Secrets (Sherlock)

Great Game 3

She had stayed out of the case.

She had managed to remove any and all eyes from her and onto other bits, all while staying off the bloody case.

Quinn was, actually, rather proud of herself. She was known, in the business, for butting in; for getting in the way. So, for her to actually stay out of it was an accomplishment to say the least.

But, she messed up. Big time.

The redhead had just been walking home, not a care in the world, when a lovely black sedan pulled up beside her, with the driver telling her to get in. She knew it wasn't 'Mickey', so that left Jim. And Jim would either collect her calmly or bring her kicking and screaming.

She had sighed, and cursed at the driver as she stepped in. The sun was almost setting, and the sky was dark and glum. In that moment, Quinn wanted nothing more then to get home and sleep.

But she would not be sleeping that night.

"What the hell is this?" She asked, staring at both Jim and the dress he handed her.

"Italian silk, embroidered by one of the best," he said. "Cost me a small fortune, but we both know it didn't feel like much."

"No, not that moron," she said, once again exercising the little right she had of being his friend. "I'm talking about the color. Pink? Really? You don't put a red head in pink, idiot. You give them green, or black, hell I would prefer white against pink."

He sighed, and pulled out a black dress from the box, it looking practically the same. "I was seeing if I could get you into it. Apparently not."

She pursed her lips in a joking way, grabbing the dress and walking behind the curtain.

"I still hate this plan of yours," she said, pulling off her blouse and throwing it over the top of the shield. "They are my friends, James. I couldn't do this to them."

"Well, one of your friends happens to be strapped to enough plastic explosive to take down an apartment building, so don't make me ask again."

She shook her head, sighing. "I've missed you, Jim, I really have. But I didn't think it was possible for you to actually get crazier."

He smirked. "Anything is possible, deary," Jim said, his voice cool and playful. "Especially when you hold my mindset."
*
Quinn had an earpiece in her left ear, grinding her teeth as she watched John. She would kill Jim next she saw him.

"Who are you?" Sherlock asked, him being as fed up as she was with all the games.

"I gave you my number," a low voice whispered in her ear.

"I gave you my number," she said, watching Sherlocks face actually change into something that wasn't smug. It was both fear and betrayal in the same expression.

"Thought you might call."

"Thought you might call." She stepped foreword, her heels clicking across the floor tiles, deciding to have a little fun. "Is that British Army Browning L9A1 in you're pocket-" he pulled the pistol from his pocket "- or are you just glad to see me?"

"Both."

Quinn frowned. "Apologies. I'm just used to pissing off a Holmes boy, especially when they're standing for the other side." She smiled, her dark red lipstick-stained-lips looking at them with sympathy. "This wasn't supposed to happen-"

She stopped when she saw the laser land on Sherlocks forehead, and she froze. "Hold on," she said, tugging the earpiece from her ear. "Oi!" She yelled, looking up at the ceiling. "Knock it off, before I take that rifle out of your hand and shove it so far up your ass that you'll actually be able to shoot straight, you insolent, pathetic excuse for a sniper!"

She turned, smiling again, discretely placing the earpiece back in her ear.

"Quinn-"

She raised a finger. "Nope, I am here on behalf of-"

"-my incredible associate-"

"-Jim Moriarty."

"Hi!" A singsong voice said, the Irish lisp recognizable to all.

"Did you seriously just make me say all that crap so you could have a good entrance?" She asked, putting a hand on her hip.

"You know me, deary," he said, walking up to her and smirking.

"Yeah, you're a bloody drama queen."

Sherlock raised an eyebrow. "I take it you know each other."

Quinn turned her head towards him, shifting her weight from one foot to the other. "Oh, you don't know the half of it."

Sherlock looks at the laser still pointed at Johns chest, then looks questioningly at James. "Oh, don't be silly," he says. "Someone else is holding the rifle. I don't like to get my hands dirty."

He gestured to Quinn. "Exhibit A."

He gestured to John. "Exhibit B."

Quinn rolled her eyes. "You're taking this rather well, Qinney dearest."

She shook her head. "I've seen him do worse. This is all rather tame for his reputation, actually."

"Consulting criminal," Sherlock says. "Brilliant."

"Isn't it?" Jim said, smiling proudly. "No ever gets to me, and no one ever will."

Quinn pulls a knife out from her arm band, and holds it up to Jim's neck. "I did."

"Oh, Quinny, Quinny, Quinny. Would you really like me to ruin your reputation now? I thought you'd want more time." He watched as she lowered the knife slowly, trying to convince herself otherwise, but to no avail. "And she's come the closest."

"Thank you," she said, smirking.

"Didn't mean it as a compliment," he replied, both of then momentarily forgetting John and Sherlock, who stood, confused, frozen while watching the encounter.

"Yes you did."

"Ok, yeah, I did," he said, both turning back to Sherlock. "But, enough flirting." His voice went really high, and he said in a singsong voice. "Daddy's had enough now."

"People have died," Sherlock says, mildly disgusted and mildly impressed, but he would never admit it.

Jim smiled. "That's what people DO!" He screams the last word furiously, his personality changing from calm to horrid in an instant. Quinn simply reacted nonchalantly, having worked with him for years and gotten used to his quirks.

Sherlock softly says, as if he's trying to convince both Jim and himself. "I will stop you."

Quinn smiles, sadly and maniacally at the same time. "No you won't." She looks over at john, whose trust she knows she's now betrayed. "You alright, John?"

He hesitated. "You can talk, Johnny-boy."

John looks over at Quinn, then nods lightly. At least some of it was intact.

Sherlock hold out the memory stick, Jim eyeing him as he did so.

James strolls past John and reaches out for the stick, grinning.

"The missile plans!"

He takes the stick from Sherlock's fingers and brings it to his mouth, kissing it. Behind him, John is silently murmuring to himself, perhaps trying to keep himself focussed, perhaps winding himself up to take action, maybe even praying. Jim lowers the memory stick and looks at it.

"Boring!" He said, throwing the drive into the pool. "I could've gotten them anywhere."

John runs foreword, taking this opportunity to attack. Quinn, expecting him to do something stupid, jumps back, allowing him the access to latch onto Jim, one hand wrapped tightly around his neck, the other on his torso.