Chapter Text
John gave Sherlock the nod to shoot the vest. He was afraid once again, but his brain would only let him think about how to save Sherlock, and how shooting the vest of explosives was the only way to save any future victims of Moriarty's. Jim Moriarty tilted his head, calculating and snake-like, watching Sherlock point the gun at the bomb. John wondered if it was all some psychopathic plan. He couldn't read people as well as Sherlock, couldn't predict what Moriarty felt or was thinking.
All he could do was act.
The second Sherlock's finger clenched on the trigger, John sprung up, launching himself forward and into Sherlock as the bomb exploded. In a heartbeat, John felt Sherlock tense up in surprise, and John's momentum shoved Sherlock into the pool, John following a spilt second later. Something struck him in the back of his head and he felt dazed, seeing red as he entered the pool.
In what felt like seconds, Sherlock's arms were around him, supporting him, holding his head above the surface of the water and he was coughing, looking blearily into Sherlock's face.
"Alright?" John blinked and Sherlock's voice became more clear. "John, Are you alright?"
John blinked again. There was fire around the sides of the pool, Sherlock was gently treading water trying to keep both their heads above. "Yeah..." He looked around, ignoring the pain in the back of his head. Moriarty was gone.
Back to Sherlock, seeing blood running freely from under the curls. "You're bleeding." Somehow it seemed enough to say that.
"Yeah. We should get outside; I doubt the building is very steady after this." Somehow, Sherlock's voice was less shaken than he looked.
John hoisted himself out of the pool, reaching a hand to stop Sherlock from swaying as his friend stood too quickly after doing the same. "Is it just your head?" John asked. The explosion didn't seem to have been as devastating as they'd both expected, although John knew they would have been seriously injured had they not leapt into the pool.
"Just a graze. Not a problem," Sherlock said dismissively. He put his hand on John's back and the two of them headed outside.
By the time several police cars and Lestrade's familiar car pulled up, John had a strip of his cardigan pressed to Sherlock's forehead and Sherlock had his coat wrapped around them both for warmth. Lestrade hurried over to them as soon as his feet hit the ground, looking more concerned than John had ever seen him.
"You'll never guess what happened," Sherlock said sardonically, standing slowly and shrugging his coat off onto John. John stood after him.
"You told me that was the final 'puzzle' from Moriarty, that you'd stay out of it and stay safe while we figured this out." Lestrade put his face in his hands. Then looked up at John. "I at least expected more sense from you."
"Kidnapped," John said, keeping his voice light. "What can you do, eh, Lestrade?" He saw Sherlock smirk out of the corner of his eye.
"Not get kidnapped, probably," Lestrade said, pinching the bridge of his nose. "Alright, give me what you got." He looked at Sherlock, pen and paper at the ready.
20 minutes later, after getting checked out by an ambulance (sherlock now sporting three stitches near his hairline) John checked his mobile to find 4 missed calls from Mycroft Holmes.
"Your brother," John said, showing Sherlock the screen. Sherlock snorted.
"Moron."
John flicked to a text and sent, "Swimming lessons went fine, sherlock bumped his head," to Mycroft. He then pocketed his phone, prepared to ignore any calls for the next twenty-four hours, determined "not to see" any mysterious black cars if any were to pull up next to him.
"Stop here." Sherlock had his hand on the door handle as the cabbie slowed. John looked around. A couple buildings, a phone booth, and a 24-shop.
"What are you--?"
"Just wait in the car," Sherlock said. "Won't be a moment."
John sat back, fumbling for his phone as his ringtone went off, realizing he'd forgotten to silence it. Mycroft's name flashed on the lock screen; John hit ignore call, silenced the phone and repocketed it, mulling over the difference between the Holmes brothers. At least Sherlock's texting didn't tend to be so annoying.
The door to his right opened again and Sherlock got in with a plastic bag that looked heavy. The cabbie began driving again. Sherlock looked over to John and winked, pulling out a bottle of milk and two cans of beans.
"I did say I would." John watched as Sherlock put the groceries back into the bag, feeling something tighten in his chest. He wasn't sure how to respond, other than to grin. The rest of the cab ride was spent in silence, John thinking about the milk and beans.
"Oh, we're home," Sherlock breathed faintly, sounding relieved a little while later. John looked out at 221b, the boarded up windows letting out little light.
"Gonna pay Mrs H extra to replace those windows." John shook his head as they exited the car.
"She was more concerned to see if she would find me alive after the explosion," Sherlock muttered. He shook his head. "If she'd been in that flat..."
John put his hand on Sherlock's back. "C'mon. We can visit her tomorrow for lunch."
Sherlock nodded. Then he stopped, hesitating on the step before unlocking the door. "Moriarty escaped."
John couldn't judge the tone of Sherlock's voice. "Yeah."
"Things are going to change a bit now."
"They don't have to," John said. "You'll get him in the end, anyways. We'll get him."
Sherlock shot back a grateful look, some light in his eyes that made John smile faintly. "Well then, let him come." And John followed him into the flat.