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Dr. Johnna Watson had survived several years in Afghanistan, working with frantic, hopeless speed to try and salvage men and women who'd had limbs blown off and holes punched through their bodies. She'd flown out in a helicopter to retrieve wounded more times than she could count, the knowledge that it would take one well-aimed missile to take the helicopter down or one determined sniper who was waiting for a crew to come save the wounded British soldiers who were turning the dry sand to red mud and her time on earth would end. Despite the panic inherent to those situations, Johnna had never truly been panicked before. She was panicked now.
She'd met Jemima just days before, dismissing the slender woman at first sight. Milo Hooper, the adorable assistant pathologist at St. Bartholomew Hospital's pathology lab, had introduced Jemima to Johnna and Sherlock as his new girlfriend, practically vibrating with excitement at having found someone other than the tall, beautiful, but icily disinterested Sherlock Holmes to fawn his affections on.
Johnna had known from the first moment that the relationship wasn't meant to be. You got a feel for it when people were actually interested in their partner, and Jemima obviously was not that interested in Milo. In fact, Jemima only had eyes for Sherlock, something Johnna found completely aggravating. Not the she had any prior claim on Sherlock; no one did or ever could, as far as Johnna could tell. Sherlock didn't seem interested in sex or romance, her clever mind turned entirely to The Work of solving crimes and seeking out the truth in everything.
But that didn't change the fact that Johnna bristled any time someone stared at Sherlock with open interest. She understood, of course; others were only seeing what Johnna herself had seen from the first moment of meeting Sherlock in this same laboratory: tall, thin, and angular, Sherlock was probably better described as 'handsome' rather than 'beautiful,' but Johnna still thought of the other woman as beautiful, regardless.
Sherlock had a mess of dark curls she kept trimmed just above her chin as she was "disinterested in the difficulty of the regime required to properly care for long curls." Her pale blue eyes were wide and penetrating, often more discomfiting than anything else but never so much as when she was prying the secrets out of your very soul. Her lips were full and soft, although she rarely bothered with lipstick. She'd only recently started using lip balm, and then only because Johnna kept a tube in her pocket at all times once she'd realized that, left to her own devices, Sherlock would end up with lips chapped so badly that they bled. Sherlock had a tendency to buy button-up shirts just slightly too small, the buttons frequently gapping over the swell of her small breasts, but Sherlock never seemed to notice or care. Thankfully, her trousers generally fit well, and the long wool Belstaff overcoat she favored fit her perfectly. She had told Johnna once that her body was 'merely transport,' and it made sense that she treated it with vague disinterest, doing only the minimum necessary to keep it in functional order. Despite all of this - or perhaps because of all of it - Sherlock was the most beautiful woman Johnna had ever met.
And now Johnna was staring across a space of mere metres which felt like miles, Jemima's voice whispering to her via an earpiece, staring at Sherlock as the other woman gave her a look of such shock and betrayal that it made Johnna's fingers tremble where they were shoved into the pockets of the oversized green winter jacket that covered the bomb strapped to her chest, an exciting gift courtesy of Jemima.
"Evening," Johnna said, hearing the faintest tremble in her own voice as she began frantically blinking out S-O-S in Morse code, hoping Sherlock would pick up on the subtle message. Sherlock was so clever; surely she'd see and understand what Johnna was trying to say. Jemima had already warned her that any words she said that were not the words Jemima wanted her to say would end with the immediate termination of her life.
Sherlock was staring over one slightly rounded shoulder. She'd been holding out a memory stick, looking for Moriarty in the indoor pool complex that Sherlock had arranged a meeting at. And then Johnna had walked in behind her and now Sherlock seemed almost frozen with shock.
"This is a turn-up, isn't it, Sherlock?" Johnna said, repeating Jemima's words.
"Johnna." Sherlock's voice was as shattered as her expression. "What the hell...?"
"Bet you never saw this coming," Johnna repeated, still blinking her message to Sherlock despite the fact that Sherlock didn't seem capable of picking up on subtleties at the moment.
Sherlock finally turned towards Johnna, lowering the memory stick to her side as she took several slow, unwilling steps towards the woman she had been sharing a flat with for the last three months.
'Open the jacket, Dr. Watson,' Jemima whispered over the earpiece, the Irish lilt in her voice making the words sound almost pleasant, and Johnna felt a wave of misery sweep over her. She pulled her hands free of the pockets of the jacket and slowly pulled it open to reveal the bomb strapped to her.
"What... would you like me... to make her say... next?" Johnna repeated Jemima's slow, delighted words as Sherlock's pale eyes swept across the bomb over and over, understanding touching her face. She turned, still moving slowly towards Johnna but now her eyes were sweeping the indoor pool as she searched for who else could be in the building with them. Johnna pinched her lips at Jemima's next prompt, recognizing it as the mocking joke it was. "Gottle o' geer... gottle o' geer... gottle o' geer."
"Stop it." Sherlock's voice was firm and unamused. Her chest was heaving, the only outward sign of the intense inner distress she was under.
"Nice touch, this," Johnna repeated. "The pool where little Carol died. I stopped her." Johnna broke off, cringing at the next whispered words hissing in her ear, and then repeating them obediently. "I can stop Johnna Watson, too. Stop her heart." Unable to prevent herself from doing it, Johnna glanced down at her own fragile chest, the home of the aforementioned heart, and immediately looked away when she saw the tiny red dot of a sniper's rifle dancing across her breasts.
Sherlock was literally spinning in place as she tried to look into the shadows of the darkened pool, her face frustrated as she searched for Moriarty. "Who are you?"
The sound of a door opening at the far end of the pool made Johnna almost turn, but she caught herself in time, the memory of the red dot on her chest enough to freeze her in place. She heard Jemima Moriarty's voice then, but not in her ear. Instead, Jemima's voice was coming from the other side of the pool, the same side where the heavy metal door had just groaned shut. Jemima Moriarty was in play.
"I gave you my number," she said, her tone plaintive. "I thought you might call."
Johnna was frozen in place, unable to turn to look at the new arrival. Of course, she'd gotten eyeful of Jemima earlier when the woman had pulled Johnna off the street on her way to the flat of the man she'd been dating, Seth, another doctor at the clinic at which Johnna worked. Jemima was no longer the casually-dressed girl that had been dating Milo and flirting inelegantly with Sherlock; she wore a dark, pinstriped power suit, four-inch heels, and a wicked smile that made Johnna's stomach twist in apprehension every time it stretched across Jemima's face. Johnna was perfectly aware of what Sherlock was seeing without having to see it again herself.
Johnna could hear the click of Jemima's heels as the other woman approached them, and when Jemima spoke next, her voice was as cold as ice. "Is that a British Army Browning L9A1 in your pocket, or are you just pleased to see me?"
Sherlock responded by pulling the pistol in question from her trouser pocket, her face expressionless as she raised it to point it at Jemima. "Both."
Johnna was relieved to see her gun. Not that a single handgun really evened the odds, but at least they weren't completely defenseless now.
"Jem Moriarty. Hi!" Jem said, her voice oddly cheerful and singsong as she called the greeting across the echoing vastness of the indoor pool.
Sherlock tilted her head, squinting slightly at Jem. Obviously, she had not connected Jem Moriarty to Milo's Jemima; hardly surprising, though, as Johnna had needed to be reminded herself when she'd first seen Jemima in a storage closet off the main room of the pool complex.
"Jem? Jemima from the hospital?" The click of Jem's heels started up again, moving around the pool and towards Johnna and Sherlock. "Oh. Did I really make such a fleeting impression? But then, I suppose that was rather the point."
Out of the corner of her eye, Johnna could see the sniper's laser dancing on her chest as whoever was holding the rifle shifted position. Sherlock's eyes slipped to Johnna's chest and the dancing red dot, her expression twisting briefly in confusion as she realized that Jem was obviously not the one holding the gun on Johnna.
"Don't be silly," Jem scolded. "Someone else is holding the rifle; I don't like getting my hands dirty."
Johnna shut her eyes, letting the next few moments of the conversation between Sherlock and Jem flow over her as she tried to find the center of calm that had always served her so well before in moments of distress. She had to stop behaving like some sort of victim. She was Captain John Watson, Fifth Northumberland Fusiliers, retired. She wasn't some wilting violet who quavered and shook when the odds weren't in her favor. She took charge of situations; she did not allow circumstances to rule her. She would not be the reason the Jem Moriarty got the upper hand on Sherlock Holmes. She could feel her pulse slowing as she wrapped calm around herself like a protective blanket.
Jem's voice suddenly rose to a furious shout, making Johnna jump. She'd been tuning out the conversation, listening instead to the approaching click of Jem's heels, but the shout brought her entirely back into the moment, her pulse suddenly thundering once more.
"I will stop you," Sherlock said, her voice utterly sure and calm, the gun still pointed at Jem unwavering, both of Sherlock's slim arms locked in place as she supported the weight of the pistol.
"No, you won't," Jem returned, sounding just as sure.
"Are you all right?" Sherlock asked, her voice low and somehow intimate as her blue eyes flicked away from Jem and to Johnna for a moment.
Johnna blinked in furious impotence; she had been ordered not to speak to Sherlock other than parroting back Jem's own words. She could not answer.
But the sound of Jem's heels approached rapidly, stopping just behind Johnna. And then Jem's voice was right at Johnna's shoulder, her tone lightly mocking as she said, "You can talk, Johnna, love. Go ahead."
Johnna clenched her jaw, eyes meeting Sherlock's for the briefest moment, and gave a quick nod. Yes, she was all right. Other than having a massive bomb strapped to her body, she was all right. The briefest look of relief flashed across Sherlock's face before she turned her attention once more to Jem Moriarty.
"Take it," Sherlock said, holding out the memory stick towards Jem.
"Oh. That. The missile plans." Jem moved smoothly forward, walking like a woman who was used to moving in heels and who had mastered the art of balancing on them. Johnna had never been able to do that, and she almost felt jealous of how easy Jem made it look. The dark haired woman moved up close to Sherlock, reaching out for the offered memory stick and bringing it to her lips. The sound of her mocking kiss was loud enough that Johnna could her it even from two metres away. Jem lowered the plans to her waist, her dark head bowed as she looked down at the memory stick. "Boring! I could've got them anywhere."
Jem tossed the memory stick towards the pool at their sides and Johnna saw her chance; the other woman was distracted by the little show she was putting on for Sherlock and had forgotten Johnna behind her. Guessing that the sniper would be likewise distracted by the interaction between Sherlock and Jem, especially since Johnna had been so well-behaved up until now, Johnna decided to risk being shot. She threw herself forward, crashing into Jem's back and wrapping her arms tightly around the other woman, Jem's back pressing into the bomb strapped to Johnna.
"Sherlock, run!" Johnna shouted, one arm tightening threateningly around Jem's neck as the other woman gave a surprised laugh.
"Good!" Jem crowed as Johnna's arm pressed against her throat. "Very good!"
"If your sniper pulls that trigger, Ms. Moriarty, then we both go up," Johnna said, breathing hard and staring at Sherlock. Sherlock was not running. Instead, she was holding her ground and keeping Johnna's service revolver pointed at Jem.
"Isn't she sweet?" Jem asked, and Johnna jerked at her neck, wishing she could break it. "I can see why you like having her around, but then, people do get so sentimental about their pets."
Johnna jerked at Jem's neck again, nostrils flaring with fury. And Sherlock was still standing there, resolute and beautiful as she glared Jem down.
"They're so touchingly loyal. But, oops!" Jem crowed in delight, twisting slightly to look back at Johnna. "You've rather shown your hand there, Dr. Watson."
Johnna stared in confusion until the laser sight appeared on Sherlock's forehead, dancing across the heavy fall of her dark curls and across the pale perfection of her skin. Johnna felt her stomach drop and her arms went limp around Jem, releasing the other woman.
"Gotcha!" Jem sang, and Johnna stepped away from the criminal, raising her hands in surrender. She could not let Sherlock be killed for her. It wasn't even something she was willing to consider. She would have happily given her own life to protect Sherlock's; after all, she was an Army doctor who'd been invalided out of service. She served very little purpose on the planet besides being the helpmate to Sherlock Holmes, the mad genius who solved crimes and helped New Scotland Yard out on a regular basis. The world would not suffer much in the loss of Johnna Watson, but the loss of Sherlock Holmes would make a huge difference.
With Johnna safely back from her, Jem stroked her hands indignantly down the front of her pinstriped suit jacket, shooting a glance up at Sherlock as she spoke, her voice offended as she gestured at the power suit. "Westwood!"
Sherlock did not respond, keeping the pistol aimed at Jem. Sherlock would not leave. They were at a stalemate.
"D'you know what happens if you don't leave me alone, Sherlock, to you?" Jem asked, tipping her head slightly. Johnna shifted from foot to foot; she knew threats when she heard them, and she did not like Jem threatening Sherlock.
"Ohh, let me guess," Sherlock murmured, her voice low and bored. "I get killed."
"Kill you?" Jem repeated. "No, don't be obvious. I mean, I'm going to kill you anyway, someday. I don't want to rush it, though. I'm saving it up for something special. No, no, no, no." And Jem was shaking her head like a disappointed schoolteacher, her sleek, dark hair swaying softly with the movement. "If you don't stop prying, I'll burn you. I'll burn the heart out of you."
Johnna shuddered with sharp foreboding. The words were not an empty threat, although Sherlock stared at Jem as if completely unaffected by the promise.
"I have been reliably informed that I don't have one," Sherlock pointed out.
"But we both know that's not quite true," Jem said, her voice going low and knowing. Sherlock's surprised blink said absolutely everything, and Johnna's heart sped again. Sherlock had not denied it. Sherlock had seemed surprised by Jem's assertion, but more due to Jem seeing through her than Jem saying something wrong. Johnna had always assumed Sherlock was the sociopath that she professed to be... but, Jem had just said that wasn't the case, and Sherlock hadn't denied it. What the hell did that mean?
"Well, I'd better be off!" Jem said, giving a little glance around the pool complex, dark eyes sweeping across Johnna with obvious dismissal. "So nice to've had a proper chat."
"What if I was to shoot you now?" Sherlock asked, raising the pistol slightly to underline the thread. "Right now?"
"Then you could cherish the look of surprise on my face," Jem said, sounding amused. "'Cause I'd be surprised, Sherlock, really I would. And just a teensy bit... disappointed? And, of course, you wouldn't be able to cherish it for very long." She gave a gentle shrug, the perfectly fitted shoulders of her suit jacket lifting, and turned to leave. "Ciao, Sherlock Holmes."
"Catch you... later," Sherlock said slowly, following after Jem slowly to keep the gun firmly pointed at the other woman as Jem pulled opened the heavy, pitted metal door ahead of her.
"No, you won't!" Jem called back in a singsong, the door shutting behind her punctuating the statement.
Sherlock immediately spun, placing the pistol on the tiled floor and going to her knees before Johnna, fumbling frantically with the zip on the vest that held the explosives to Johnna's body. Her pupils were huge as she scanned up and down Johnna's body.
"All right?" Sherlock asked, her normally cool and emotionless voice tight with sudden tension.
Johnna was too busy having a mild emotional breakdown to answer, panting heavily as relief washed over her at Jem's departure. Alone with Sherlock, no sniper rifle aiming at her chest, she was allowing herself to go to pieces just a tiny bit, whole body shaking in fine tremors.
"Are you all right?" Sherlock repeated, her voice urgent and a little frightened as she jerked at the zip, her hands trembling just enough to hamper her efforts.
"Yeah. Yeah, I'm fine," Johnna breathed, and the zip finally slid down, vibrating against her stomach as it moved. Sherlock was on her feet instantly, rushing around behind Johnna to grab onto the collar of the jacket. "I'm fine."
Sherlock was tugging roughly, making Johnna stumble as the taller woman tried to strip both jacket and vest off in one movement.
"Sherlock," Johnna said, her voice mildly scolding.
The other woman did not respond, finally managing to tear both jacket and vest off, causing one shoulder of Johnna's cardigan to slide down as well.
"Sh-Sherlock!" Johnna shouted, regaining her balance.
Johnna turned as Sherlock skimmed both jacket and vest across the tile floor to the far end of the pool. She stood and stared at Johnna, both of them panting as they came down after the tense standoff. And then, Sherlock was rushing past Johnna and scooping up the gun, heading to the door Jem Moriarty had exited through. Johnna's legs went suddenly very wobbly and she stumbled, whispering, "Oh, Christ" as she fell weakly against one of the solid walls of the changing stalls that faced the pool. She leaned there, panting and shaking for a few seconds, eyes shut tightly as she embraced the fact that she was going to live through the day. And then, she reached up, grabbing the earpiece that Jem Moriarty had whispered to her and listened to her through, ripping it away from herself and throwing it angrily into the pool, feeling a little surge of triumph as it splashed into the clear water with a burst of sparks. The heavy gloves Jem had made her wear followed after it, leaving Johnna in her own clothes once again.
Sherlock came back into the pool, pacing past Johnna with quick, nervous steps. She had the gun raised up in clear violation of safe gun handling rules, using it to scratch an itch on the back of her head as she turned round to pace back the way she'd come.
"Are you okay?" Johnna asked, watching her friend and flatmate jittering across the tile floor.
"Me? Yeah, fine. I'm fine. Fine." Sherlock's voice sounded blank with shock and her lovely face echoed that emotion. She focused on Johnna where the shorter woman was crouched, leaning against the changing stall's wall. "That, uh, thing that you did... that you offered to do, that was um... good."
Johnna glanced up, taking in Sherlock's expression and the way the taller woman was twitching and jittering and smiled faintly. 'Sociopath,' her lily-white arse. Sherlock Holmes was a bloody liar.
And if the past ten minutes had shown Johnna anything, it had shown her that Sherlock was as attached to Johnna as Johnna was to her.
"Didn't see you running when I told you to," Johnna pointed out, grinning. "That was pretty good, too."
"Well, I couldn't leave you, Johnna," Sherlock snapped, gesturing towards the other woman with the gun and making Johnna flinch slightly. "Who knows what Moriarty would've done to you."
"That matters, does it?" Johnna asked, pressing back against the stall to support herself as she rose to her feet, tugging at the cardigan where it was still hanging half-off her shoulder.
"Of course," Sherlock said, her eyes narrowing momentarily at Johnna's apparent stupidity.
"I matter?" Johnna pressed, taking a couple of steps closer to the pacing woman. Sherlock stopped, turning slowly to face Johnna, her expression blank. Johnna decided to press forward, the moment too important for her to just back down. "To you, I mean. I matter to you."
"I uh..." Sherlock glanced around the empty pool, her expression desperate as she searched for the right response.
Johnna spoke into the silence, her voice gentle. "If I'm just your friend, that's fine, you know. But if there's something else there..." Johnna raised her arms in a shrug, smiling reassuringly at the taller woman. "I'm there if you want it."
Sherlock blinked, the same startled expression that Jem had pulled from her earlier with the assertion that Sherlock actually did have a heart. "But... you've been dating Seth."
"It's not serious," Johnna said. "He's nice, but... I'll be honest with you, Sherlock: I don't think there's a relationship on this planet that I wouldn't drop if I thought you were interested. But, if you're not... we can still be friends. We can pretend this conversation never happened."
"I thought you were straight?" Sherlock asked, taking a slow, wavering step towards Johnna. Her brows were drawn down low over her eyes, her face awash in confusion.
"What? No. I mean, I do like men, but not exclusively. I just assumed you weren't interested in anyone." Johnna stopped, understanding sweeping over her. "Or... is it just that you aren't interested in me? Fuck, have I overstepped -"
"No, no, no," Sherlock said, raising the gun to wave Johnna's words away. Johnna was going to have to take it in a minute to prevent Sherlock accidentally shooting one of them. "I find you the least annoying person I've ever known. There are times when you're absolutely wonderful to be around. I just assumed you weren't interested. You date men. I've only ever seen you express interest in men."
"I did ask if you were dating anyone," Johnna pointed out, exasperated. "The first night, at Angelo's? I mean, did you forget that?"
"I thought... you just wanted information," Sherlock was standing quite close now, her expression stunned as she stared down at Johnna.
"So... are you interested?" Johnna pressed.
Sherlock was silent, staring down into Johnna's face for several long seconds. Johnna's heart was in her throat; as frightening as being strapped into a bomb with a sniper aiming at her chest had been, it was nothing compared to being studied by Sherlock Holmes after having admitted you had feelings for her.
"Sherlock?" Johnna prompted.
"I... am," Sherlock admitted, the words a barely audible breath of air.
That was all the confirmation Johnna needed. She stepped into Sherlock, pressing up on the toes of her shoes as she reached one hand up to cup the back of Sherlock's head lightly, fingers digging into the softness of curls. She pulled Sherlock's head down towards her own, their lips brushing lightly. Johnna felt Sherlock's surprised exhale against her own face, and then Sherlock was responding to the kiss with surprising fervor, her lips opening against Johnna's as Sherlock's arms went around the other woman. Johnna felt the hardness of the gun pressing against her back and huffed a soft, amused laugh before choosing to ignore it in favor of the much more interesting problem of how best to absolutely devour Sherlock Holmes's open and willing mouth.
When they finally broke apart, they were both panting heavily. Johnna rested her forehead on the shoulder of Sherlock's tailored Armani suit jacket, not caring that she was probably smearing sweat all over the expensive material. But then, Sherlock didn't seem to care, either; her arms were still wrapped tightly around Johnna's back, her free hand making little soft stroking motions against Johnna's shoulder blade.
"Well," Sherlock said, sounding breathless and a little stunned. "That was... really good."
"Yeah," Johnna said, lifting her head to grin up at the taller woman. "It was."
"This whole time... I thought you weren't interested in women," Sherlock admitted, sounding amazed by the revelation that she'd been wrong.
"You could've asked," Johnna pointed out, going up on her toes to rub the tip of her nose against Sherlock's sharp chin, taking the sting out of her words. "You're usually so interested in the facts."
"Mm," Sherlock murmured, her voice low as her eyes went heavy-lidded from Johnna's nuzzling. "And the simple fact is, you are interested in women."
"Some women, yeah," Johnna agreed, leaning back a bit to look up at Sherlock's face, drinking it in languidly and - for the first time - possessively. "You, especially."
"We should go," Sherlock said, but she didn't seem inclined to unwrap herself from around Johnna.
"Probably," Johnna said, glancing towards the door through which Jem had exited. "She could come back."
Sherlock frowned sharply and slowly unwrapped her arms from Johnna, but she did not step back from the shorter woman. Johnna took the weapon from Sherlock's hand as soon as it came around, putting the safety on before shoving it into the waistband of her jeans at her lower back, tugging her cardigan over it to hide it. As soon as that was done, she reached out to twine her fingers with Sherlock's, making the other woman's eyebrows jump in surprise. After a hesitation, though, Sherlock's slim fingers tightened on Johnna's, the grip seeming to say that she wasn't going to be letting go.
"Dinner?" Sherlock asked, a faint smile ticking the corners of her lips up.
"Starving," Johnna said, not bothering to keep the suggestive tone out of her voice.
"I don't think we've seen the last of Jem Moriarty," Sherlock murmured as she headed towards the door through which Sherlock had entered the pool.
"I doubt we have. That's fine, though; she may be clever, but you're cleverer," Johnna said, her voice fond. Sherlock gave a quick laugh in response and Johnna felt a glow at having made the other woman laugh, warmed at the realization that she hadn't really seen anyone else manage to pull laughter from the normally stoic Sherlock.
"What are you going to call this one?" Sherlock asked, her thumb stroking lightly over Johnna's hand.
"Hmm? Oh, for the blog, you mean. Well... I was thinking 'The Great Game,'" Johnna admitted.
Sherlock snorted, but she didn't let go of Johnna's hand and Johnna relished the warmth of Sherlock's fingers against her own. How many times had she wished for this exact scenario? How many times had she told herself it was impossible? But then, she had never been able to predict Sherlock Holmes before. It would almost certainly prove true as they moved forward. It would make for a very interesting relationship.
Johnna pulled the door open with her free hand and they exited the pool hand-in-hand.