Summary: Sherlock and John face off against Moriarty in another Poolside Battle to the Death.
Fandom: BBC's Sherlock
Word Count: ~250
A/N: Totally inspired by ladyofthelog. Crackfic ahoy!
"Haiiiiiiiiii. Oh my gawd, you guys have been like tracking me all over France and like blowing up my shit. I hate it when people blow up my shit. But I'm too fierce for you, Sherlock. You got that?" He snaps his fingers, his wrist bent at a perfectly obnoxious angle. "My master plan to make you cray cray by preying on your repressed homosexuality is now upon us. You're too late." He raises his fists into the air and begins to laugh with irrepentently evil delight. "Mwahahaha! You're too LATE!"
Terrified, John rushes to Sherlock's side; time slows and his warning shout echoes with the force of a thundercloud. "NOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOO!
But John is indeed too late. Sherlock gasps, overcome by his torrential sexual frustration for which he knows no release. He falls to his knees, slumps to the side and lies prostrate on the wet concrete.
John frantically checks for vital signs. The scent of chlorine stings his nostrils. Then he whimpers, "Sherlock. No..."
"See, I told you sooooo," Moriarty sing-songs. Grinning happily, he buffs his fingernails on his jacket shoulder, then delicately flicks off a speck of lint. A slight tap on his other shoulder has him turning to spy Sherlock standing behind him. "But—but—you're—you're—" Moriarty does a double take where John is kneeling on the concrete. "You're not?"
"Little did you know John blew me only an hour ago," Sherlock informs him, then punches him in the nose.
John gives Sherlock an approving nod. "Oh, that rhymes. Good one."