "Reve isn't here."

"He was given another assignment by an—"

"An anonymous benefactor," Sherlock interrupted Claude.

"Another Englishman... with money, power. Who supported our cause..." Y/N inhaled sharply and looked away. Sherlock leaned forward and rested a hand on Y/N's knee as he listened to Claude. "And now... he dictates our every move." Claude took a sip of wine. "Demanding I take responsibility for his acts of terror. But after tonight... it will be over. My job is almost done."