You Are My Mystery {Sherlock Holmes}

Chapter 25*

"Although I have loved this – this little game of ours," Jim says aloud causing me to grimace.

"People have died," Sherlock mumbles. I don't think he truly cares but he may be trying to prove a point. People have died.

"That's what people DO!" Moriarty shouts furiously as if Sherlock said something absurd.

"I will stop you. We will stop you," Sherlock says as he gestures to me. I stand still, not moving. I'm not sure I can be much help when I have a bomb strapped to my torso.

"No, you won't," Jim tells us before Sherlock looks over at me. Something flashes in his eyes-- Concern? It's odd to think that Sherlock, of all people, would be concerned for me. Concern is a reaction to caring so it must be some other feeling showing in his eyes. Pity maybe?

"You all right?" Sherlock questions in a whisper. God, if only I could respond and tell him that I'm decently scared. Not for myself, but rather what might happen to him. Sherlock, albeit intelligent, doesn't make the best decisions.

"You can talk, Rachelle. Go ahead," Moriarty beams like he is talking to a dog. I don't say anything, worried if it is some sort of trick. One of Moriarty's games. My gaze meets Sherlock's and I give him a slight nod. Sherlock takes one hand off the pistol and holds out the memory stick toward Jim.

"Take it," Sherlock demands, hoping it will prevent anything else from happening. If that's what Moriarty wants, maybe he'll let me or Sherlock go.

"Huh? Oh! That!" Moriarty says as he reaches out for the stick, grinning. "Boring! I could have got them anywhere," Moriarty shouts as he tosses the stick in the pool. Seeing my opportunity, I race forward and slam myself up against Jim's back, wrapping one arm around his neck and the other around his chest. Sherlock backs up a step in surprise but keeps the pistol raised and aimed at Jim. My grip on his throat tightens, anger pulsing through me. He won't get out of this unscathed, that's for sure.

"Sherlock, run!" I shout, hoping to by some more time. Maybe it wasn't the brightest idea but it was the only thing I could come up with. Moriarty just laughs, his breath hitting my arm.

"Good! Very good," Moriarty says and I can practically hear his smirk. Sherlock doesn't move, still aiming his gun at Jim's head but now starting to look up a little anxiously, as if wondering what action the hidden sniper might take. Fucking hell, Sherlock, I said run, not stand there like some dunce.

"If your sniper pulls that trigger, Jim, then we both go up," I state, unfazed by my own statement. It's a risk I'm willing to take.

"Isn't she sweet? I can see why you like having her around. But then people do get so sentimental about their pets," Moriarty quips and I grimace angrily, clenching his throat tighter and pulling him closer to my body, leaving the bomb sandwiched between us. Jim scowls as he attempts to turn to me.

"They're so touchingly loyal. But, oops!" Jim smiles.

"Not his pet," I growl into his ear. He grins briefly at me, then looks towards Sherlock.

"You've rather shown your hand there, Baines," He chuckles as a new laser point appears in the middle of Sherlock's forehead. I stare in horror as Jim looks round at me expectantly. Sherlock, either seeing the edge of the laser beam shining from the gallery or realizing what's happening from my expression, shakes his head slightly.

"Gotcha!" Moriarty sings and I should have seen it coming. Fuck, how stupid could I be? He chuckles as I release my grip on him and step back, holding my hands up to signal to the sniper that I won't be trying anything else. After stretching his neck, Jim glances round at me, then turns back towards Sherlock while brushing his hands down his suit to straighten it. I lower my hands and stand calmly in front of Sherlock who is still aiming the pistol at Moriarty's head.