I won't kill you. (SherlockxMoriarty, violent)

"You stop worrying about me," he said and pursed his lips: "But don't you dare forget about me, I can help and I will help, you have to use me, take advantage of the fact it's two of us and not just one. I am not as clever as you, but I can hold my own," he insisted.

He looked at the policeman annoyed. "Yes, well, it's easier if you stay in the hospital, we cannot have you in prison... can't you fake your symptoms to be worse?" he took Sherlock's chart and started changing a few values. "We are protected at the hospital, and you can have time to convince Lestrade to do something... yes, you have a lot of enemies, but a few good friends as well..." He looked at Sherlock. "If it comes to that, I will help you escape... I promise," even though he hoped it would not. He knew he could not go on the run with Sherlock in his condition at the moment, which meant that he would never see Sherlock again. The idea was enough to make his heart hurt in his chest.

Sherlock took John's hand and squeezed it a little before gently letting it go. He looked into his friend's eyes and knew he could trust him with anything.

"Thanks." he grinned as John adjusted his medical notes. "I suppose I could throw a sicky for a while longer. Bide us some time." The idea occured to him that he might not need to escape and find Moriarty...if only he could get Moriarty to come to him. But to do that he would need a phone, and right now he didn't have one.

"There is something you can do for me John," Sherlock whispered. "I need to borrow your phone."

"I will try to reason with Lestrade as well," he muttered, and wondered if he was safe at all, after all, he had killed the cabbie as well, causing an accident, they could probably match the bullets with his hand gun. It was just a matter of time.
Another thing that was better not to mention to Sherlock.

He laughed a bit at the words: "Now, that brings back old memories," he said amused. He buried his hand in his pocket. "You can keep it, I am rather sure you'll need more than me..."

"Just promise me you will tell me whatever you decide to do. I need to know Sherlock, I worry too..." He whispered miserably, looking into his eyes.

Sherlock took the phone out of John's hand and scanned through his phone book, noting with a smile that John didn't have Moriarty's number stored. But then again why would he? Never mind, he knew it off by heart anyway.

He glanced up at John and saw the worried expression on his face. He owed it to his friend to let him know what was going on.
"I'm going to text Moriarty. If I can't get to him, maybe I can get him to come to me. I need to end this once and for all. He enjoys playing with me John but now he's starting to get sick of me getting in his way, I think he just wants me dead. He won't leave us alone John, not until one of us is dead. And it's certainly not going to be me."

He opened up a text message in John's phone and was about to start typing when he suddenly realised he didn't even know where he was. The police just wouldn't tell him anything.

"What hospital is this?" He asked.

John wished he could stand and pace, the tension was pulsing in his nerves and he didn't know how to calm down.
"Sherlock..." he whispered, there was panic in his voice at the idea Moriarty would come to the hospital. Would they be able to win this time? It always felt like they were one step behind.

"Are you sure about that?" he asked, he wasn't used to being scared, he had a bad feeling about this. "I can't let him kill you, you know that?"

"St. Bart's..." he answered sullenly.

Sherlock could sense the panic rising up in John's voice, could see his muscles tensing up as he spoke. He tried to reassure him but he wasn't even so sure of things himself anymore. He had a vague idea of how this might work but nothing concrete.

"They won't let me leave the hospital will they? So he's going to have to come to me. They don't watch me all the time. They do let me go to the toilet on my own now so there's some opportunity there to sneak off." Sherlock waved his hand dismissively at the idea of Moriarty killing him, although his voice didn't sound as certain as his hand gestures. "I'm not going to let him kill me. Stop panicking. Although...do you still have your gun?"

Sherlock cast his eyes back down to the mobile phone in his hand and the uncomposed text message. "We're at Barts?" he asked, surprised, and looked around him. He'd only ever seen the chemistry lab and the morgue. "Surprised Molly hasn't tried to sneak up to see me," he added, before typing in the message to Moriarty and pressing send.

St. Barts. Come and play. -SH



(( left off the rooftop part so we can leave that option open! ))

"No, Moriarty had my gun," he said, and if the police found it, he would be in trouble, too.
He was useless, he realized, his words were only mere words when he could only move with a wheelchair and had no weapons. How could he even dream of helping?

He knew the time was almost over and his heart started beating faster in his chest. If he was not to walk again, there was no way he would be able to help Sherlock with cases, their relationship would crumble, regardless of the result of this battle.
It scared him, and for a moment, he let himself despair.
He crouched to the side of the bed, his hand squeezing Sherlock's wrist, his forehead resting on the detective's arm.

"Don't leave me, Sherlock," he whispered, and it meant a lot of things at once.

Damn. No gun. This was going to be harder than he thought. But then again, he knew Moriarty would never just shoot him. That would be too boring. Too ordinary. If Moriarty was planning Sherlock's death it would have to be much more interesting than that. And at least Sherlock choosing their meeting place gave him a mild advantage.

"I'd better keep your phone John, in case Moriarty texts me back. I wanted to give it you back but...when he gets in touch I'll come by your room to let you know what's going on."

Sherlock was surprised by the level of emotion and sentiment John was displaying. And he was equally surprised that it hurt him to see John that way. He took his spare hand and placed it gently on the back of his friend's head.
"It's OK John," he said, trying to sound reassuring. "I won't leave you."

Just then, the young police officer barged in, interupting their moment together. "You're going to have to leave now," he said bluntly.

John looked up when he felt the reassuring touch on his head, it was more than he had ever received from Sherlock and his body took in the warmth eagerly.
"If you run away, my room will be the first place they will look for you," he said and hoped with all his heart that a way out of this could be found. He knew if anyone could, it would be Sherlock Holmes.
He trusted him more than he trusted himself.

He pulled away suddenly when he heard the door open, his gaze turning into a glare as he saw the policeman.

He looked back at Sherlock one last time, a pointed look filled with things he had never said, he squeezed his wrist just slightly and then he wheeled himself towards the door.

"See you next time," he said, forcing his voice not to shake.

Sherlock felt strangely empty after John had gone. And alone. But alone was where he needed to be right now. He needed a clear head to focus. To think of a way to beat Moriarty. He could feel the strands of an idea within his grasp. They just needed to be pieced together. He lay back on the bed and closed his eyes. Blocking out the annoying idiotic face of the policeman and the dull monotony of hospital life, he took refuge in his Mind Palace, his hand still gripped tightly around John's phone, awaiting a reply from his nemesis.

Only an hour later Moriarty walked in, carrying some flowers and a bunch of newspapers. He was dressed casually, as if he was any other visitor in this hospital. The policeman weren't really a problem since he had insiders anyway.

"Knock knock." He said as he entered the room, but didn't actually knock. He knew all the charges, all the things Sherlock had been asking, everything. With a quick glance he observed the room before fixing his dark, evil eyes onto Sherlock.

"I brought you flowers." He said with a smile on his face.

Sherlock heard the familiar Irish lilt and opened his eyes slowly. He glanced to the police officer and saw he was nowhere to be seen. Another one of Moriarty's bent cops perhaps? he wondered, as he slowly pushed himself up into an upright position, keeping his eyes fixed on his.

"Why thank you," Sherlock smiled back, nodding at the flowers. "It was good of you to come. We...have a lot to talk about I believe."

This wasn't the ideal situation. He had hoped to be more prepared for Moriarty's arrival. He'd been expecting a text back, not him just turning up out of the blue.

"oh, really it's not a big deal." He shrugged as he carefully places the flowers on to a nearby table. He could sense the bit of surprise in Sherlock's movements and words. Oh how he knew this man hated surprised.

"I believe we have." He said as he dropped the papers he'd been carrying on to the edge of the bed. Each of them had Sherlock's picture covering up the front page. Not to mention the huge letters that formed the headlines.

Jim grinned evil. "It seems like someone leaked your dark little secrets." He shrugged. "My bad."

Sherlock sat up fully now, and picked up each of the papers in turn, glancing through the headlines and some of the details underneath. He felt a sickly feeling creeping up into his chest as he read them. They were trying to make out he was some kind of criminal...some of them were even saying that he'd been helping Moriarty all along, for years even...and that everything else was just a show. He almost laughed it was so absurd. I mean...would people actually believe all this shit? Sadly, he knew the majority of people were idiots who would believe anything they read in the papers. And even if some of them didn't believe it, his overall reputation certainly appeared to be in tatters. He couldn't see much chance of being able to explain himself to the police either, even if Lestrade did believe him like John insinuated. A million thoughts rushed through his mind although in reality it had probably only taken him a few seconds to process them.

He tore his eyes away from the headlines and back to Moriarty's grinning face.
"What kind of game are you playing Jim?" he asked slowly.

Sherlock's facial expressions were only making him grin more. He knew Sherlock cared about his reputation, more than the detective himself would ever admit. There was no way he'd ever been able to walk the streets again.

He completely ignored Sherlock's question. He had answered it before, he had explained the rules. Jim played, once he got bored of it he got rid of the pawns. Game over. But he wasn't finished just yet, he felt as if something was missing. A lack of emotion, something more dramatic. And than the perfect idea popped in to his mind.

"So, I assume John told you when he came to visit you earlier? Seems like you're taking the news just fine." He started, eyes staring down Sherlock's face.

Sherlock's mind was still on the newspapers when he heard Moriarty speaking. It took him a second to process the words and a little while longer to realise he had no idea what he was talking about.

"Sorry, what? What news?"

"Oooohhhh I see... He didn't had the guts to tell you, did he? Well aren't you lucky I have."
He took a small step closer to the hospital bed. His grin was now replaced by a pretend tragic expression.

"Well..." he started, looking at his own feet for just a few seconds before moving his gaze back up. He was looking for the most dramatic words. The words that would struck Sherlock's heart and ripping it out at the seams.

"Most certain you remember the little detail I shot his leg." Slightly he shrugged before getting on with it. "I happened to overhear a conversation with the doctor only a few moments ago. They were talking about "Patient Watson." Oh no no.. Don't ask, I will tell." He said when he saw Sherlock's mouth opening to demand him to tell what they were saying. "Allow me to quote; 'I'm afraid recovery will take a while. And even if we do get him to the center daily, chances he will be able to walk again remain little.""

James decided to keep it at that and just stood there, staring at Sherlock.

Sherlock felt a wave of sickness sweeping over him. He was light headed and dizzy, his head swarming with the news. It was all his fault. If he hadn't have bloody cared so much then Moriarty would never have thought to get to John. Now his only friend might never walk again. Damn it. Damn it. He closed his eyes a moment to stop the room from spinning, feeling an incredible ache in his heart.

Then slowly his pain and sadness began to turn to anger. And to hate. Why should he feel guilty himself when the man who pulled the trigger was standing right next to him. Standing there with his mock concerned look and smarmy suit. Sherlock felt his hands ball up into tight fists and the rage bubbled to the surface. With an angry cry he swung his right arm and caught Moriarty off guard with a punch to the lower jaw. As he sprawled all over the floor, Sherlock got himself out of bed and began pulling on his ordinary clothes instead of the dreary hospital gown.

The painful expression on Sherlock's face was almost too beautiful to be true. Something he could have only dream about. He wanted to continue his destroying words but got knocked down on to the floor by the detective's fist. Moriarty had not saw this coming and gasped in surprise as he was leaning on one hand to keep him from rolling over.

His other hand covered up the just hit part of is jaw. Softly rubbing it to relief some of the pain. He could feel his jaw swell with every stroke. After a few seconds he managed to bite away the throbbing feeling and focus on Sherlock again.

"Nice left one, honey." He said playfully as he crawled back onto his feet. Sherlock was all dressed now. James walked up a bit closer, he wasn't afraid of the man standing in front of him. "I guess you're /not/ taking the news so well after all." He grinned, even though grinning hurt as hell.

Sherlock finished buttoning up his shirt whilst staring out of the window and tried to regain some dignity, his knuckles still smarting from the blow he delivered and itching to give more of them. He slowly turned round to face Moriarty.

"Give me one good reason why I shouldn't just beat you to a pulp right now," he growled quietly, unable to hide the hatred in his voice. "And you know I could."

Jim could feel a pulse throbbing in his cheek. The daring edge in Sherlock's voice made the tension between them rise. With narrowed eyes Jim changed the grin on his face to a serious expression. His tongue running over his lips before he started talking.

"I know you could. But you don't want to add beating up a lawyer to your charges, do you?" He frowned while his lips slightly curled up in a smile. He felt so victorious knowing he was close to destroying this man for good.

Sherlock was about to lay his hands on Moriarty once again when his words stopped him. He frowned.

"What are you talking about?" he asked. "You're not a lawyer. You're a criminal. I really doubt anyone would care if I rid London of you for good."

"Tut tut. Seems like you're letting emotions take over your rational thinking darling. To you I might be a criminal, but to them..." He moved his head towards the door, gesturing to the police officers and hospital staff. "I am your potential lawyer." He explained. "Simple but clever enough to visit you so quickly." He felt the feeling of power washing over him. The fact he once more was a step ahead of Sherlock made him feel invincible.

Sherlock smiled at Moriarty's audacity and cunning, then nodded slowly. A lawyer. He couldn't beat up a lawyer. That would only get him into even more trouble.

"That is clever," he admitted. "But you are forgetting something. They might believe you right now, but I can prove it. I can prove you're not a lawyer. Mycroft...he's got documents, files...he's got a file on you as thick as your arm. All it takes is one phone call. Then with the help of John I can explain how you forced us to do things for you, how you tortured us. My reputation might be in tatters now, but I CAN rebuild it."

Sherlock stared into Moriarty's eyes, determined not to let him win.

"Oh no no no honey. Don't bother using your phone." He smiled while his head shook slightly. "Mycroft and I have this little thing you know. I could bring his whole world down with a snap of my fingers, he gives me my freedom. It took me a while, but he finally realized there was no point in keeping me behind bars anyway." James thought back at the time Mycroft had tortured him for information.The only thing that made James talk were in Mycroft told him everything, every little thing he knew about the man currently standing in front of him.

An obnoxious laugh filled the room. "So cute, Doctor John Watson and Detective Sherlock Holmes. Team indestructibly...Yet so easily to destroy." He swallowed loud and once more moisten his lips using his tongue. "There's only one way to end this game, Sherlock."