Secrets (Sherlock)

Great Game 4

"Run, Sherlock!"

Sherlock hesitates, but keeps his pistol marked on Moriarty.

"Good, Very good!" Jim says, laughing in delight.

"The sniper pulls the trigger, they both go up," Quinn says, to no one in particular. "Smart plan, John. But, I hate to say it, he's been doing this for years. He's seen it already."

The sniper moved his target from John to Sherlock, pointing right at his forehead. John slowly moved off of Jim, who dusted himself off.

"Westwood!" He exclaimed, gesturing to his suit.

"Sherlock, you need to get out while you still can-" Quinn tried, worry lacing her voice. There were very few people she cared few, but she needed to help.

"Or what? He'll kill me?"

Jim laughed. "No, no don't be obvious. I'll burn you. I'll burn the heart out of you."

"I've been reliably told that I don't have one." Good. Good, Quinn thought. Stall him. She tapped Jim's shoulder, whispering into his ear.

"This wasn't part of our deal, James."

He smiled.

"You are a man of your word, aren't you?"

"Well," he started, scaring Quinn. She thought he was going to back out. "I should be off."

Jim walked off, and Sherlock called. "Catch... you later?"

"No you won't."

As soon as Quinn heard the door shut, she bolted towards John, running exceptionally well in her heels and the tight dress. She took out the knife and cut right down the middle of his vest.

She violently ripped it off his body, throwing it to the ground and kneeling down next to it.

How the fuck do you disarm a bomb?

She could never remember. John started leaning against the wall as she ravenously started cutting bits of the best so she could get a better look.

"Are you okay?" John asked Sherlock, who was pacing and breathing extremely heavily.

"Me? Yeah. Yeah I'm fine. I'm fine. Fine." He took a breath. "That, er ... thing that you, er, that you did; that, um ... "he clears his throat"... you offered to do. That was, um ... good."

John stared blankly. "I'm glad no-one saw this."

Quinn looked up in confusion, and they all finally noticed the thin layer of sweat lining her forehead and neck, and realized, from the deathly pale color of her skin and lips, that she had been horrified.

"Pardon?" She asked, her faint Swedish accent coming out due to her mental state.

He gestured to her, not meeting her eyes. "You, ripping my clothes off in a darkened swimming pool. People might talk."

Sherlock shrugs. "They do little else."

John laughed lightly, standing up. But, before anyone could register anything, a laser landed on John chest, along with Sherlocks forehead and Quinn's stomach. "Oh."

"Sorry, boys," they heard. "I'm soooo changeable."

Quinn snarled. "Jim..."

"But to be fair, it's my only weakness."

Her fetuses softened. "Jim, please..." she said, her voice softening. "We had a deal."

"Which I fully intend to keep." He snapped his fingers, and the sniper vanished from her stomach. But, at least two others appeared on both John and Sherlock.

He lowers his hands and puts them in his pockets. Sherlock turns his head and looks down at John, who lifts his own head to meet his gaze.

What the hell was Quinn talking about?

"But you two. You can't be allowed to continue. You just can't. I would try to convince you but ..." he laughs and his voice becomes sing-song again "... everything I have to say has already crossed your mind!"

Sherlock, who had looked away for a moment, now turns and looks down at John again, his face showing no emotion but his eyes screaming a silent request. John responds instantly with a tiny nod, giving him full permission to do whatever he deems necessary. Quinn stands, understanding perfectly, and walks to the side doors, leaning against the tiles on the wall.

"Probably mine has crossed yours."

He raises the pistol and aims it at Jim. The psychopath smiles confidently, with no fear in his expression. Slowly Sherlock changes the direction of the pistol until it's pointing directly at the Quinn. All three sets of eyes lock onto the woman, John breathing heavily, Sherlock calm. Jim tilts his head, looking a little anxious for the first time, his view flitting away from Quinn for a fleeting moment. She inspects her fingernails, utterly uninterested.

"You have your loopholes," she said, her lips spreading into a Cheshire smile.

As Sherlock holds his hand steady, continuing to aim towards her, Jim lifts his head and locks eyes with her. She gazes back at him and Jim begins to smile. Sherlock's eyes narrow slightly.

"I have mine."

What followed was the longest ten seconds of their lives, but they were soon interrupted.

By a phone call.