Madness

by The Schwa and The Umlaut

Moriarty is pushing Sherlock to the edge of insanity. Finally giving up Sherlock goes to visit and old doctor friend of John's for help, Hannibal Lecter. They develop an appreciation for each other, so much so that Hannibal decides to help Sherlock out. Meanwhile, Will Graham takes on the case of Richard Brook Based on the concept by Candy Hard (link to the video inside)

1. Chapter 1

Madness

Concept by

Harciczukor

channel/UCTrUqio_YLy5ZSdhy5dmwxA

Written By

The Schwa And The Umlaut

.com

Chapter One: Losing Control

IMPORTANT

This story was inspired by the amazing video by Harciczukor "Madness" which can be seen by clicking the link below

watch?v=be8vbdh-E4M&feature=c4-overview&list=UUTrUqio_YLy5ZSdhy5dmwxA

Disclaimer: I own nothing. Not the concept. Not the characters. Nothing.

Rated M for dark themes and violence to come later

A/N: So this is my first crossover fic, be gentle. The concept for this came from Harciczukor's video, as you might've guessed, I'd like to say thank you again for giving me permission to write this story. I hope to do it justice. All your reviews are greatly appreciated.

"I owe you a fall…"

And he dropped, plummeting down, screaming for help that would never come. It was too late. Blood splattered across the pavement. The face of Moriarty looked down with twisted pleasure.

Sherlock gasped sitting straight up in his bed. He was completely drenched in sweat and terrified.

This should not be happening, not to him, not to the great Sherlock Holmes. The Reichenbach Hero. He should not be afraid, not of a dream not of Moriarty, not of anyone or anything. But the loss of control, the complete and total helplessness that he felt in that dream frightened him more than anything he could ever imagine.

He dressed quickly and walked out into the living room of 221b as if nothing had happened. He was good at that, hiding things, suppressing them. Sometimes his façade would go so deep that he almost believed it was true.

Lately, however, he had begun to find it harder and harder to suppress things. Moriarty always had a way of creeping back up into his thoughts. It was distracting and annoying, and he wanted it to stop. He wanted to regain control.

"What's up with you lately?" asked John.

"What do you mean?"

"You know what I mean. You've always been unusual but you've, never been this on edge," John explained.

"Sherlock?" he called out when Sherlock didn't respond. "Fine. Don't tell me, but don't think I don't know something's wrong with you."

"Honestly, John, I have no idea what you're talking about. There's no need for you to be so dramatic," Sherlock scoffed.

"Seriously, even you have to be bothered by how Moriarty's messing with us," insisted John.

"Me," Sherlock corrected. "He's messing with me. You have little to nothing to do with this."

"Look, if you want to go through this alone, fine, but you don't have to be such a dick to someone who just wants to help," John said as he grabbed his coat and left.

"What?" Sherlock muttered to himself. He let out a shaky breath, when he heard the sound of the door slamming shut. He couldn't let himself show any signs of weakness to anyone, especially not John. It would only lead to trouble, and if that meant he ended up pushing people away, fine, it was probably for the best anyway. He turned over on the couch and stared at the stitching until he dosed off again.

He was standing on the top of a tall building overlooking nothing. Just blackness spanned out before him. There was just the building that he was standing on, nothing else. Usually Sherlock liked being on high places. He enjoyed being able to observe everything without anyone seeing him, but now he felt nervous, scared. He could feel someone watching him but he couldn't see them and that made him feel violated.

"Hello Sherlock," a sing-song voice called out.

"Come out," Sherlock ordered. "Only cowards hide in the shadows. Come out!"

"How could I ignore such a friendly invitation," chimed Moriarty as he emerged from behind a smokestack.

"What do you want with me now?" asked Sherlock, trying his hardest to feign boredom.

"I already told you Sherlock."

And with a blind shot to the head, a blur of a coat, and a push, Moriarty had Sherlock dangled over the edge.

"I owe you a fall."

And he let go.

"SHERLOCK!" shouted John. "Sherlock! Wake up!"

"Wha-what?" Sherlock stuttered. He was breathing very shallowly as he quickly wiped his eyes.

"Sherlock, what's happened to you?" asked John carefully.

"Nothing. Nothing's happened to me," he insisted.

"No, no I know you. You've never been like this," John protested. "You've never woken up screaming in the middle of the night before. Oh yeah, I've heard you before. You're not fooling me, no matter how calm and collected you pretend to be. What was it? What happened? It couldn't have been that little girl screaming at you. Please Sherlock!"

"It's none of your business." Sherlock pushed John away.

"Fine, but if you're not going to talk to me tell someone else, please," John begged. "Look, there's this old doctor that I know. He helped me with my shoulder a few times when I got shot. He changed his practice to psychiatry, please, Sherlock, just talk to him once."

"Fine, if it'll get you to leave me alone I'll do it," Sherlock relented. "But I assure you it is a waste of time and money."

"I'll schedule an appointment for you then," John muttered almost to himself. Now he was really worried. The Sherlock he knew wouldn't just give into things that easily, especially not something like going to see a psychiatrist.

"What's his name?" asked Sherlock.

"What?"

"The psychiatrist," he spat as if the word had a bitter taste to it. "What's his name?"

"Hannibal Lecter," John replied and walked out of the room.