Failing Upward

Chapter 25 (part 1): Born to Endless Night

The cell was on speaker, but it made sounds I'd never heard before coming from a phone. A far away interference that sounded like sandpaper against wood.

I listened and waited, watching Sherlock's face. I didn't have to hear his voice to know Moriarty was on the other end.

"Yes?" I asked. More unearthly sounds, then his voice like splinters piercing my eardrums.

"John, the window!"

I hesitated. So he was out there. I didn't need to step up to the window. I didn't need to look. I didn't need to draw back the curtain. I didn't need to see him standing twelve feet from our window to know he was there. But I was compelled to. I took the steps and pushed back the musty curtains. Diffused light from the porch lamp exaggerated his slender form. The dark transformed him into some unworldly predatory shadow, his suit so out of place in the sand that he might have just stepped through from a dream.

"Come out and play !" He danced around, his cell phone pinned to his ear with the yellow glow of the porch light illuminating the self-satisfied smirk pasted on his face. "We will have so much fun together!"

"I don't play," Sherlock said.

"I think you do... You see Sherlock, you and Watson have no other choice but to play with me. Someday you will be all alone with no companions. Make it easy on yourself. Come outside and play, and I won't play too dirty."

I felt Sherlock press against my back, looking out the window over my shoulder. He cussed under his breath, then went over to the dresser and pulled out Moran's gun and mine.

"He's not coming outside," I answered, taking my Sig Sauer from Sherlock. "And neither am I."

"You really shouldn't leave your phone on while having sex; it gives me soooo many ideas. When I think of all the possibilities, I just get chills!"

Shit! I'd kicked my phone and didn't wonder why it didn't ring again. God. He heard us! I thought I'd be sick. Moriarty smiled, then stepped back, half concealed by the deep shadows cast from the tops of poplar trees. His free hand fumbled for something inside the lining of his jacket. I spied a flash of reflected metal— a gun. He twirled it around like a toy.

"You wouldn't want anything to happen to that devilishly handsome young man next to you, would you Mr. Watson?" he asked in a sing-songy voice. "I can think of some ways I'd like to play with him."

Sherlock grabbed my arm. "No.." he said. "You cannot go out there alone."

I disconnected the call and made sure this time we were truly disconnected.

"You're a much better shot than me," Sherlock said. "I should go out, and you can cover me. Come around him from the back."

"Why? What could he possibly want to say to either of us? No. He'll grab you and run off. You're not going out there with him. No way. I'd bet that he has Moran out there too."

"We need to strike first. He cannot be allowed to intimidate us." The last word was barely out of his mouth when guns popped and glass splintered like icy rain into the room. I pushed Sherlock, and we both crashed backward onto the floor. I banged the back of my head into Sherlock's jaw, and I felt silvery fingers of pain in my face as my cheek scraped his. I looked into his eyes, and felt even before I saw that Sherlock was fine. The injury must be mine, then. I winced again.

"That's interesting," Sherlock whispered, reaching up and carefully pulling the glass splinter out of my face. He frowned at it, then at me. My eyes watered. "You were correct. He did bring friends."

"I think I felt the bullet fly by my head."

He touched my temple before he started to stand, and I yanked him down. "You're not bulletproof!"