Of Dogs and Dead Consulting Detectives 03

Two days after the attack on his life, John was back to his routine. On Monday of course he had to show up at the police station to reaffirm his statement with Lestrade. But on Tuesday he was back to work as if nothing ever happened. Admittedly, for a few seconds after he arrived home that exciting night, the doctor considered to contact Mycroft to re-establish being watched. However his pride would not allow that. He did not want to admit to the elder Holmes that Mycroft had been right.

Instead he kept quiet and started the week as if nothing happened the moment he was out of New Scotland Yard. On Tuesday he also met his animal life saviour again. John had been prepared for their next meeting at any time and he saved a big dog treat in his pocket that he gave the English Pointer immediately after they greeted each other.

"Thanks, buddy", he told the happily munching dog, burying his face in its fur in a moment of overwhelming emotions. "You certainly saved my life two days ago."

Of course the dog could not reply. But John had long stopped feeling silly talking to a dog. By now he could rather understand all too well every animal owner about what he once thought to be a silly habit.

Feeling slightly better, especially after he noticed that none of his mysterious stalkers had returned, John went out, for once enjoying just leisurely walking around. And thankfully enough it seemed his animal companion understood or was instructed well enough that he did not steal anything to induce their usual run.
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John's life stayed peaceful through nearly the rest of the week, though since the incident he was careful to keep his senses and eyes on his surroundings. When Saturday came around he was grateful he kept his eyes open.

This weekend he had taken time off from his job, on insistence of his superior. Given that he preferred to work, it was obviously the better alternative than to sit at home and think. However, he now had too much overtime therefore his boss had taken him aside insisting he at least take off the weekend.

Having not much to do, John considered using his time to tidy up the flat and take care of purchases. When he returned from TESCO, he found the English Pointer sitting patiently in front of his flat with Mrs. Hudson cooing over the friendly dog. Smiling in amusement John could not help but tease his housekeeper just a little bit.

"And here you insisted I would become owner of the dog sooner rather than later. If you continue like this, I fear the dog would prefer to stay with you, Mrs. Hudson."

"Oh John, you are home, good", the elder woman exclaimed offering the last of the dog treats she had been hiding in her pockets for just that occasion. "I think the deary could use a walk around, don't you think so, too?"

Shaking his head in disbelief, John chuckled good-naturedly.

"Just give me a minute to take care of my purchases, then I'll be going Mrs. Hudson."

He took two steps at once in his eagerness, not even taking time to unpack his bags. That could wait till later. Grabbing some dog treats and the dog toys he bought as precaution so the English Pointer would not take his keys or mobile phone for their chases through the city, John was out once more barely half a minute later. Saying goodbye to his landlady, he signalled for his companion to take the toy and their chase started as soon as they reached the street's corner.

John got the feeling of being watched about half an hour into their chase. Fifteen minutes of discreetly observing his surroundings later while continuing their mad chase, he could make out at least one shadow trailing him. Though listening to his gut he was also sure that he was watched by more than one pair of eyes.

Cursing silently for not taking his gun with him, John could do nothing but go through with this chase as if nothing was wrong. And so far, whoever was watching him this time did not act. He was allowed to finish their chase as usual, ending not far away from Baker Street. Checking the time while he caught his breath and feed his animal friend some of the treats, he realised that strangely enough they did not take as much time as they usually did for their runs. At least that explained why he was not as greatly out of breath.

Too bad because here he had thought he finally built some stamina. Grumbling the former army doctor looked casually in the direction he had last seen his shadow trailing him. To his surprise and alarm he realised that his mysterious stalker had come closer since his stop, close enough that he could nearly see his face if it had not been hidden under a cap.

For now he was not worried though. It was still early evening and there were some people around. Okay, maybe the jogger with his tatty slacks and the typical hoodie over his head in front of him binding his shoe laces did not count as much, but still one unwanted witness too much for anything to occur. Or so he thought.

When it happened it was so quick, that he was unable to process what exactly occurred in front of his eyes. One moment his stalker was keeping his distance standing still. Then, for an instant John noticed from the corner of his eyes the movement of an arm. At the same time the jogger finished binding his laces, straightening up about to continue his tour. The doctor's mind was just processing that the movement he witnessed must have been some kind of signal, when the hackles of his dog companion stood up and a shot could be heard.

With a quiet groan the jogger, who had been about to pass him, stumbled against the former army doctor, dragging him to the ground as they both lost their balance. The English Pointer was standing in front of him, barking threateningly at the man finally moving out of the shadows, walking towards them.

During the fall, John ended up buried under the unfortunate jogger, who was lying with his head against the doctor's shoulder, clutching his arm where the quick pooling of blood on his sleeve indicated he had been hit by the very bullet John was certain was meant for him. His body was already snapping into battle mode and he snarled his teeth in frustration to his situation as he tried to roll the injured man aside so he could stand up and take a protective stance in front of the unfortunate victim.

However, frustratingly enough the jogger seemed to be so engrossed into his wounded arm or maybe it was simply the shock, that he was unable to move the body away. The other man was taller than himself, not a factor in favour of getting out from his current position. And the man's head was still pressed against his chest. The small struggle already caused the hood to come half off, revealing ginger coloured strands of hair that had been hidden under the cloth.

For a small second, John's mind strayed totally from his dangerous situation as the sight of hair reminded him strangely enough of the jogger he had often seen around Regent's Park, when he was down there with his dog friend. He was sure it was the same man, now that he thought about it. Ginger hair, the white hoodie and either a jogging trouser or tatty slacks. For a second he wondered why this man of all people happened to end up in front of him getting shot. Then the thought was gone and his mind returned to the important task of getting the man off his person.

"Oh for goodness sake, if you value your life, move!" John finally cursed, bracing his whole body against the one above. Unfortunately it was already too late. His stalker had arrived at the scene, face still partly hidden by his cap, but the gun in his hand was rather obvious. The attacker kept a smart distance to the still threatening dog, though unlike the last two attackers, this one was not afraid of the raging animal.

He raised his gun. John of course expected it to be pointed at him. Therefore it came as an utter surprise, when he realised that it was not aimed at him, but at the unfortunate jogger, lying above him. Their attacker was chuckling rather cruelly, too.

"Knew I would get the rat out in the open if I tempt with the right kind of cheese", the man exclaimed in a triumphant, dark voice. "I knew it! I knew you fooled us all. You're alive!"

There was an uncomfortable crazy light in the eyes of the assaulter, but also a cold, calculated gleam John did not like at all. Before he could become totally confused about what that maniac was talking about, their encounter was interrupted by another voice.

"John, what the hell is going on here?"

Greg Lestrade was standing not too far away, his gun out, pointed helplessly at the stranger, confusion written all over his face. John of course only now remembered that the D.I. must have waited in front of his flat for their usual Saturday evening meeting, meaning he certainly heard and recognised the gunshot for what it was.

"Detective Inspector Lestrade", the attacker drawled, voice unimpressed and his eyes never leaving John and the jogger on the ground. "If you would be so kind to put your gun down unless you wish for dear Dr. Watson here to be shot down from my hidden sniper friend, no matter how much this one tries to protect him with his own body."

"Sniper?" Greg asked incredulously, but John simply nodded, confirming the other's words. Grinding his teeth, the D. I. put the gun to the ground while the former army doctor returned his confused gaze towards their assaulter.

"What are you talking about?" he wanted to know because in all honesty, why should a stranger who was, as it now seemed, not so accidentally shot, protect him from harm?

"In a moment", the man replied gleefully, his gun suddenly no longer levelled at them but at the growling dog who had not moved an inch away from its protective stance in front of them. "I just need to get rid of the trash."

The jogger made a very strange sound within his throat just as the man was about to shoot. To John's greatest relief he did not hit his target. The gunshot echoed along the street but the English Pointer already moved, running down the street as fast as it could until it was out of sight.

He did not even wonder about the strange, non-protective behaviour so unlike their last time. Instead the doctor was simply relieved that his friend had not been hit. Clucking in disapproval, their attacker focused his gaze on them once more.

"Oh well, too bad I would have loved to kill that beast that wounded one of my best snipers", he commented, voice uncaring. "Though, of course between that piece of shit and my biggest prize, I guess I don't really care at all."

"What the fucking hell are you talking about?" Greg and John now questioned at the same time, both of them getting rather frustrated with the ranting of what seemed to be a lunatic. An armed, very dangerous lunatic.

The shooter did not seem to care, because his gaze was still fixed on the jogger, draped right over John's body. The man had gone still by now, his groaning stopped and it dawned on the doctor that he seemed to be totally focused on their assaulter, even if he did not turn around.

"Honestly, you were clever, really clever, I give you that", the gunman drawled, posture lazy and superior. "If I didn't know better I would certainly have fallen for the poor jogger accidentally crossing path with the dear doctor and getting hit instead. But I anticipated that move, mister. In fact I ordered my men to become careless two weeks ago so you would become aware I was watching Dr. Watson. I knew you were keeping an eye on him, therefore I was sure you would notice and take action. I am very pleased to see that I was right."

"And why the hell would you be watching me?" John interrupted feed up with being in the dark and listening to the confusing ranting. "Who the hell are you anyway?"

Their attacker spared him a haughty glance before returning his gaze right back to the wounded jogger.

"Oh please Dr. Watson, do you think for a second that this man there simply happened to come by just when I ordered my sniper to shoot you? One might believe that, I admit, if it weren't for the fact that any other accidentally hit and harmless person would have thrown themselves to the ground or behind a person for cover afraid for their miserable life. This one however did not only calculate falling right against you, he also dragged his body precise over yours, acting as a human shield to protect you from further harm."

Grinning, the gunman licked his lips, a rather predatory glint entering his eyes before he continued with a triumphant voice.

"I could not think of a lot of people taking a bullet for you, protecting you with their own life like that. In fact there is only one I trust to do that, just as my boss has warned me. Let it not be said, that Jim Moriarty did not take precaution for any case scenario, even after his own death, to ensure that his will would be seen through."

The man made a short pause, his malicious grin obvious proof that he knew very well what kind of impact the name Jim Moriarty had on John and Greg. While all the D. I. could do was take in a sharp intake of breath in shock, John was not so lucky. His eyes widened as memories unbidden were triggered by the hateful name, reminding him after just such a short time about the events that eventually lead to his best friend jumping from the roof of Barth's.

He would have certainly gone lost within his dark back flashes if it were not for the sudden pressure on his arm and waist. Blinking John found the jogger had let go of his bleeding arm and was instead embracing him rather forcefully, one hand buried and squeezed into his side, the other grabbing onto his arm until both body parts hurt from the pressure. The move was surprising but it grounded the doctor rather nicely, returning him to the present.

As soon as his mind was back, the jogger seemed to know and released him immediately. He also finally lifted his head from where it had been buried against John's chest, head to the side focused on their attacker so all the doctor could see was part of the askew hood and parts of curly, ginger coloured hair.

The gun man was obviously satisfied with the shock he caused and finally continued.

"As for my name, Mr. Watson, you would not know me", he drawled haughtily. "I am Colonel Sebastian Moran. I am or better, have been, the right hand of someone you certainly knew though. Remember my boss, Jim Moriarty?"

Moran, as he introduced himself, laughed viciously when all John could do was grind his teeth in blind, frustrated anger.

"It's a pleasure to finally meet eye to eye, Dr. Watson. Though you don't know of me, I certainly know of you. I already saw you twice at gunpoint. Once in an old swimming pool - I am sure you remember just as dearly as I do - and the second time was of course when you were unsuspectingly standing in front of St. Barth's hospital, trying ineffectively to prevent your friend from jumping to his death. I was the one ordered to shoot you if Sherlock Holmes did not commit suicide on that very day."

John's mind was reeling strongly after every terrible explanation he just heard out of that awful man's mouth. He was barely able to comprehend, to understand what he heard. For some agonising long seconds that felt endless, his mind screamed 'ordered to shoot if Sherlock Holmes did not commit suicide' again and again, until he was filled with white noise. He was rather glad he was already lying on the ground because the former army doctor was sure he would have been unable to stand after this shocking revelation.

However, Moran it seemed was not done shocking him at all because his eyes nearly drilled on the figure of the jogger still draped around the doctor's body as he added rather nastily.

"But of course I am certain you already deduced that I have been the one ordered to assassination Dr. John Watson, have you not, Mr. Holmes?"

From the corner of his eyes John noticed Lestrade gaping at their attacker, while someone made a rather strange sounding choking noise. It took him some time to realised it was himself. Moran was looking expectantly at the jogger draped over the doctor's body, his eyes cruel and calculating.

Finally the injured man lifted himself slowly from John's body. He stood up, but never abandoning his protective stance in front of the doctor while his face gazed at the space between John and Moran.

"One and a half month", was the calm response that rather suddenly came out of his mouth. He didn't sound like someone suffering from a fresh shot wound. In fact, he sounded rather bored. And that voice, that achingly familiar voice sent shivers down John's body as he lay on the ground trying not to hyperventilate. Oh yes, that voice, that dark, rich, overconfident voice, he knew it very well. It followed him into his dreams for months, never really left him alone even after more than one year had gone by since he had last spoken to that man.

On Moran's face waved a flicker of uncertainty at hearing the man speaking so relaxed, but he quickly covered his confusion behind a mask of wild triumph.

"What exactly is one and a half month?" he casually demanded to know from the jogger. From his point of view, John was barely able to make out the face, but he could see a hint of muscle movements and he knew, he just KNEW the man was giving a quick, supposedly humourless smile.

"You, watching John", he answered haughtily before he turned in one swift movement, facing Moran fully. "You might have given instructions for your people to show themselves two weeks ago, but I've known they were there even before that time. In fact, the sudden sloppy way of concealment made it obvious that this was supposed to be a trap. Honestly even an idiot would have realised that."

A flicker of irritation darted over Moran's face before he snorted and pointed his gun more threateningly at the injured man.

"And yet you still ran into the trap with open arms. So tell me, who is the true idiot, Mr. Sherlock Holmes?"

"Just because I deduced what you were up to didn't mean I had the means necessary to put all your men out in one go", came the answer accompanied with a careless shrug. "I had to be careful taking them out, to watch you from the shadows to make sure you would not become alert and attack John when I could not protect him.

"To be frank, your henchmen were laughingly easy. It were those two fellow snipers of yours that gave me a bit more of a challenge. In fact, your last one I was only able to take out with your kind help just now, Mr. Moran."

The gunman looked shocked at his words, before he started to scowl, baring his teeth.

"And what do you think you could do now, with my gun pointed at you and my fellow sniper pointing his gun at your dear Doctor Watson?" Moran spat, eyes murderous. "In fact I could simply order them to shoot Doctor Watson right now, how would you like that? It would be just punishment for surviving when you were supposed to die, Holmes. Three lives for yours, that was the deal you had with Moriarty. I think it's fair to say that you did not keep your end of the bargain."

Silence hung around them for a moment, as John tried to absorb the words and the meaning it contained. Accordingly at first it had been his life at stake. That much he understood from the past words Moran had spoken at the beginning. But it seemed now that there had been even more at stake that fateful day, than he was just now beginning to suspect.

He watched in astonishment as the man in front of him, that stranger who was no stranger at all, moved his head barely towards him, then let his eyes flicker to Greg. It was obvious from the widening of the D. I.'s eyes that not only had he noticed the movement as well but also understood their meaning. So Greg had been the second person whose life had been in danger. And they had never suspected.

Before he had a chance to further process the knowledge, Sherlock - as he had by now no doubt the man indeed was - turned his attention back to Moran. Moreover while John finally decided to get up from the ground he saw Sherlock smile at the henchman of Jim Moriarty.

"Please, by all means give your fellow the signal to shoot", the Consulting Detective drawled. "Let's see what happens, shall we?"

Those overconfident words certainly upset the gunman, making him waver for precious seconds before he found his footing again.

"Of course", he snarled, "it will be my pleasure. Let's see if you are quick enough to jump in front of your little friend for a second time."

Moran moved the arm not holding a gun. John and Greg held their breaths, waiting for the sound of a shot to be heard, waiting for the impact into flesh to happen while Sherlock stood stock still, head held proud and confident.

Nothing happened. There was no shot, no cry of injury, no pain John had expected to feel. Finally the corner of Sherlock's mouth twitched into his all too familiar one second smirk before he moved his arm where John now realised he had been holding a mobile phone all the time.

"All I needed was a shot and its impact to calculate the angle and deduce the position of your sniper friend. While my back was turned, I texted the coordinates to my companions, trusting them to take care of the problem. It seems they were successful, don't you agree?"

Confidently he put his phone away while Moran seethed with fury. Afterwards Sherlock strangely enough clapped into his hands two times before smiling at Moran challengingly.

"So, want to give up now, before you get hurt, Mr. Moran?"

Snarling the gunman pointed his weapon towards the confident Consulting Detective.

"You seem to forget that I still have a gun that I can use, Mr. Holmes", he shouted.

"Don't be absurd", Sherlock responded dismissively. "There are three of us and only one of you. What could you do? You would be down before you would be able to produce a second shot."

"Oh but at least one shot means one kill, don't you agree?" was the vicious reply. "It would be enough to fulfil my promise to Moriarty. I could kill you. Or better, I could kill your dear Dr. Watson. How would you like that, Mr. Holmes?"

From his point of view John was not able to see much of the other man's reaction. However, he did notice the slight stiffening of shoulders. What he also saw was the strange hand movement, just flickering of wrist while the arm was held down. It looked funnily enough like a 'stop' sign, though Moran did not seem to realise what Sherlock was doing.

It took John another moment, but then he finally understood what the hand movement was all about. There, nearly hidden behind a fence, was the English Pointer the doctor knew all too well. It must have crept up to the gunman, but at Sherlock's discrete signal the dog had stopped, now waiting for further command.

It occurred to the former army doctor that very second just who the owner of the dog must be and he could barely believe it. Not that he had a lot of time to process his realisation. While Greg had been watchful, tensely waiting for the right moment, the very second he could take action, Sherlock had made sure Moran's eyes were on him just where he needed the gunman's concentration to be.

Stepping forward now, Moran could not help himself taking a step back, trying to keep the distance between them. Snarling when he realised what he had done, Moriarty's former henchman turned his attention to John, pointing the gun right between the doctor's eyes.

"Another move and your friend will be done, Holmes!" the angry man snarled, eyes indicating that he was willing to go through with this threat. Sherlock obeyed, but not moving his body did not mean he could not speak. Giving a side glance towards John before turning his attention back to Moran, the doctor noticed the rather familiar one second smirk on the other man's face, as if their attacker had done something really amusing.

"I've warned you, Mr. Moran, but I guess it was obvious this could not be helped", the Consulting Detective exclaimed voice uncaring. Eyes never leaving Moran's face, Sherlock spoke his next words clear and commanding. "Watson, ready for attack!"

For a moment a flicker of disbelief settled over the gunman's face, while Greg and John were simply confused. Somehow, the former army doctor had the feeling the command was not meant for him, which would have been strange anyway because of the way Sherlock used his name.

Moran started to laugh, his gaze flickering between John and Sherlock as if they were both stupid.

"Attack?" the gunman questioned amused. "How stupid have you become, Mr. Holmes? I am starting to suspect that the shot wound is finally messing with that brilliant mind of yours if you think for a second that I leave your pathetic friend enough time to even move a muscle never mind hitting me."

"And this is where it becomes obvious that Moriarty certainly kept you simply for brute strength and the dirty work", snorted Sherlock in a rather superior voice. "Because, if you were intelligent enough you would have done your homework about the relationship between John and me. We have always called each other by first name since the day we met, did you not know?"

"So what?" Moran replied in provocation.

"Meaning my command was not meant for Dr. Watson at all", was the rather calm reply followed by a nod of his head. "Watson, attack!"

It was as if someone put on a light bulb inside his head when John finally noticed the movement just behind Moran. And then he understood. Of course, THIS was what Sherlock had been talking about.

Nearly behind Moran now was the enraged form of the English Pointer who at the Consulting Detective's command let out a vicious snarl before it moved in a graceful jump. Moran did not even have enough time to turn fully around before the dog buried sharp teeth into the arm that held the gun.

tbc...