SHERLOCK I, II, III & IV • #wattys2016

The Third and Last Deduction

Sherlock staggered to his feet and went over to his bed. He tore the sheets off and began shredding them into long strips. Trembling, Sherlock managed to wrap his arms and chest with the bed sheets, stopping some of the bleeding. When he had finished and he was securely bandaged, he fell onto the bed and fell asleep.

What seemed to be two minutes later, he was knocked off the bed and the floor met his face. Sherlock opened his eyes and stared ahead at a pair of polished shoes. Groaning, he said, "Morning, hun."

The shoes' owner knelt down and stared at the detective. "Big day, today, the world's watching you now."

Sherlock closed his eyes, hoping that when he would open them, Moriarty would be gone. However, the reality remained and Sherlock knew the task he had to bear. Pushing himself off the floor, Sherlock picked up his dress shirt and slipped it on. He winced at the sharp pain in his chest every time he fastened a button.

"So, which injection did you take?" Moriarty asked, rolling his tongue in his mouth, itching to rile his adversary.

"Didn't work," Sherlock replied abruptly. He turned to Moriarty and his shoulders dropped in defeat. "You won. You broke the right one, I took the wrong."

"Good, good. Now, hurry up and meet us outside. And by the way, Mycroft found out-finally! He can't get security through because I blocked all communication on their end. Spent all night doing that was such a bore. Anyway, pick it up, Sherly, I'm an impatient man." Swinging his shoulder towards the door with a pompous air, Moriarty left the room.

Sighing, Sherlock touched his swollen face and grimaced. The dog's teeth hadn't gone through his cheek, but they had left dents that would evolve later into scars. Sherlock pursed his lips and followed Moriarty's tracks out the door. He descended down the stairs and walked out the door in a confidence he thought he wouldn't have. Sherlock imagined himself awfully sad on the day of his death, but for an odd reason, he was calm, peaceful, and focused.

Upon entering the cab, Moriarty noticed his disposition. "You're awfully tranquil for the day of your death, Sherlock Holmes."

Sherlock didn't reply, he only shut the door and waited for the cab to take him to the London Eye. He didn't hear or see John on his way out, so he assumed he and Alana were waiting for him. He believed Mycroft was probably there as well, irritated that he couldn't take control of the situation. Sherlock peered at his watch: seven o'clock. He wished he had his phone, but obviously Moriarty had confiscated that long ago.

As soon as they arrived, Sherlock was astounded to see the whole grounds around the London Eye to be packed with people. As far as they eye could see, there were citizens lined up to watch the final act. It was breathtaking and oddly beautiful. Sherlock stepped out of the cab and was led to the platform. On his way through the parting people, he caught sight of Lestrade, Mycroft, Mrs. Hudson, and Donovan on his right. In their own ways, they gave him a 'farewell' nod.

"A little too soon for that, don't you think?" Sherlock mentioned through a smirk.

"Sherlock!" came Molly's voice as she squeezed through the masses.

A guard shoved her back, much to the displeasure of Sherlock. Sherlock grabbed the guard by one of his many straps and pulled him close enough to deliver his threat. "Don't touch her again." He gave him a rough jerk and released him. Changing his hardened expression to a soft one, he turned to Molly. "What's wrong?"

Without saying a word, she raised a questioning eyebrow.

Reading her expression, Sherlock shook his head. "Didn't work. But, thank you." He leaned in and gave her a kiss on the cheek.