Seb leans forward and watches his cigarette butt as it falls in an arc to land in the middle of the street. He’s almost sure he sees it get run over by a double-decker, but he can’t be sure because he’s interrupted by his phone vibrating in his back pocket.
He fishes the phone from his pocket and sighs when he reads the display.
“Yeah, Boss.” He looks across the road to the rooftop opposite. Moriarty is standing on the roof of the hospital, waving enthusiastically. Seb’s wave is a weak imitation. He cradles the phone with his shoulder and turns away from the edge of the roof.
The wind carries the smell of wood smoke and for a moment he’s lost in the memory of a bonfire, sitting next to a girl, watching her dig her toes into the sand.
How did he wind up here?
“Sebastian, I said did you make the call?” There is a hiss to the S’s, and Seb snaps back to the present.
“Yeah, Boss. Saw John leave, too.” Seb glances back over his shoulder and sees Moriarty stop pacing. In fact, he’s standing perfectly still. Seb sucks in a breath through his teeth and squares his shoulders.
“Why are you still on the roof?” Moriarty’s voice is a light song-song, and Seb rolls his eyes, rocking up onto the balls of his feet. “GET DOWN THERE. Cover the street in case he COMES BACK!!” The phone is unnecessary for the end of the statement. Moriarty’s voice echoes in the canyon between the two buildings and he’s waving emphatically with one arm. Seb sees and hears him end the call before he walks to the edge of Bart’s roof and points down.
Seb lifts the hand holding the phone as a signal, then bends down to collect the duffel bag at his feet. He’d assembled and broken down the rifle at least ten times during the afternoon while he waited for John Watson before he decided to give up and wait until the man and his detective actually showed.
He’d spent the morning walking up and down Baker St. waiting for them to leave the flat. It had taken four hours and six cups of coffee from the corner shop before he convinced Moriarty that their man inside the flat was competent enough to let him know when they were on the move. Not that Seb really believed it himself, but the guy knew how a phone worked and that was all he needed.
He shouldered open the door to the abandoned building just as his phone vibrated again. Speak of the devil.
14:14 Watson on his way 2 u
Seb pinches the bridge of his nose and lights another cigarette. He shifts the bag to his other hand and scans the street, squinting into every black cab that rolls past. A dark shape appears on the edge of the roof above him and he glances up. Sherlock.
The next cab that rolls past stops in front of him and John climbs out. Seb backs into the doorway and takes the stairs two at a time to the landing between the second and third floors and sets the bag down in front of him.
He watches out the window as he assembles the rifle. He doesn’t have to look while he works, so he focuses on John, watching him pace and shift his weight as he talks on the phone. Sherlock’s still up on the edge, and when he lifts his arm, John backs up.
Thank you Sherlock Holmes, Seb thinks as he settles back on his heel and rests his cheek against the rifle, a thrill running down his spine. You’re making this too easy.