His Great Game (Sherlock x Reader)

Chapter 17: Burned

(Sherlock's POV)

I walked through the doors leading to the indoor pool at exactly midnight, the heels of my shoes echoing off the tile. It was quiet- serene. The smell of chlorine was overwhelming. I walked slowly towards the shallow end of the pool, looking up. The viewing gallery was still dark. Squinting my eyes, I strained to see into it- but to no avail. I allowed my face to relax, reaching into my pocket and pulling out the missile plans. I hadn't returned them like I had told John I had.

"Brought you a little getting-to-know-you present. 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." I spoke loudly to the empty room, knowing full well that my man in question was nearby. I turned in a slow circle, waiting for a response. When my back was to the pool, I heard a door about halfway down the hall open and close. I looked over my shoulder, still holding the stick. The blood drained from my face and my mouth hung open in shock.

"Evening." John's voice rang throughout the room, echoing slightly. My hand began to lower slightly in shock. John was Moriarty? "This is a turn-up, isn't it Sherlock?"

"John..." My voice was soft and weak, and I hated it. "What the hell..." I had thought this man to be my friend until now. Had he just been playing his part this whole time? Stupid Sherlock. Stupid, stupid. You're getting slow. Sentiment has blinded you.

"Bet you never saw this coming." John's horrified face matched my own as he pulled back the big coat he was wearing to reveal a bomb strapped to his chest. I sucked in a breath, not sure if I was frightened or horrified. John wasn't betraying me: Moriarty had captured him. But then again, there was a chance he could die now. A red laser danced over the bomb on his chest. They're in the viewing gallery... I knew it. I began to fill with nothing but pure dread- something was very, very wrong.

"What... would you like me... to make him say... next?" It was then that I saw the earpiece John was wearing- they must be relaying the words for him to say. One word off, and the sniper would shoot, blowing the both of us up. "Gottle o' gear, gottle o' gear... gottle o' gear."

"Stop it." I contained my fury, knowing it would do neither of us any good.

"Nice touch, this: the pool where little Carl died. I stopped him..." John cringed, and I knew the next words were going to be unpleasant. "I can stop John Watson, too." John glanced down at his chest, and I knew what Moriarty was saying. "Stop his heart. (Y/n) (L/n)'s, too."

For the first time in a long time, I was terrified. Truly, utterly terrified. I prayed that wherever (Y/n) was, she was safe. I gulped. She hadn't come back from the store before I had left. I turned on the spot, trying to look everywhere at once. "Who are you?"

I heard a door open from the far end of the pool and I immediately turned to face it, heart pounding. A man in a suit and tie walked through, tugging on the arm of a girl, dragging her along. I couldn't see him properly- my view was obstructed by a column.

"I gave you my number, Sherlock." An Irish voice, soft and lilting, carried across the room to meet me. "I thought you might call."

As he rounded the corner, I got a better look at him. Sharply dressed, immaculate dark hair, murderous dark eyes. My eyes turned to his partner, and I inhaled sharply. "(Y/n)..." John's eyes widened when he heard her name, but he couldn't move in fear of getting shot. She looked awful. All of the spark was gone from her eyes, leaving her looking lifeless and emotionless. She didn't look physically harmed in any way. There were no lasers pointed at her. That was slightly relieving, but seeing Moriarty with his hand on her... I stiffened, angry.

"Is that a British Army Browning L9A1 in your pocket...?" At Moriarty's words. I reached into my suit pocket and pulled out the pistol. I had shed my trench coat before I left the flat. "...Or are you just happy to see me?"