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He was coming to in an almost empty warehouse.
At first it was panic that seeped through his senses.
A slow realization, like poison being assimilated.
His first coherent thought went to Moriarty, it had to be him, what with the dreadfully familiar scent he could recognize from the last time he had been kidnapped.
Then he saw him, right in the middle of a limelight.
Theatrical arse.
“Welcome John Watson. Welcome to ‘The worst day of your life’. You are our first and last contestant! I hope you feel driven to win. Lots of prizes up for grabs!” He exclaimed with pure excitement, just like a presenter on BBC, and he pushed a button, two more lights coming on.
“Life’s like that, isn’t it? Lots of prizes up for grabs, but you have to lose something to gain something.” An evil smirk on his lips that was way too familiar.
John’s jaw was clenched tight as he took in the scene.
Sherlock had been beaten up, tied, and wrapped in the same explosive he had on himself not too long ago, even the same coat. Irony must have been Moriarty’s second name.
He gasped when he saw who was on the other side, Sarah, his girlfriend of six months, the one who didn’t run away screaming after being involved in a case, the one who didn’t dump him even after being stood up more than once.
She didn’t seem to be physically hurt, but she was tied down as well, a necklace of small bombs around her shoulders.
“No snipers this time? I am disappointed,” John tried to say, dread filling his throat with bile. He couldn’t move, his legs constrained, his wrists tied together against his chest, he couldn’t attack the monster that was grinning down at him.
“I don’t need them, now, do I?” And he kicked the doctor’s stomach viciously.
Not one for criticism, clearly.
“This is your big day, John, do not ruin it.”
He had to scoff at that, shaking his head to avoid getting distracted by the pain. It really didn't help to try and look at his friends.
His flatmate’s eyes were too clear, too logical, trying to see everything and mostly already knowing what was going to happen.
John envied him.
Sarah, on the other hand, was a total mess. She was crying, moving nervously, panicking, begging John to do something in soft broken sentences.
“Who would have thought? Such a boring little man would be the creator of a new future,” intervened Moriarty, catching his gaze again.
John glared at him with hatred he didn't know he possessed, his whole body a bundle of muscles and tension. He was waiting for the rules of the game. He wanted this over, as quickly as possible.
“You can choose, Doctor John Watson. What kind of future do you want for this world? One without the only existing consulting detective, or one without your bride-to-be?”
He swallowed. Moriarty was a serious arsehole, wasn't he? How did he come up with these things anyway?
“Quite the responsibility you have here. What do you think is best for this world? Your happiness? Or a chance for kick-ass criminals to be stopped?”
John bit on his lower lip, the tension, the adrenaline, it was making things freakishly clear in his head.
Was this what Sherlock felt all the time?
He was a military man, he had been faced with this kind of decision time and time again, mainly unconsciously, mind you, but that was what war was: he had had to go on and on with only cold calculations in his heart, and maybe at the end of the line, he had become a sociopath as well.
Funny to realize now just how much he could relate to Sherlock.
This time though, this time it was hitting very close to home.
To all that had passed unsaid in the last months, to needs and desires that he had kept hidden in the depth of his soul and refused to acknowledge.
He knew in the back of his head that this was going to change his life, this decision alone was going to make him a different person, regardless of who he actually chose.
“Are you not begging me to reconsider, Dr Watson?” Moriarty asked, his eyebrow curled in expectation.
“Would it change anything?” replied John, hate spilling in his voice, no need to keep that a secret.
“Ah, soldiers are such a turn off. But there had to be a reason why Sherlock decided to keep you after all. Stupid bravery and all.”
“John…” it was Sherlock’s voice, it made the doctor look up at him, his heart in his throat. “It’s okay…” he added, his chin pointing towards Sarah. “Just go ahead.”
His voice didn’t even waver, there were no goodbyes, just calm resignation that made him frown. He didn’t really expect Sherlock to give himself up so freely, and if it wasn’t for those eyes, black with fear and misery now, he would have thought the detective actually wanted this to happen, wanted to die and drown in his loneliness.
I will burn your heart out. Those words had a whole different meaning now. It wasn’t just having Sherlock lose the people he cared about, it was about making him miserable, making him lonely, betrayed and alone.
“Well now, are you going to choose?” Moriarty was excited, clapping his hand in a childish glee.
“Please John, please… I don’t want to die…” Sarah was begging, her soft lips trembling. “I don’t wanna die… please…”
“Imagine how grateful she’s going to be if you save her… you might finally get laid!” Jim twirled and dropped a remote at John’s feet.
Two buttons, one to kill Sarah, one to kill Sherlock.
What was he supposed to do?
“Is this all you want? You just want me to choose?” he snapped, his hands weren't even shaking when he grabbed the remote, even though the rope incredibly tight around his wrists, even though he could hardly move his fingers.
“Of course. What else do you think I want?”
“This is not a trick?”
“Weeeell…” he laughed. “That’s for me to know, and for you to find out, isn’t it?”
There was so much at stake, and not only John had to choose to end someone’s life willingly even though they did nothing wrong, he also had to consider the tricks Moriarty might have up his sleeve.
There was no telling whether this was all there was to it. They could all be dead at the end of the day if it was what Moriarty had decided.
That was what did it, actually.
If they had to die, all of them, then he wanted his last thought to be only one:
I will protect you, always.
And he pushed the button.
An explosion, yes, but so small it had John groan.
There was a banner, coming down from the high ceiling, with colourful confetti.
‘You are dead, congratulations, with sympathy’ signed John Watson.
Sarah was looking up at it dangling over her head with her mouth open.
"Who would have known!” said Moriarty. “You are less boring than I thought, Doctor Watson. But then again, you have to deal with the consequences now. Isn’t that the best part? Consequences. Life can be more evil than me, I reckon.” He skipped to the exit of the warehouse, switching the lights off. “And also try to untie yourself before you die of starvation.”
All of John’s muscles relaxed at the same time when the door shut closed, he collapsed to the side, not believing what had just happened.
They were all alive.
All alive.
He didn't have another innocent on his conscience.
Sarah’s sobs in the distance were starting to die down. “We’re alive…” she repeated unnecessarily.
Sherlock was silent, and John felt a pang of worry, enough to make him roll to his side and look at his friend.
His eyes were not yet adjusted to the low light, but he could still see him.
His gaze was unreadable, but he seemed to be perfectly conscious.
“Did he drug you?” asked John, and if he sounded worried, damn, it was his own business.
Sherlock just shook his head angrily. “Shut up, John, will you?”
John relaxed again, he kind of wanted to faint. He reckoned there was no way he’d have nightmares that way, too tired.
What do they say, emotional distress can tire you even more than physical exercise.
He wondered why Sherlock was such a prat about this though, he had saved him after all.
Maybe he was annoyed because he didn’t expect it, and he liked to be right about things in advance.
He was going to have to do a lot of explaining to Sarah about this, superficial excuses were not going to cut it this time. He hadn’t simply stood her up.
His thoughts switched off as he passed out for real.
~~~~
Sherlock got them out of there, trust him to give Lestrade enough hints beforehand for the police to find them eventually.
They had to stay at the hospital for a few hours, filled with awkward silences and avert gazes.
Sherlock refused to talk to the police, and John wasn't sure what to say, they all stared at him like he had become a freak. Just like Sherlock, he reckoned.
He brought Sarah home, he sat her down, and tried to tell her that it wasn’t her fault, it was his.
John just didn’t want her to feel irrelevant as a human being.
It was a very uncomfortable conversation John didn’t really want to have. It went too deep inside his head and heart, shattering his securities and feeding off what he could not control of his soul.
He owed her that though, and if he cried a couple of times, Sherlock was never going to know (he hoped).
He was just happy and relieved he was not grieving her now.
Of course they broke up. There was nothing he could do about it, and in retrospect, he should have done it so much sooner.
He should have been honest with himself at least.
~~~
He was back at Baker Street by midnight, feeling an emotional wreck, completely unsettled by what he had done, and what he had said.
The light was still on as he made his way inside.
Sherlock was there, sitting on the couch, three patches on the pale skin of his arm, his eyes closed as he breathed in deeply against his joined hands.
“Already working?” he asked, not surprised though.
“I am thinking, Watson.”
“Doesn’t strike me as abnormal.” He looked at the empty packet of nicotine patches and shrugged. “I won’t disturb you.”
He needed a shower and he needed a bed.
“Why?”
“Because you become very annoying when I do so.”
“Why did you save me?”
“Excuse me?” He had never thought he’d have to explain something to Sherlock of all people.
“WHY. DID. YOU. SAVE. ME?” shouted the detective, making John gape. “It doesn’t make any sense. You didn’t even flinch." He was frowning, clearly still trying to find the reason in his head. "There are so many possibilities regarding the reasons you could have had, but none of them seems to really fit.”
“It could be a mixture of all of them.”
“I don’t think you were partly abducted by Aliens, no.”
“Well, maybe a mixture of the most probable ones.” He pointed out, sitting on his armchair with a sigh.
Life seemed incredibly less complicated the day before.
Sherlock glared at him. Yeah, Sherlock really didn’t like it when he didn’t understand things.
“I thought…” started the detective. “That you cared about your future domestic happiness above all things… that you were happy with Sarah… that you would never waste an innocent life.”
John closed his eyes, what was he supposed to reply to that?
“A man’s gotta do what a man’s gotta do,” was all he could utter.
“Do you reckon my life is more useful to the world?”
The doctor shrugged.
“Were you playing God there, John?”
John laughed. “How could I play anything? I was scared out of my wits.”
“You didn’t look like it.” The detective said, crossing his arms over his chest.
He stood up. “Listen, Sherlock, why don’t you do like everyone else does? Give your own reason to all this, the one you like the most in the midst of all your reasoning.”
Strangely enough, Sherlock blushed.
That was strange.
No time for questions now, he was too tired to think.
“Just remember one thing.” John looked at him, straight in his eyes because he wanted this to be engraved into his friend's soul.
“I would always choose you." He squeezed his arm, before walking towards the stairs.
Never doubt me again.