(The original title of this chapter was: Me: *Can't Swim*)

     You were a bit nervous being back here.

      At the pool Carl Powers met his demise in.

     It probably didn't help that the last time you were here, you were investigating his murder. Sherlock had been doing the same thing, which made you wonder now if as a child you had seen him, not knowing who he was. 

     You padded along the side of the pool cautiously. "Brought you a little getting-to-know-you present," you called out, flipping the flash drive into the air and catching it. "That's what it's all been for, isn't it? All your little puzzles. Making Sherlock and me dance. To get to know me! To break the ice." 

(To clarify, not dance together. Well, actually, yeah, you were dancing together in this metaphor. Idek.) 

     You were trying to draw the bomber out. For all you knew, though, you could be talking only to the clock on the wall. You shot a glare at the ticking circle. 

     Its repetitive tick-tock of the clock was interrupted by the sound of heavy doors opening and closing. You whirled around and saw the last person you'd expected to...

     John. John Watson, standing there with a snow jacket, its hood rimmed with fur. 

     He looked at you with dark and tired eyes. "Evening." His tone was dead.

     You stared right back.

     "This is a turn-up, isn't it, (Y/N)?" (Omigosh I'm listening to What I've Done by Linkin Park and the instruments all just jumped into the song just as Sherlock in this scene saw John and was like WTH and it was perfect timing and wow)

     "John. What-" your voice faltered. You imagined your expression was one of a mixture of emotions, the least of them not confusion. 

      "Bet you never saw this coming."

     You took a few rushed steps toward him, but then stopped, perhaps held back by your own fear. You didn't understand. It wasn't possible that John... That John was the serial killer, was it? That he was the bomber? That he was... Moriarty?

     He sighed and pulled back the sides of his jacket like he was some kinda drug dealer (Hey kid? Wanna buy some pixie sticks?) and understanding flooded down over you like a waterfall. Wires were strapped against the jacket, all joining in a makeshift bomb hidden within two traffic cones. Freaking traffic cones. Traffic cone bombs.

     "What... Would you like me..." as John spoke, a red laserpoint floated over the bombs and hovered there. "To make him say next?"

      You felt sick to your stomach. John was his hostage this time.

     "Gottle 'o geer, gottle o' geer, gottle o'geer." John recited flatly. The way his tone was bounded by the same dead notes showed that he was more fearful than he was letting on. It was his way of coping, and it was making you want to shoot the guy who was making him do this.

     "Stop it," you said softly, almost begging as the red laser dot danced across John's bomb-wrapped torso. "Stop."

     "Nice touch, this," John's answer was. Or rather, Moriarty's answer. "Where little Carl died. I stopped him." John winced. "I... can stop John Watson, too. Stop his heart."

     "Who are you?" you demanded, turning around as if you expected him to be right behind you, lingering like a haunting ghost. "I heard a name. Moriarty."

     Another door opened, this time from the other side of the pool. You turned to see a familiar man in a full dress suit. He smiled evilly. "Well, you have to admit, it is a good icebreaker, isn't it? 'Hello, I'm the man with your best friend wrapped up in explosives.'" He took a step forward. "What's the matter? Did I really make such a fleeting impression? Although I suppose that was rather the point." The man smiled and began to stroll casually along the pool. "Jim Moriarty. Hiii!"

     You let one hand rest on the gun in your coat pocket and looked at Moriarty with hate. Him and his stupid little Dublin accent. (Okay, so maybe it was adorable.) 

       Jim saw you glance at the red dot on John's chest and he rolled his eyes. "Don't be silly, someone else is holding the rifle." He shrugged. "I don't like to get my hands dirty more than I need to."Moriartea sighed. "I've given you a glimpse, (Y/N), just a teensy glimpse at what I've got going on under the surface. It may very well be all you ever see of my network out there in the big bad world." Jim smirked. "I'm a specialist, you see." He raised his eyebrows. "Like you!"

     "Yes, a consulting criminal," you spat. "'Dear Jim, please will you fix it for me to get rid of my lover's nasty sister?'"  As you spoke, you slowly took the gun out of your pocket. "'Dear Jim, please will you fix it for me to disappear into South America?" You pointed it at Moriarty's head, but he remained completely undaunted.

     "Just so."

     "Brilliant."

     "Isn't it?" Moriarty's smile faded. He regarded you with distaste. "No one ever gets to me. And no one ever will."

     You cocked the gun. "I did."

     "You've come the closest," Jim contradicted. "And now? Now... you're just in my way."

     "Thank you."

     "Didn't mean it as a compliment."

     You smirked. "Yes you did."

     "Yeah, okay, I did." Jim shrugged in a 'what can you do?' way. "But it's over, (Y/N)!" In a sing-song voice, he added, "Daddy's had enough now! I've shown you what I can do, I've cut loose all those people, all those little problems, even 30 million quid, just to get you and Sherlock to come out and play." He paused. "But I realized soon enough that Sherlock isn't the one I want. You're the smart one. And yet still so peculiar." Moriarty laughed airily. "Take this as a friendly warning, my dear. Back off. Although I have loved this- this little game of ours. Playing Jim from I.T. Playing gay." He winked. "Did you like the little touch with the underwear?"

     You scowled. "People have died."

     "Well, that's what people DO!" He snarled the last word. 

     This guy... was a psychopath. You tightened your grip on the gun. "I will stop you."

     "No you won't." Moriarty had suddenly resumed to his calm demeanor.

     You looked to John. "Are you all right?" you asked him quietly. He glanced at Jim nervously.

     Moriarty skipped forward and leaned in uncomfortably close to John's ear. "You can talk, Johnny boy," he said. "Go ahead."

     John gave a tiny nod.

     You held out the memory stick in your left hand for Moriarty. "Here. Take it."

     "Huh? Oh!" Jim smiled and took it. "The missile plans." He brought the drive to his lips. And then, as casually as if he were throwing pizza crust to a dog, he tossed the flash drive into the pool. "Boring! I could've got them anywhere."

     At that moment, while Moriarty was off-guard, John burst forward and wrapped his right arm around Moriarty's throat. "(Y/N), run!" John exclaimed. Your grip on the gun tightened. If John thought you were going to leave him, he was wrong.

     Moriarty laughed. "Good! Very good."

     "If your sniper pulls that trigger, Mr. Moriarty, then we both go up!" John said, keeping his arm stiff around Jim's neck.

     "Isn't he sweet?" Moriarty crowed. "I can see why you like having him around! But then, people do get so sentimental about their pets." As John jerked him back, he wrinkled his nose. "They're so touchingly loyal! But oops!" Moriarty twisted toward the pool. "You've rather shown your hand, Dr. Watson."

     John loosened his grip on Moriarty slightly, staring at you in horror. You knew exactly what was happening; John was seeing a red laser dot dance across your own head. 

     Moriarty smirked at John knowingly. John grimaced and then he let go of Jim, putting his hands up in the air as a sign of surrender.

     "Gotcha." Moriarty straightened out his suit. "Westwood!" he proclaimed, taking a step away from John. "Do you know what happens to you if you don't leave me alone, (Y/N)? Do you?"

     "Oh, let me guess," you sneered."I get killed."

     "Kill you?" Moriarty winced. "Mm, no, don't be obvious. I mean, I'm gonna kill you anyway some day." He sniffed. "I don't want to rush it, though. I'm saving it up for something special. No no no no, no." He shook his head. "If you don't stop prying... I'll burn you. I'll burn the heart out of you," he repeated savagely.

"I have been reliably informed that I don't have one," you responded calmly, placing another hand on the gun.

     "But we both know that's not really true." He smirked. "Shall we compare him to a summer's day? The great Sherlock Holmes, your clever detective?" He let out a long, exaggerated sigh of contentment. "WHELP, I better be off. So nice to have had a proper chat." 

     "What if I was to shoot you now? Right now?"

     Moriarty frowned. "Well, then you could cherish the look of surprise on my face." He feigned a shocked expression and then let it fall. "Cos I'd be surprised, (Y/N), really, I would. And just a teensy bit... disappointed." He smiled slyly. "But you wouldn't be able to cherish it for very long."

      Moriarty gave a little wave. "Ciao, (Y/N) (L/N)." He started walking to the door on the left.

      "Catch... you... later," you muttered, your gun following him as he walked out.

     "No you won't!" 

     The door shut.

     You lingered there, with your gun pointed at the door, for just a moment. And then you practically threw yourself into a hug with John. "All right?" you asked, ripping the bomb-ridden jacket off of him. He just let out a long , relieved breath. "Are you all right!?" you repeated urgently after throwing the jacket away as far as you could.

     "Yeah. Yeah, I'm fine. I'm fine."    

     You scratched the back of your head with the gun and awkwardly stuttered, "That-er-That thing that you... that you, er... did- were willing... to do for me-that you off-offered to do. That was, erm, good."

     John laughed nervously. "Good. Because that was the dumbest thing I've ever done." Suddenly, he stumbled where he stood. You rushed to his side and helped lower him onto the floor.

     "Thanks," he mumbled. "You okay?"

     "Me?" You began to pace. "Yeah, fine. I'm fine. Fine."

     For a few seconds, John just sat where he was, catching his breath. And then, a flash of red appeared on his shirt.

     John looked down to his chest and a red dot was dancing there. He looked up at you. "Oh my"-

     "SORRY, BUDDIES!" Jim came strolling in. "I'm so changeable! It is a weakness to me, but to be fair to myself, it is my only weakness!"

     As he was speaking, a countless number of red lights fond their home on you and Watson.

     "You can't be allowed to continue. You just can't. I would try to convince you, (Y/N), but everything I have to say has already crossed your mind."

     You looked at John and he gave the slightest nod that seemed to say, do whatever it takes.

     You raised your gun once more to Moriarty. "Then probably my answer has crossed yours."

     Moriarty smiled smugly at the gun. But his smirk slowly fell as you lowered your arm slowly until the gun was pointed at the jacket. At the bomb.

     Moriarty stared at you. You wouldn't.

     Your gaze hardened. Oh, I would.

(A/N: My original plan for this scene was a little different. Here are some notes I took on it: 'Sherlock walks out wrapped in bombs looking very annoyed and you're like well that's unfortunate but is this supposed to make me scared? but ur just bluffing and then moriarty smirks and john walks out and you can't pretend anymore and ur expression falls and moriarty can see the distress in your eyes because John was your first friend and he's supposed to be able to be your last friend, there until the end of everything' . But I made a second version, and here are the notes I took on that... Moriarty is like i almost had to use Sherlock instead, but right now he's knocked out in his flat. Nasty blow to the head, did you hear? That and a little bit of tranquilizer will keep him out for a bit. Long enough for us to have a.. BLAST. And the final version is this. I mean, the thing- the thing you just red. *sigh* I meant read. Not red.)

     The tense moment was a bit ruined when a familiar tune started playing.     

     "Ah, ah, ah, ah, stayin' alive, stayin' alive."

     Moriarty winced. "Do you... D'you mind if I get that?" 

     "Oh, no, please." You smiled politely, but your gaze was cold. "You've got the rest of your life."

     Moriarty nodded and pulled his phone out. He clicked a button on the screen and the music ended. "Hello?" he greeted, bringing it to his phone. He gave you and John an apologetic look. "Yes, of course it is. What do you want?" Moriarty frowned at something the person on the phone said. He turned around so he wasn't facing you or John and seemed to be listening.

     You and John exchanged slightly confused looks.

     "Say that again!" Moriarty snarled. "Say that again, and know that if you're lying to me, I will find you, and I will ssssskin you." (Slytherin or Hufflepuff? Hufflerin? Slytherpuff? Help, what is he? Let me look it up... Okay well I guess he's just plan Slytherin. Then again, not everyone does combinations. Moving on.) "Wait." Moriarty lowered the phone and looked up at you awkwardly, then glanced down to the floor nervously.  "Sorry. Wrong day to die."

     "Oh," you murmured. "Did you get a better offer?"

    Moriarty scowled. "You'll be hearing from me, (Y/N)." Then he put the phone back to his ear and practically skipped away, saying, "So, if you have what you say you have, I will make you rich! If you don't... I'll make you into shoes." Before he reached the door to leave, he snapped his fingers and the red dots on you and John disappeared.

     Someone changed his mind.

     The question was, who?