Chapter Thirty

Now, Moriarty is dead, for real."  Sherlock was explaining everything to me.  "He rigged that building to fall on us, but it ended up falling on him, instead."

"But where did Lydia come in?" I asked.

"Moriarty was testing her, I'm pretty sure.  Brought in horrible stalkers to see how she put up with them.  Then, he didn't need them, anymore, so he shot them-"

"So that was Moriarty who shot them?"

"Yes, of course.  Then, he started stalking her, himself, just to see how good she was.  He wasn't going to kill her until he was done, though."

"When'll he be done?"

"I think he already is.  He's dead.  She still could get murdered, though, since she led us to Scottie.  We wouldn't have found it on our own."

"But Moriarty let us in, himself."

"Yes, but, he was testing to see if Lydia would lead us there."

Sherlock took a breath, and looked really tired. 

I asked more questions. "Did you know Sherrinford was a spy?"

"Yes.  I set it up.  I needed more information about what Moriarty was up to."

"But he could have gotten killed."

Sherlock held up a pack of markers.  "If he still gets killed, he knows he did the one thing he promised to do."

I tried to understand everything, but I don't think I'll ever understand it all.

We never heard from Lydia ever since she helped us get Scottie back, not until she sent Sherlock a text when Scottie was eight years old.

From: LydiaMr. Holmes:I need help.  Im gettin killedPleaseLydia

Sherlock muttered stuff while he read it.  Then, Lydia sent the address of which she was at: an old parking lot.

Sherlock wanted to go, even though he didn't care.  Maybe he felt a little heroic that day, or maybe he was just really bored.  Whatever it was, he still took me to go save her.

When we arrived, we couldn't see anything at first.  But we heard voices, mocking voices.

"Move your body up, Lydia!"

"Yeah, move it up!"

"Move it!"

"Move your body up, Ly-dy-a!"

I was confused.  Was this a murder, or a sex session?

We got out of the car, and walked up to the scene.

My eyes were on Sherlock, so I did not see at first.  He stopped and stared, his mouth slightly open.

I turned my head, and I saw it: a big red rocket with a large rope protruding out of the back.  Tied to the glossy finish was Lydia.  There were tracks on her cheeks showing the tears of fright she must have cried.

Lydia turned and saw us, and a glimmer of hope appeared in her eyes.  The hope soon died as a man came up, a lighter in his hand.  He lit the rope, and the sparkling sound filled my ears.

I looked back up at Sherlock.  I saw him gulp.

As the crackles of the fuse droned on in the background, I disappeared into my thoughts.  I always knew it would end like this, and there was nothing Sherlock could do.

I felt Sherlock take hold of my hand suddenly and squeeze it.  Sadness flooded through me as I knew what he was thinking.  Sherlock had always pushed Lydia away.  He didn't care if she died, but that was what was happening right now.  It was too late. 

Sherlock could not save Lydia.  We showed up too late.  Of all of these things we tried to help her with, all of these years, gone.  She was still going to die.

I leaned on Sherlock and thanked God that Scottie was safe in his bed.

Suddenly, I felt nothing.  We watched the rope shrink and shrink.  The assassins chuckled and slapped their knees.  I then remembered when Sherlock told me when Jim Moriarty said, "And honey you should see me in a crown".   I know now that Moriarty did have the crown, even if he was dead.

The spark grew larger.

The crackling grew louder.

I closed my eyes.  I focused on Sherlock's unsteady breath on my head. 

The roaring I heard that night will never leave my ears.

But all was well, because I felt absolutely nothing.