Failing Upward

Chapter 14 (part 3): Self Preservation

"Everyone knows I'm in here," I said bluntly, walking over to wash my hands.

"Step away from him," I heard Sherlock's voice boom.

"How exciting," Moriarty said, clapping his hands. "I wanted to have a few words with both of you and here you are!"

I stepped up to the sink and washed my hands. I looked into the mirror. There they both stood: Moriarty within an arm's length and Sherlock four feet behind. I should have known Sherlock would follow me. I felt sick to my stomach.

"I've already had more than enough words with you to last a lifetime," I said, drying my hands, "now get out of here."

I stepped past him, and he grabbed my arm. Not again. My guts churned with recollections of the greenhouse.

"Let go of him," Sherlock said, stepping forward, but then glanced away from me to the right, lips set in a grim line. A moment later I heard something as well. A quiet click.

" I tell you when to move," Moriarty said, "and now is not a good time for either of you."

I twisted against Moriarty's grip, pushing him away until Sherlock's strangled "John" made me look up.

"He didn't come alone," he said, his voice tight. I followed his gaze toward the back of the room up at a narrow gap in the ceiling tiles where a corner tile had been shifted out of place. Confused, my eyes returned to Sherlock and saw the red dot dancing right over his heart. The bottom of my stomach fell out.

Moriarty released my arm.

"Ready for our little chat, are we?" he asked us, bouncing on his toes. "I thought that'd get your attention." He flicked my forehead with his boney fingers and laughed, then turned to Sherlock with a feral smile.

"Safe is such a subjective word, don't you think? Is anyone ever really safe?"

"You are a fool. One doesn't need to feel safe. One needs to feel. Oh. That's right. You can't. Feel."

"Sherlock, that's not nice! John, you really should keep him on a shorter leash. You really can't trust him not to run off and stick his handsome nose in our business. That's another word: trust. Always so misplaced. No one to trust. They are all lying to you. All of them . Dr. Lestrade, his family, and this one's brother. Come with me, and I promise you, Sherlock will be safe."

Sherlock stared open-mouthed at my forehead. His eyes flicked up to a bathroom stall behind him.

"If I do, how can you guarantee no one will hurt him?" I asked as I stared at the dancing red light.

"John, no!"

"I'll make an oath," Moriarty said, "right here, right now, and I never break an oath."

"John, do not do this! He's not going to shoot me. Not here."

"Oh, Sherlock! Yes, I will. You see, John, I'm the one person who will always tell you the truth. I will kill him."

I was tempted to let him have me. Give up. Keep Sherlock safe. But I still had a healthy sense of self-preservation. I loved Sherlock, I'd give my life for him, but I didn't think an oath meant shit to Moriarty. And he was a fucking liar.

"You just expect John to walk out of here with you? We both know that's not going to happen."

He laughed. "Of course not NOW ! I don't want him NOW . But I do want him. And I will have him. John, you really have no choice."

"Okay, you said what you wanted. Anything else you want to add?" I asked.

"You'll come to me." He gave my arm a squeeze. His eyes locked to mine, and he knew I saw inside him.