The Thrill of the Chase (Johnlock/Mystrade Teen!Lock)

Chapter Forty Three

(A/N- Hey guys! So this is the last chapter, so please enjoy. Erm, if you want a sequel, now is the time to comment and say so, because yeah, I have new ideas for a new story, so yeah, comment comment comment! Thanks for all your comments, votes, and follows, I really appreciate it, and I love you all!

-CH xx)

Chapter 43

John's POV

I looked at Sherlock as we walked under the stars to the forestry area around the school. Sherlock looked calm as usual, but his eyes were scanning the area, calculating and observing. He was too calm though. I saw the bulge of his new revolver still in the breast pocket of his overcoat, and I took a deep breath. 

I, John Hamish Watson, could be an accessory to murder before the night was through. Any one of us, Sherlock, Moriarty, even myself, one of us could die. Would  die. Sherlock said the revolver was in case things didn't work out. Of course things would work out. I was with Sherlock bloody Holmes. He knew he would need the gun. 

I ran a hand through my short sandy hair. Sherlock spared me a glance. "John, I need you to calm down, alright? Your worry is radiating off you and it's putting me off."

"I'm sorry," I muttered. "Sorry, sorry, sorry, sorry," I began to chant in a whisper as I continued to worry.

Sherlock stopped, and put his hand on my shoulder to stop me too. He pulled me in close, and kissed the top of my head. "You can turn back, John. It's fine. Just go back to our room, and I'll see you soon."

I squeezed him tightly and took another deep breath. "I can't, Sherlock. This isn't going to work. W-we'll be murderers. He might k-kill us, Sherlock. He might kill you, and I don't want him to even have the slightest chance of being able to do that," I stammered, squeezing my eyes shut, trying to stop the tears from developing. 

"Turn around, John. Turn around. I'll come back, I promise. No one will even know. I love you so much. Please, John. I have to do this. Just go back to our room."

I shook my head and pulled away. "Nope," my voice was quivering, so I cleared it, looking up into Sherlock's eyes, which I could see underneath the light of the stars. I cleared my throat and tried again. "No. I'm coming with you."

"Are you sure?"

"Yes. Come on. Let's do this."

We continued walking along the grassy field until we came to the forest. The song "Staying Alive"  by the Beegee's was playing softly, and a single light in the distance indicated where Moriarty waited for our arrival. 

Sherlock took my gloved hand in his, and squeezed it reassuringly. I squeezed back, and forced a smile to my face. The music got louder as we approached, and soon Moriarty's mocking face appeared in the glow of the light, which was a candle lit, supported in the stump of a tree. 

"Hello boys! Good to see you brought your puppy along, Sherlock. Though I suppose he would be lost without you," Moriarty laughed to himself.

"He is not my puppy, he is my boyfriend," Sherlock defended me. 

"Same thing, really," Moriarty replied, standing up from where he had been sitting. He walked forward and ruffled my hair. I grimaced, but knew better than to react. That's what he'd want me to do. He stepped away and smiled at me. "So, Sherlock. I got your text," he looked Sherlock up and down, a smirk playing at his lips. "Obviously," he added, trying to mimic Sherlock's deep voice. 

Sherlock sighed. "Then you obviously know what this is about."

"Of course," Moriarty chuckled. "But also, of course I know you intend on shooting me, judging by the bulge in your breast pocket. Not a very good move, honestly."

Moriarty stepped forward again, reaching his hand out to Sherlock, obviously so Sherlock would hand over his gun. In one fluid motion, the gun was out, but instead of handing it over, Sherlock had it aimed at Moriarty's head. 

"Whoa!" Moriarty cried, stepping back, a look of surprise on his face. "That was a very sudden an unexpected move!" He smirked and rolled his eyes. "Too bad I already knew to expect that from you, Sherlock," Moriarty tutted and shook his head at us. Multiple red dots of light appeared all over Sherlock's body. Snipers. Of course. 

"Why?" I accidentally blurted out. 

"Excuse me?" Moriarty seemed genuinely confused. Even Sherlock turned to give me a confused look. 

"Why do you do this to people? Why do you kill innocent people? Why?"

"Because that's what people do!" Moriarty shouted. He composed himself and smiled. "You know I don't like repeating myself and I am fairly certain I've said that more than once now. Anyway. I told you, Sherlock, some time ago when you were having issues with Johnny boy-" I stiffened and Sherlock seemed to flinch at that, but Moriarty carried on, "- That life is like a story. I like stories, so I'm going to tell you one." He raised his hand in the air, and thankfully, the lights on Sherlock's skin disappeared. 

"Once there was a little boy, let's call him Richard, who never really fit in anywhere. All his life he was getting bullied and he knew he wanted to make them suffer. He wanted destruction. And then he met another boy who was just like him, except that boy was a little angel. He wanted his attention, so he set up intricate murders to earn that boys attention, because, of course, the other boy loved to solve a murder, didn't he? And that boy, let's call him... Scott, shall we? Yes, Scott, got himself a boyfriend, and forgot all about Richard's games. And here we are today. Now the murder is going to be one Scott can't solve, because he is going to be the one who dies, and his poor little boyfriend is going to have to watch."

Sherlock flicked the safety off of the gun, and kept his aim steady. The lights reappeared on his body, indicating the aim of about twelve different guns. Sherlock pretended not to notice. "Who said I'm going to die?"

"I did, and I am always true to my word."

Sherlock shrugged. "Alright. Kill me then."

"Don't you want more of an explanation?" Moriarty asked, seemingly disappointed that we weren't interested in his dramatics. 

Sherlock shook his head. "No, I think we know enough."

I cleared my throat, indicating I actually didn't know what they were talking about.

Sherlock smiled slightly before he began to explain. "That story, that was all true. Moriarty was bullied and tormented at school, his life has been quite similar to mine, really. He's romantically interested in me, but of course, being as jealous as he is, he doesn't like the fact that I am with you. So he has been trying to regain my attention by murdering people, a rather nice gesture, in a way, but of course he isn't you and he isn't getting his way. Someone is going to die tonight and I won't allow it to be you, John, so go ahead, Moriarty, kill me," Sherlock said in usual fast way.

Moriarty shrugged and raised his hand, flicking it through the air. A gunshot sounded, and I fell to the ground. 

Sherlock still stood, and he looked around confusedly, before seeing me on the ground. He looked back up at Moriarty, and shot at him. Then everything went black. I didn't need to worry about Sherlock being shot; I was the one who was going to be killed. That was Moriarty's plan all along. Of course it was. I had enjoyed the thrill of the chase, but it was my time to go. At least I would die saving the love of my life. At least I would die for Sherlock Holmes.