Orphan on Baker Street

Thirtieth: Blankets

Sherlock stands up quickly from the chair and spins around, revealing a gun. He wears a ragged green shirt, ripped jeans, and black socks; his gun is pointed at Moriarty. "The police are on their way. You have 3 seconds to begin explaining yourself, or I shoot your leg... in self defense," he finishes with a smirk.

Moriarty laughs at him mockingly. "Do you really think I'm going t--"

Sherlock shoots a bullet at him with a loud bang. Moriarty screams in pain, and I jump backwards, startled. "I'm done playing your games, Jim," exclaims Sherlock. His voice is full of pride and joy and a little bit of anger. "You have 3 more seconds before I shoot again."

Moriarty moves to sit on the floor, sliding down the wall, and breathing heavily. He speaks quickly: "Kill me if you want; it's not like I've never been dead befo-" Sherlock shoots him again, this time in the shoulder. Moriarty lets out another yelp. I hear sirens outside.

"Come on, Mickey," Sherlock says. He steps around Moriarty and grabs my hand, leading me hastily up the creaking stairs and out through the front door. Cops stand positioned to shoot from behind their cars, which create a blockade across the street. Sherlock puts up his hands defensively. "Put your hands up," he mutters to me. He drops his gun.

I raise my hands like his are and swallow another lump in my throat. "Where's my father?" I ask softly, turning to Sherlock.

"We'll discuss that later," he says, keeping his eyes locked straight ahead. A few people in bullet proof vests run past us into the house, and some paramedics take us over to an ambulance that I didn't notice before. Lestrade walks over to Sherlock and me as we sit in the back of the large vehicle.

"Sherlock, what the hell were you doing with that gun?" he asks. I wrap a blanket tighter around myself; I don't remember where or when I got it.

"It was self defense," Sherlock replies simply. He has a blanket, too.

"How did you know to be there?" I ask him. Lestrade gives me a look of concern.

Sherlock just shrugs. "I recognized someone in the diner, deduced it was one of Moriarty's men - a little slowly, might I add - and managed to figure out that he'd take you from the lounge, somewhere else to stall or scare you, and then eventually to your father."

"And how'd you know my father was here?"

"He told me," Sherlock responds, glancing down to his lap.

"Who's my father?" I ask curiously. He doesn't look at me.

"You don't know him," Sherlock begins slowly, "I met him through some of my homeless sources. He was there in one of the underground tunnels, bragging to anyone who would listen. It was annoying; I was trying to work on a case, and this man's rambling about his future with his daughter or whatever was distracting. So... I insulted him, ran his dreams through the ground, and didn't hear from him until earlier today through acquaintances."

"So where is he?" I ask again excitedly. Maybe I got my optimism from my father.

"I don't know," Sherlock replies. He's lying, and I sigh. I decide not to push him any further. At this point, Lestrade has wandered off, and I look over at the house.

After a moment, Moriarty is being pulled out on a gurney. There's an oxygen mask on his face, bloody bandages on his shin and shoulder, and I notice he's handcuffed to the side of the portable bed. I smile and hop off the back of the ambulance. Sherlock does the same, and we walk over behind the crowd of police and strangers that has begun to form.

John runs up and hits us both with a tight hug. "Dear Lord, Sherlock. You couldn't have called me to help?"

"I thought you'd be busy," he defends, sounding uncomfortable. John releases us from the group hug and grins dumbly.

"I'm so happy you two are okay," he says quickly, moving over to hug me individually. "Mary was so worried." He sounds breathless, like he ran all the way from his house - about a 40 minute drive away.

"Where is she?" Sherlock asks, looking around. Then it's his turn for John's hug, and I see him stiffen. I laugh, and Sherlock shoots me a glare. After a little while, John releases his friend and looks him up and down.

"She's at home sleeping. And you've got a shock blanket. What even happened?" He looks between Sherlock and me.

"He shot Moriarty," I explain briefly. "It was pretty cool."

"You watched?" John asks me, trying not to sound concerned.

I nod and smile. John looks over at Sherlock, who's looking over at the ambulance. Then everyone turns to look at it, too, and we watch them load Moriarty on. Lestrade and another cop follow after him, and the door closes. The ambulance turns on its siren noise and drives away.

"What a happy ending," Sherlock says monotonously. I giggle and look back over at the two.

"So, how about we go get some food - maybe tea or something else relaxing?" John offers. Both men suddenly look over at me, and I open my mouth to speak.

"Um, sure. We can go.. wherever," I tell him with a small smile. Just then my phone rings, and I pull it from my back pocket; it's Mrs. Hudson.

"Mrs. Hudson," I say loudly into the phone.

"Mickey! Are you alright? I got up to check on you, and you weren't there, and Sherlock isn't here either, and I got so worried. Are you alright?" she asks again nervously.

"Yes," I say with a light laugh. "Yes, I'm fine. And Sherlock is here... so is John. Um, time just got away from me; I am so sorry."

"As long as you're alright, dear. What are you three even doing?"

I hesitate and glance between John and Sherlock. They look at me expectantly. "I'll have to explain later. We're about to get something to eat now. I promise I'll tell you everything when we get home, alright?"

"Alright, Mickey. Stay safe!"

I hang up and push my phone into my pocket again. Then I glance down at myself. "Should I have given the blanket back?"