Why Fireflies Flash

The Meaning of a Tragedy

The Pool

"I gave you my number. I thought you might call." Jim walks slowly into the pool room. "Is that a British Army Branning L9A1 in your pocket? Or are you just pleased to see me?"

"Both," Sherlock says as he raises his weapon.

"Jim Moriarty," the criminal says in greeting. "Hi!" He takes a few steps. "Jim? Jim from the hospital? Huh. I really make such a fleeting impression? Although, I suppose that was rather the point."

Sherlock corrects his stance but otherwise remains silent.

"Oh, don't be silly someone else is holding the rifle. I don't like getting my hands dirty. Miss Quinn doesn't mind though." Jim smiles at the slight confusion that passes over Sherlock's face briefly. "Oh, did my lovely assistant not tell you? Shame." He walks closer to John and Sherlock. "I've given you a glimpse Sherlock, a teensy glimpse at what I've got going on out there in the big bad world. I'm a specialist, you see." His face picks up like he suddenly realized something. "Like you."

"'Dear Jim,'" Sherlock begins, "'Please will you fix it for me. To get rid of my lover's nasty sister.' 'Dear Jim, please will you fix it for me to disappear to South America.'"

"Just so."

"Consulting criminal. Brilliant."

Jim squeezes his eyes shut briefly. "Isn't it? No one ever gets to me. And no one ever will."

Sherlock flicks the safety off and cocks the gun. "I did."

"You've come the closest. No you're in my way."

"Thank you."

"Didn't mean it as a compliment."

"Yes you did."

Jim shrugs over-exaggerated, "Yeah, okay, I did. But the flirting's over, Sherlock, daddy's had enough now. I've shown you what I can do. I cut loose all those people, all those little problems, even thirty million quid just to get you to come out and play. So take this as a friendly warning... my dear... back off. Although, I have loved this... this little game of ours. Playing Jim from IT. Playing gay, did you like the little touch with the underwear?"

"People have died," Sherlock tells.

"That's what people DO!" Moriarty yells.

"I will stop you."

"No you won't."

Sherlock glances over to John. "You all right?"

Moriarty closes the distance between John and himself. "You can talk, Johnny boy. Go ahead," he says leaning over John's shoulder and nodding.

Sherlock holds the flash drive out. "Take it."

Jim pulls the plastic piece into his grasp and flips it over. "Ah, the missile plans." He smiles. "Boring. I could have gotten them anywhere," he tells tossing the small device into the pool.

Behind him John runs up and pulls the criminal into a choke hold. "Sherlock run!"

Moriarty laughs. "Good! Very good!"

"Your sniper pulls that trigger, Mr. Moriarty, then we both go up."

"Oh, she's not my sniper," he snaps, his voice a little too high. "She's not my anything. Not anymore." He looks back to Sherlock. "He's sweet, I can see why you like having him around. People do get so sentimental about their pets. And so touchingly loyal." He shifts he weight suddenly. "Oops! You've rather shown your hand there, Dr. Watson."