One Step Closer

"No Inspector, I really don't want you coming any closer," drawled that infuriatingly nasal voice the three of them - Lestrade, Sherlock and John - had all grown to hate: Moriarty. He was lounging in the doorway to the bank vault, gold glimmering ignored around a restrained John within. Sherlock was poised with Lestrade and his men at the top of the stairs, the red dots of their sights playing over Moriarty's face and chest - but the consulting criminal was completely unconcerned.

"I've got what I came for," Moriarty continued. "You know what that is, don't you Sherlock?"

"The original deeds of Parliament," Sherlock said quietly, eyes riveted on John, checking that he was unhurt. Apart from a bump on the head he seemed alright, but hunched over like he was it was difficult to tell whether anything else was amiss.

"Oh very good, you did do your homework," Moriarty clapped twice, mockingly. "Your lapdog seems surprised. Didn't you tell him?"

"It doesn't matter," Sherlock snapped, refocussing on Moriarty. "We've foiled your little game. Now hand over the deeds and I might be able to persuade the Sergeant to keep her overenthusiastic hands to herself."

"Tempting, but allow me to make a counter offer," Moriarty pouted, eyes burning with what could have been insanity or genius. "You let me walk out that door with the deeds - or your little pet gets himself blown to pieces. Stand up Doctor Watson, let the nice Inspector see what you're packing."

John glared at Moriarty, then flinched when the small man's hand twitched. The involuntary movement incensed Sherlock and his lips thinned with his displeasure as John obediently - if reluctantly - levered himself to his feet against the gold. Once again his jacket had been laden with explosives and detonators, enough to decimate the vault and blow back into the corridor. Donovan whistled.

"Aren't you making a little oversight here?" Lestrade drawled, seeing the explosive power present. "You set him off, you're caught in it too."

"The corner between doorframe and wall create enough of a shelter that he will be largely unharmed by the blast," Sherlock quickly dismissed the Inspector's brief frisson of hope, eyes fixed on Moriarty. "You know we can't just let you walk away with those deeds."

"Oh I think you can," Moriarty smirked. "After all, you are the great Sherlock Holmes. You can do anything with big brother looking out for you."

A sneer twitched around the corners of Sherlock's lips at the mention of Mycroft but he made no further reaction, studying Moriarty. After several long minutes he straightened and nodded.

"Alright."

"What, Sherlock, you can't -" Lestrade protested, but was cut short by Sherlock. His terse "Shut up" quieted the Inspector, more out of surprise that Sherlock practically swore than anything else.

"Good dog," Moriarty told Lestrade patronisingly. Donovan took a step forward in defence of her boss but was halted by Moriarty's hand holding a trigger. "Sherlock's pet dog has his own little bitch. How sickeningly adorable. Back in place, little girl."

Lestrade reached forward and pulled Donovan back into line, looking at Moriarty for a long moment. Then he straightened.

"Sorry John," Lestrade said softly, then quickly, "Fire!"

But there was already fire blooming in the vault, a shock wave sweeping toward them as it bent around the slim suited shape of Moriarty in the corner, and the inaudible shout of denial from Sherlock. The group on the stairs were tossed back, ears ringing and vision blurred from the force of the explosion.

In the aftermath, as the group of toy soldiers staggered to their feet and questions were shouted at each other, only Sherlock noticed that Moriarty never came up the stairs, and wondered.