Royalty

Chapter 11: Just You And Me

The cab stopped outside the pool. I paused. I could go back. Let Sherlock handle it. Forget about this. But I couldn't -- Sherlock needed backup.

Could I use the payphone?

But in my heart, something told me the bomber would have thought of that. And ... I had to help Sherlock. I had to.

I took a deep, deep breath. I checked the pink phone again. Nothing new.

I stared at the door, finally pushing it open.

Cold air made me shiver as I made my way through the hallways of the building, trying to find the pool room.

I finally glimpsed the doors, and noticed lights on.

I was terrified.

I put a hand on the door handle, and with a final push of determination, nudged the heavy doors open.

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Sherlock's POV:

I carefully pushed open the pool room doors. The memory stick felt somewhat heavy in my hand, and glanced over the large room, seeing nothing out of the ordinary.

I held up the flash drive. "Want your little getting-to-know-you present?" I asked into the eerie silence. "Oh, come on, that's what it's all been for, hasn't it? Your puzzles, making me dance ... all to distract me from this." The sound of a door creaking open reached my ears and my head snapped in the direction of the sound.

And the sight that greeted me was entirely unexpected and unwelcome.

"John?" My voice came out breathier than I'd intended. I tried to quickly assess the situation, but my brain seemed to be short-circuiting. He ... he couldn't be behind this, could he? No, it had been almost four months, he couldn't have planned this, he could have -- my thoughts froze as he spoke, his tone measured, even, and rhythmic.

"This is a turn-up, isn't it, Sherlock?" Monotone, entirely so. John didn't talk like that. Or, I didn't think he did. Had I truly been tricked? "Bet you didn't expect this." I almost laughed. No, I hadn't been.

Something was bothering me, something was off ... his blinking was ... Morse code. SOS. I could have cried in relief. No, he hadn't tricked me. But the relief faded as he slowly opened his coat. He was wearing a bomb vest, and clearly visible on the explosives was a small red dot, the pointer of a sniper. I scanned the viewing gallery as John spoke again.

"What would you like me ... to make him say next?" I stepped closer, still trying to scan the dark upper level. "Gottle o'geer. Gottle o'geer. Gottle o'geer --"

"Stop it," I snapped.

"Nice touch, this. The pool ... where little Carl died. I stopped him. I can stop John Watson, too --" John's voice almost breaks, but he only pauses briefly. "Stop his heart."

I frantically looked everywhere for any sign of the sniper. "Who are you?" I knew my voice sounded too desperate, but I would have to be a fool not to realize the situation I was in.

Another door sounded, all the way at the other end of the pool. My head snapped in the direction of the sound, listening closely.

"I gave you my number." The voice reached my ears. Soft, male, Irish accent. My eyes were rooted to that end of the pool. "Thought you might call."

A man slowly strolled out, and immediately, I recognized him, even if I'd barely looked at him. Molly's boyfriend. But he wasn't a casual Londoner, fumbling with everything he touched. He was wearing an insanely expensive suit, his hair immaculate, and the look in his eyes was something I couldn't decipher. "Is that a British Arming L9A1 in your pocket ..." he began, smirking, "or are you just pleased to see me?"