The Sound of Settling [BBC Sherlock, Johnlock, first kiss]

3. Late night at the pool. [The Great Game]

John is painfully aware of the sniper's laser buzzing about his chest, and the heavy Semtex vest. But he's also aware that Sherlock is in danger. And somehow, that's far more frightening. John tells himself it's because he's already faced death in Afghanistan, many times, but he's not used to seeing civilian friends in danger. He tells himself that, and tries to form a plan.

Sherlock has stopped his conversation with Moriarty, is asking John a question. "You all right?"

John waits for Moriarty's permission before nodding. But he's really not all right. He is distracted by the danger to Sherlock, which is no good. He tries to calm himself and list their assets. He likes his thoughts well-ordered in times of stress-always has, but it became a near compulsion in the military.

One. The Browning L9A1 in Sherlock's hand. Rather outgunned by the sniper and Semtex, though, John's afraid.

Two. Sherlock's brain. Generally a large asset, but seemingly outgunned by Moriarty's right now.

Unfortunately, John has run out of assets. It's all up to him, then. He looks for an opening as Sherlock hands Moriarty the USB stick.

"Boring! I could have got them anywhere," Moriarty says, and flings the missile plans into the pool. He is gloating, distracted. John is sprinting forward, grabbing him from behind.

John had intended to use his hostage to gain freedom for himself and Sherlock. But he's overwhelmed by the urge to get Sherlock out of there immediately. "Sherlock, run!" he blurts as he wraps his arms around Moriarty's neck.

Moriarty is surprised at him, laughing. "Oh-ho! Good! Very good!"

John is surprised, too. No time for that now, though. His voice comes out low, almost a whisper. "If your sniper pulls that trigger, Mr. Moriarty, then we both go up." Meanwhile, he alternately looks for the sniper and implores Sherlock with his eyes: run!

Moriarty keeps addressing Sherlock, who continues to not run. Damn him. Moriarty is mocking John, calling him a pet, but John is barely listening. He is looking for a way to get Sherlock out of there as he grapples with Moriarty and pulls him tighter. Looking, but not seeing.

"You've rather shown your hand there, Doctor Watson." Moriarty chuckles as a new sniper's laser appears on Sherlock's forehead. John stiffens and releases him.

He shudders and steps back. Did he really just try to sacrifice his own life for Sherlock's? He did. Didn't even think about it. It's a shame it didn't work. He doesn't see how they're going to get out of this now. And while he doesn't mind so much about himself, he finds he minds rather a lot the idea of Sherlock dying. Rather more than anything he has ever contemplated.

He pushes the realization away. No time for it right now. He looks for other openings, tries to find any way out of this game. He half-listens to Moriarty's taunts.

"D'you know what happens if you don't leave me alone, Sherlock, to you?" he is asking.

Sherlock sounds bored as he guesses that he will be killed. John pleads silently with Sherlock not to speed that process up, not to antagonize Moriarty unnecessarily, as he continues to scan their surroundings and try to formulate a plan.

Moriarty sounds a bit disappointed. "Kill you? N-no, don't be obvious. I mean, I'm gonna kill you anyway some day. I don't wanna rush it, though. I'm saving it up for something special."

John's heart leaps inside of him just a bit. It sounds like they might be getting out of this alive after all.

Moriarty continues. "No-no-no-no-no. If you don't stop prying, I'll burn you. I'll burn the heart out of you." He snarls the word, nearly chokes on it.

Sherlock does not blink. "I have been reliably informed that I don't have one."

"But we both know that's not quite true," is Moriarty's rejoinder.

Sherlock does not argue. And in that moment, John begins to realize. The thought hits him like something physical, but it's too large an idea to view in its entirety at first.

Sherlock and Moriarty continue to speak, and John tries to listen. But there is a rushing sound filling his ears. He feels a moment of vertigo as he puts it all together, and his world shifts from one in which Sherlock tolerates him and appreciates him as an audience, to one in which Sherlock cares, cares about John more than anything. In which he thinks of John as his heart.

No. That's preposterous.

And then Moriarty is leaving, gone. Instantly, Sherlock is falling to his knees in front of John, ripping the vest and coat from his body. And the look in his eyes. There is no doubt. He stands and flings the explosives far from John.

Sherlock wants nothing so much as to save him. And the feeling is mutual. It's dizzying, having personal revelations while almost dying. John staggers, falls forward, leans against a wall for support. That's a bit of poetic nonsense, though, the doctor part of his brain points out drily. It's just adrenaline coursing through his system, elevating his heart rate, leaving him shaky. Isn't it?

He's not entirely sure. But regardless of what's causing the dizziness, the revelations are real enough.

He catches his breath a bit and, as Sherlock returns from futilely chasing Moriarty, asks if he's okay. "Me? Yeah, I'm fine, I'm fine. Fine. That, er... thing that you, er, that you did; that, um... you offered to do. That was, um... good." Sherlock sounds amazed, bewildered.

John wants to respond in so many ways. First: to reassure him that he meant it, that he would risk everything for Sherlock, unhesitatingly, every time-because Sherlock still sounds doubtful, like he must have missed something, like nobody would really do such a thing for him. Second: to shake Sherlock, make him promise to run, next time. Because, of course, there will be a next time-that's part of the joy and the pain of being in Sherlock's life. Third: to thank Sherlock for caring about him. To tell him that it means more to John than anything he can recall, ever, to know that Sherlock cares so much. So deeply.

But it would frighten Sherlock, or repel him, to hear these things said, wouldn't it? Such sentiment? It frightens John, even, to feel all this.

John settles for making a defensive joke, much more his usual style. "I'm glad no-one saw that."

"Hmm?"

"You, ripping my clothes off in a darkened swimming pool. People might talk."

"People do little else."

They start to laugh. As John chuckles, he feels intense joy bubbling up inside him-the joy of being alive, and being with Sherlock. For a moment, he second guesses himself, wanting to share these feelings after all. As he shakes his head slightly at his foolishness and starts to stand, he looks down at his chest and sees that the sniper's beam has returned.