(I AM BACK after a long absence. My writing is a little rusty as it has not been in use very much. I hope you still enjoy!)

It had been a game, a vaguely amusing one even, until John Watson walked out of the swimming pool changing room and started talking in Moriarty's voice, throwing everything Sherlock knew on his head. Sherlock couldn't remember the last time he had felt so surprised, and… and then, the redhead strode into the room flipping her hair over her shoulders. She turned on her heels and flashed Sherlock a quick smile as she crossed her arms.

"Hello," She said, raising her eyebrow, "I'm assuming that is a gun in your pocket and this isn't turning you on in any way." She bounced on the balls of her feet and pursed her lips.

Sherlock blinked quickly, pale eyes taking in the cock of her head and confident (overconfident?) attitude. He inhaled quickly and pulled out his gun but made no motion of cocking the barrel. "Depends on your definition of 'turned on'," he growled. John flinched, and Sherlock glanced at him, then swung his head back to who he was beginning to suspect was Moriarty. It was a little odd, the criminal's style had suggested male rather than female, but he couldn't afford to quibble at the moment.

John pushed back the coat with trembling hands, and Sherlock saw the flashing lights and the semtex. A bright red dot flew over the walls of the room and landed on his chest.

"I have the Bruce Partington Plans," Sherlock said, his mouth going dry. He held the thumb drive above his head. "I assume this is what you want. Moriarty, is it?"

The red-head rolled her eyes and brushed her hair away from her face. "Uh, no. Well, I suppose I'm Moriarty right now, but you can call me Amy. Who the hell is Bruce Partington anyway?"

Sherlock blinked. Surely the criminal master-mind would at least be aware of the existence of the plans to Britain's weapons system?

Amy scuffed her shoe against the tile of the floor. "And why the hell do we have to meet at a swimming pool. Is this supposed to be dramatic or something?" She hesitated, and then tapped at something in her ear. John frowned and looked to Sherlock, and then back at Amy. Even Sherlock was confused. Either this girl was NOT Moriarty, or she was going out of her way to convince him that she wasn't, which made very little sense. This was the big showdown for god's sake. John was in a green coat with fur that didn't suit him at all with blinking lights and enough plastic explosives to make the scar on his shoulder look as though the gun in Afghanistan had been trying to give him a goodbye kiss.

"Oh! Right! Carl Powers. Yeah, thanks." Amy grinned, apparently updated on information. "There is way too much testosterone in this building to suite me. All right. Yes, I am a criminal master mind. I'd laugh evilly but I think you get the general idea. And I have you and John here hostage. I'm about to blow you up, so I'm sure you're all very frightened. You know, that's the most rubbish death threat I've ever heard," she said, suddenly talking over John and Sherlock's shoulder. Another red laser point flashed around John's chest, squiggling in a whimsical fashion.

"Interesting," Sherlock murmured. "She's a hostage herself. But why would a hostage critique her captor?"

John didn't dare open his mouth, but his expression was turning skeptical. He was looking in the same direction as the girl, straining to see who she was talking to, but any accomplices were well hidden in the shadows.

"Oi, Stupid-face! Make sure he's holding it steady. I don't fancy this stand up getting out of my hands and poodle boy down here shooting me. No offense," She turned to Sherlock, "But your hair is REALLY curly. How long do you take with it in the morning?"

Sherlock looked a bit peeved, and straightened his shirt with one hand, but didn't respond.

The girl sighed. "Okay, okay, okay. Now, here I am, about to blow you to pieces. You may both talk. Do you have anything to say to each other before you go?"

Both Sherlock and John looked at her skeptically. The whole hostage situation was beginning to look decidedly less scary than irritating. In the quiet, John carefully began to unbutton his jacket, trying not to make any sudden movements that would draw Amy's attention to him. His arm was out of his sleeve before Amy noticed.

Amy crossed her arms and looked up over Sherlock's head again. "Boys! I need back up!"

"Coming wife!" Something splashed into the pool, probably about the size of a fist. Come to think of it, John had heard that sound before.

There was a split second before his soldier instincts set in. "Grenade!" he yelled. He tore off his semtex vest, tossed it toward the water, and took a running jump at Sherlock, shoving him down and covering him with his body. Sherlock tensed and went very, very still, bracing himself for the explosion.

"I love you," he murmured into his madman's ear before…

Nothing.

John rocked backwards, looking frantically around the room. "Shit!" he hissed, as he realized there was no-one there.

Sherlock slowly stood up, straightening his suit jacket. "As I suspected," he said, triumphantly, "a bluff. Not a very clever one, either, though the kidnapping and the vest did have you fooled, John."

John stood, and stumbled before kneeling again. His breath was coming out in quick gasps. Why was Sherlock scratching his head with a gun? The idiot hadn't even heard what John had said, did he? Well, it was probably for the best. Nutter probably wouldn't know love if it bit him in the round cushy arse.

The gun rooted around the detective's curls a little more vigorously, and finally Sherlock cleared his throat. "By the way. That thing you did. And said. It was. Good."

John looked down at his feet blushing. "Right. Okay. Ta then. Good thing nobody heard me. Me, saying I love you, in a darkened swimming pool. People might talk."

The assertion rang empty, and Sherlock gazed at him blankly for a moment before he gave a crooked smile. "People do little else."