Sherlock is not happy.
In fact, he could go so far as to say he was very UNhappy, very unhappy indeed.
Moriarty stands before him, looking more than a little bored. John is beside Sherlock, opening his mouth to say something every few minutes then thinking better of it and letting it fall shut again.
Sherlock huffs petulantly, glancing down at the small red dot that hovers threateningly over his heart. John has one at his temple and Moriarty two, one on his chest and one on his forehead.
Lestrade and Donovan are over somewhere by the barricade of police cars. They are both staring and talking in derisive voices low enough so that Sherlock can’t quite make out what they’re saying. Near them Mrs. Hudson pours herself another cup of tea from her thermos, offering some to the ever annoyingly clingy Molly Hooper.
A black van pulls up and Mycroft steps out, looking smug as he glances over towards Sherlock.
It’s official. There’s no possible way that this day could possibly get worse.
They’ve been playing the waiting game from a good six hours now. Moriarty’s snipers on John and Sherlock and two SO19 crack shots with laser sights on Moriarty’s chest and head. It had all been very exciting when they started. A lot of yelling on the police’s and John’s part and a lot of banter and quips for Sherlock and Moriarty. But the police and John can only yell so many predictable threats and warnings and Sherlock and Moriarty had run out of clever things to say about an hour ago. Now they were inevitably growing bored as geniuses in high stakes hostage situations are wont to do.
Moriarty shifts a bit, pulling something out of his pocket. It’s his phone.
“You know what I do when I get bored Sherlock?” He says, thumb skimming over the touch-screen.
“What?” Sherlock asks, more out of reflex than any sort of caring. He might have been interested a few hours back but at this point he’s been subjected to far too much of Moriarty’s company for his own good.
“I do bad.” Moriarty says, pursing his lips a little as skims over something or other on the screen of his phone. “I scheme, plot, machinate, all that. If I’m feeling randy I’ll get a little impulsive and foil some government plans, maybe plant a bomb, kill a puppy…torture some people.”
Sherlock snorts. “You wouldn’t. If you take even one step towards me or John they’ll shoot you. They’ll probably shoot you a lot too. The police force doesn’t take to kindly to pure evil and such.”
Moriarty tsks. “Oh Sherlock will you ever stop being so adorably thick?”
Sherlock’s eyes narrow and Moriarty grins. If there’s one thing you don’t do, it’s call Sherlock Holmes thick.
“I’m not going to physically torture you, no, that would be too messy. Remember Sherlock,” Moriarty motions towards his suit. “Westwood.”
John and Sherlock share a Look because, really, could this guy get any more /uhg/?
“No, I’m not going to /physically/ torture you, that’s just so /cliché/! I’m going to psychologically torture you…well, not really…if I were to do that you’d both be left as driveling catatonics, I’m just trying to make you both as uncomfortable as possible.” He smiles sweetly and Sherlock hears John mutter ‘prat’ under his breath.
Moriarty clears his throat. “/Limpid Tears in the Rain/: a Sherlock/John fanfic-”
“Oh for the love of!” Sherlock exclaims, “You have /got /to be kidding me?”
Moriarty raises his eyebrows innocently. “What?”
“This is not going to become on of those stories.” Sherlock snaps. “I hate fan fiction within fan fiction! It’s tired and overdone and most of the time it’s absolutely dreadful!”
“Yeah!” John agrees wholeheartedly. “It’s like making a reference to Twilight hatred!” He glances up at the sky. “Bloody hypocrite…”
Moriarty is beaming now and it is only the promise of a Teflon coated incendiary hollow point to the chest that keeps Sherlock from punching him in the face.
“Oh wont this be fun!” Moriarty chuckles, looking back down at his phone. He clears his throat again.
“ ‘Oh John-John!’ Sherlock sniffled as he buried his face into John’s muscular pectorals. ‘I’m so insecure about my looks and drug abuse and personality. No one understands my genius but you because you’re so stylishly understanding! You’re so sexy! Comfort me because I’m an emotional angsty wreck!’”
“John-John?” John says in horror and Sherlock groans.
“John smiled a comforting and dangerous smile that only a war whethered soldier could pull off. He tightened his grip around Sherlock, careful not to shatter his delicate bird bones with his own rock-hard biceps. He flexed once, his muscles tearing his ugly and deceptive jumper to shreds and revealing his muscular, hairy, and well-oiled chest. ‘Baby…you’re all good.’ He said in a deep, sultry voice.”
“Are my jumpers really that bad?” John asks.
Sherlock waves a hand dismissively. “Yes, but don’t take it personally, it’s become customary to make fun of your jumpers, like making Anderson an insufferable git.”
“Suck my peniscock ya’ faggot!” Anderson yelled.
Moriarty continued. “Sherlock coed with pleasure as he dove into John. Showering his perfect, scarred chest with kisses that were butterfly soft and gently running his fingers along powerful arm-”
“Okay that’s it,” Sherlock says, pulling out his own phone. “Two can play at this game you know.”
Moriarty raises an eyebrow. “And what do you think you’re doing? Surely you’re not going to try and find something about us because that’s just silly, and a little hot if I do say so myself.”
Sherlock’s lip curls in a dichotomy of disgust and smug satisfaction. “No actually, I’m finding something much worse: /Mooper/.”
Moriarty pauses, frowning. “What on earth is Mooper?”
“You’ll see.” Sherlock smirks.
“Mooper, Mooper, Mooper, Moriarty and…” Moriarty pauses, eyes trailing over towards the congregation of secondary characters. “You don’t mean Molly Hooper?”
“Oh yes,” Sherlock says, “I do.”
“That’s-that’s…That’s not fair!” Moriarty finally manages. “It’s like pairing me with a spork! An annoying, banal spork! And it’s ugly too!”
“Correction,” Sherlock says, holding up his phone. “It’s like pairing you with an annoying, banal doormat.”
“One that’s ugly too.” John adds.
“Um…I’m right here you know.” Molly says, waving a little. She is promptly ignored like old wallpaper.
“/Jim Eats a Sandwich/,” Sherlock reads, “I do love the ones that summarize themselves in their own titles.”
John groans. “This is going to be just like /The Old Man in The Sea/ isn’t it?”
Sherlock sweeps his hand out with a flourish. “Moriarty was having lunch. It was a fish sandwich made with tuna fish and bread. He was drinking something with it. It was water.”
Moriarty’s eye twitches. “I swear to god I will break you if you-”
Sherlock ignores him. “Molly is there too. She is pretty. She is wearing a shirt. It is red. She is also wearing her jeans which are blue and made of denim. Her hair is brown like her brown eyes and it is up in a ponytail. She is smiling because she is happy.”
Moriarty’s hands ball into fists. “Stop that right now or I’ll-
“-Jim smiles too because he is also happy. Happy that he is not gay. He loves Molly very much. So much that he stopped being evil so that she would smile more. Jim did this because he likes to see Molly smile. Her smiles are like being in heaven but not being dead. Jim takes a bi-”
“THAT’S IT!” Moriarty shrieks. He grips his phone with white knuckles, fingers flying. “Let’s find some Lockstrade shall we? Spice it up and make mpreg as well!”
“Oh now that just isn’t right!” Lestrade says.
Moriarty pauses, frowning at his phone. “What in the hell is Mystrade?”
“Mycroft and Lestrade.” Sherlock answers, nose wrinkling up with distaste. “Ew.”
“Have they even met?” John asks, nonplused.
“Who the fuck is Mycroft?” Lestrade yells.
“Does that answer your question?”
Moriarty chuckles. “There’s some really terrible stuff here though, I mean, listen to this: ‘Mycroft is feeling insecure about his weight and Lestrade is feeling inferior because no one likes him, can these two comfort each other under the mistletoe on Christmas Eve?’”
Sherlock’s eyes glint. “That sounds wonderful, send me a link would you, I do so love making fun of the both of them.”
“Sherlock.” Mycroft warns. “You’re playing a dangerous game here.”
“Oh really, and what are you going to do about it brother?” Sherlock challenges haughtily.
“Shanderson,” Mycroft replies without missing a beat.
Sherlock splutters. “What? No! Ew! That’s just so beyond-”
Mycroft draws out a neat little file opening it to the front page.
Sherlocks blanches and Anderson does something stupid and annoying because he’s Anderson.
“Hey asshole!” Lestrade shouts to Moriarty. “Ever heard of Mudson.”
Moriarty pales. “Oh you /wouldn’t/.”
“Sherlock had had a crush on the brusque and impressive Anderson for as long as he could remember-”
“-Oh Mrs. Hudson, Jim whimpered, I love your old lady smell-”
“-Anderson had been having wet dreams about Sherlock since the first day he saw him and now was his chance to make those dreams literally cum tr-”
“-Jim had never known that Mrs. Hudson could be so limber and spry in her old age, it turned him on something fierce-”
“-‘Fuck Donovan!’ Anderson snarled. ‘Right up the ass! Just like I’m about to fuck y-”
“’I love the way your hip feels’ Jim blubbered, sobbing as he rubbed hi-”
“ENOUGH!” Someone shouted, causing both Lestrade and Myrcoft to stop. Everyone looked over at John, shocked.
“What?” He says. “It was bloody disgusting!”
“Oh dear,” Mrs. Hudson says, flushing as she places a hand over her heart. “I never knew you felt that way Mr. Moriarty.”
“What? No I-“ Moriarty starts indignantly but he’s already being cut off.
“But I’m sorry dear, I’m just not that into you. You’re not my type you see, I’m more into the sensitive boys, like that nice boy from IT that Molly was dating before. What was his name again?…Well anyway I‘d like to be that boys housekeeper if you know what I mean…” She trails off, tottering in the direction of her car to grab her second thermos of tea.
Moriarty watches her go.
“What just happened?” He asks finally, turning to Sherlock.
“I believe she just rejected you for yourself.”
“Her eyesight’s been going.” Sherlock shrugs.
“Okay fuck this, that’s it.” Jim pulls out his phone.
“What are you doing now?” John groans, trying to make earplugs out of bits that he’s ripped off his jumper.
“Blowing us up.” Jim says.
“Oh.” John, pauses. “Well that’s good then.”
Jim doesn’t respond, instead he taps his phone with his thumb.
The entire building rocks and flame and debris spread out, engulfing everyone.
A few minutes later Sherlock gets up, dusts himself off and coughs. He has survived for dubious reasons at best. He looks around, noting that it he is not the only survivor. The others are stirring as well.
John blinks up at him from where he’s lying in a pile of rubble, his ugly jumper looking marginally better now that it was covered in ash and debris. “What the hell was that?”
Sherlock shakes his head. “I don’t know, you think of something.”
John puffs out his cheeks, sighing. “Oh…I guess…I dunno I saved an old lady when I was little and she gave me the power of magically making everybody survive explosions? Does that work?”
“Good enough for me.” Sherlock reaches out to help John up.
They make there way over towards Lestrade, surveying the damage. The police cars are all but completely demolished and the people they see are covered in a dramatic layer of ash but for the most part seem fine.
“What just happened?” Lestrade asks.
“John saved an old lady.” Sherlock says dismissively. “Is everyone all right?”
“It seems so. Nobody‘s dead.” Lestrade says, “Oh, except for Anderson, he was crushed by a flaming car that exploded. He’s /extremely/ dead.”
Everyone pauses for a second, even Moriarty. Then, they all let out a collective whoop of joy.
“It’s like Christmas and my birthday and losing my virginity all rolled into one!” Sherlock cries before reaching out to passionately French kiss the first living thing he can grab.
“Let’s all head to the pubs and celebrate!” Lestrade says, ripping off his police uniform to reveal a red satin salsa shirt. “Arriba!”
“Yeah!” Moriarty agrees. “Then we can all have a massive non-consensual orgy!”
Everyone kindly allows that to slide because hey, at least he’s not Anderson right?
And so the motley crew of law enforcement, genius, average joe and old lady celebrated together over their mutual joy at the death of Anderson. They went on to lead fulfilling and successful lives (except for Molly, who led a boring, mediocre life) and they all lived happily ever after.