The Science of Sacrifice//Book Four

Chapter 17~ The Fall

 Third Person P.O.V

Teddy Holmes knew as soon as she saw that Mrs Hudson was alive and well that something terribly, terribly wrong was happening. Without a word she limped after John, trying desperately to run properly so she could catch up. Her ankle was on fire, screaming in protest, but she swallowed the pain down like it was a pill. She saw that John had managed to get a taxi and he had left the door open for her. Teddy dived into the vehicle head first, landing on John's lap, and she reached for the handle to close the door behind her. The taxi was moving before she had even put on her seatbelt but she didn't care. All she could think about was her brother.

"It was a trick," John said, his hands shaking as he spoke. "A bloody trick!"

"He wants to see Sherlock alone," Teddy gasped, feeling like her airways were closing up. "Sherlock knew that too. He knew. Oh, God, driver please can you go faster?"

John found Teddy's hand- so cold and shaking just as bad as his- and he wrapped his fingers around it tightly like he was trying to hold himself together. Teddy, although she was also trying, wasn't having much success. It was halfway into their trip to the hospital that Teddy lost it and she began muttering the Greek Alphabet over and over again under her breath.

"It'll be okay," John said, more to himself than to Teddy. "It'll be fine. It'll be okay, okay?"

Teddy didn't reply because she felt as though it would not be okay. It wouldn't be okay at all.

~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~

Everything had been going perfectly. He had known what Rich Brook stood for, which was a good start. Then things became a bit bumpy when he thought that the beats were digits (Stupid!) and he didn't realize how he had managed to break into those three places. It was simple, really. Too simple for the Great Sherlock Holmes to figure out. That was his downfall, though. He always expects things to be clever.

Speaking of downfalls, Jim thought as he had a quick glance at the edge of the building. Yes, then they had gotten onto that subject. The final act. The great detective- the great fraud's-suicide. At first he had been against it, obviously he would be, but did he really think that he hadn't come prepared? Jim couldn't help but smile as he told Sherlock his ultimatum: You die, or your friends do. Three friends, three bullets, three dead bodies. It would've been four had Jim not had a change of heart, but he realized he couldn't do that. Even Consulting Criminals had their soft spots, a chink in their amour, a visible bit of flesh underneath their scales. So he called that one off. Three bodies would do if Sherlock didn't jump. It would still send him the same message.

Everything had been going perfectly. Sherlock had been standing on the ledge and Jim was leaving and he was triumphant (if not slightly disappointed at how ordinary the detective was)  and then-

And then he goes and thinks that he can stop it. That he can force Jim to call off his men, to let Sherlock and all his little friends live.

Funny, Jim couldn't help but think as he held out his hand for the disgraced detective. You're not ordinary, but you're not too clever, either. Smarter than the rest but not me, Sherlock! Not me... You have no idea, the lengths I'll go to burn you.

He didn't know if it will work. He was prepared for this, he was prepared for everything, but he didn't know if it would work. There was a fifty/fifty chance that he would live or die. He would risk it though. In the end, he wanted the detective to know that he had won. He, Jim Moriarty, had won.

Three seconds. That's how long it would take. Three seconds for Jim to pull out his gun, point it towards the back of his head and pull the trigger. He prepared himself for his possibly last three seconds of life on Earth.