*4*
Its not my fault. Its not my fault. Its not my fault.
"Don't be such a baby!"
Not my fault. Not my fault. Not my fault.
"Come on! Slow down, will ya!"
It just can't be... My fault...
"Gotcha!"
He got me...
I draw scratchy breaths through flaked lips. Crimson fluid leaks down the soft curve of my chin making strange splattered patterns every time I try to gasp or sputter. I spit but the more I force out the more it comes.
"Shhhhh, Its all right, Its all over now." He cooes in my ear. He is close, leaning over me, I wonder if he is smiling.
"All over..." Everything seems to fade. The gravel loses its dark colour, the stretching road doesn't seem so far any more, I know it must be close to my end. My eyes close without permission and I try to break them open again but they only flutter uselessly shut. I realise something I didn't want to.
It really is... All my fault.
*7*
"Here lies Gregory Lestrade. Loved one." The cemetery entertains a smooth breeze in the summer heat, cicadas whistling in the surrounding tree's not daring to create a moments silence. Its peaceful in a way.
"I told to you to slow down." Moriarty murmurs solemnly. He stands awkwardly for a moment as if he were a passer-by waiting for a person to tell him the time of day. He drops a bucay of forget-me-not's with a flop and turns on his heel towards a sleek black vehicle. With a few rhythmic taps on the window it rolls down.
"Agent James Moriarty." He scoffs for a moment chewing his bottom lip. "Please, you know that's only a code name Mycroft, don't play with me here."
"My apologies." The man smiles, "Your next mission has arrived. I believe you will finish it without problem, Mr. Richard?" Another code name they use for him. This means he will be taking a quieter approach. He hates being a puppet, a pawn in a conspiracy but he is whoever they want him to be. He will be Moriarty, Richard, Sebastian, a librarian or sleeper agent. He will be what they wish of him because he is but a simple piece of property. A wisp of smoke. An explosion. But to himself... Perhaps an empty shell.
"I hope I wont be bothering your brother again." He rubs the back of his neck like a child. "You know I dislike making him upset." The smile on Mycrofts face disappears in an instant.
"You will do as you are told."
"Yes, sir." Moriarty replies with a troubled expression. He knows he will. With a last glance to the cicada filled grave yard he leaves a silent goodbye and better wishes for the next life. He wished he knew if there was a next life, and if so to be quickly apart of it. He always wanted a second chance at life. At owning his own life. At living in general. Being a moldable mass to your rulers... Well... That wasn't much of living at all.
"Did you enjoy your visit?" Mycroft asks on a lighter note, knowing the situation has gone in his favour.
"Yeah..."
"Good."
With a last thought, Moriarty sighed putting on his game face. Today he would see Sherlock again. Sherlock would be angrey with him for "Kidnapping" John for the third time. Oh how he grew tired of this game. How he wished for anything else.
*3*
My eyes come into focus with a jolt. PST shakes up my limbs bringing panic to my thoughts that I quickly silence. I have to stay calm, bring some clarity to the situation. Where is the threat. My eyes flick to and fro and spot Jim Moriarty. Okay, stay calm. I am on the floor of a moving vehicle, behind the two front seats of what seems to be a small car. Jim stares out the side window of the back seat with his chin resting on a propped up fist. I expect him to wear a bored expression or manic like he was going to scream with laughter at another success but he just stares quietly, almost... Sadly? That can't be right. I feel my bound wrists and grimace, Sherlock must be panicking at this point. Or would he? I was going "out". Damn my vagueness. I was a doctor for gods sake, and not just any, a solider too!
"Oh, you're awake." Moriarty says softly to me still not removing himself from his previous position. I glare the best I can, not wanting to give the slightest indication I was horrified he knew I was concious. He seems so... Sad. Like he doesn't want to be in this car driving me to god knows where. Just down. I frown as he studies my face with the same soft sorrow. It was almost a gentle expression. We arrive at the destination as the car comes to a stop, the door by my head opening instantaneously.
"I am sorry, John." I hear him whisper and freeze as a bulky pair of thugs drag me out of the car. Did he just? What the hell was going on here! It had to be a trick, he was messing with my mind. I struggle futilely against the men only making them drop me forcefully on the ground and pick me back up roughly again.
Moriarty coughs quietly to my side and pulls a wide grin.
"Its show time!" and I wonder who he is trying to fool, me or himself? The depressed expression sinks beneath the perfect mask that is Moriarty until he becomes the mad man again. Who was the other man in the car and why did he become Moriarty? Perhaps that was a question only Sherlock could answer and it was my time to help fight. I would do anything for that man. Moriarty would pay, he had to! So why was that expression still nagging at the back of my mind? Sorry for what?
*6*
Moriarty crushes the aluminium can in his fist, dropping it in a recycling can with a plunk. He spots a double sided park bench and sits on the opposite side of a hunched man reading a news paper from under a thick brimmed hat. He was Sebastian today, dyed blonde curls hooding his face from the sun over a thin veil of stubble down his jaw. Silently he pops in two ear-buds brushing off crumbs of a toasted bagel off his white wife beater, rustling dog tags from some guy who was locked up in an East Asian prison somewhere with the same name. The blue contacts itch his eyes as he is too used to being Moriarty where he was without them. The man seated on the bench behind him murmurs quietly.
"My, the weather is nice today."
"So I've noticed, Mycroft."
The man chuckles. "Why yes. You were assigned to be Sebastian today weren't you?"
"Just playing the part." He sighs quietly back, slowly taking out a large salted pretzel from a bag, feeling its warmth.
"Your hits have been sent via system 5788 Joel Bringing hawser. Understood?"
"Roger." Sebastian quips back.
Mycroft gets up to leave but stands for a moment noticing Sebastian has more to say.
"How much longer... Do I have to do this?"
"Is it really getting on your concious that much? It never bothered you before."
"These people are... Special Mycroft." He says quietly.
"Why do you think the government does this?"
"To moderate and contain threats to the public, a.k.a themselves."
"Exactly."
"Its your brother, Mycroft!" He tries, crying out maybe a little too loudly.
"You don't think I know that!" Mycroft spits. "Do as you're told!"
"You can't tell me you want this to happen, do you?"
"Since when did you gain an opinion!"
Sebastian stays silent.
"Don't tell me you have fallen for one of them?"
Sebastian's hand clenches into a fist. "Of course not..."
"Then you know what you are to do."
"Yes... Sir."
Sebastian is left alone in the park, where he silently frowns at his hand. When did he start feeling so strongly about this situation? When did he start to care? If he was feeling again then that could only mean one thing. His end was surely near. A Checkers piece that questions its masters move will be sacrificed to further the cause in a heartbeat. He is to find a way to get back to the way he acts usually or... Perish. Such is the fate of a pawn.
"God Damn it!"
*8*
"Mycroft Homes. You have failed your mission." The man shivers on the ground, grasping his detached arm. "How do you plead?"
"G-guilty, sir..." He can make out from the side.
"Agent Moriarty do you confirm this notion?"
"Yes, sir." He replies quietly.
"Then on the account of saving your brother Sherlock Holmes and obstructing Agent Moriarty's mission of eradicating this threat you are to be executed under Code 68837. Do you accept these conditions?"
"Yes, s-sir..."
"Commence." The intercom sounds. Moriarty's eyes close, sending off a round from his pistol. The man falls to the floor soaking it with blood from his arm and newly created hole above the frontal lobe of his skull. Moriarty lets out a breath. Mycroft chose this end for himself. He saved Sherlock from the fall. Sherlock saved John who in turn helped Irene. And Moriarty was left to clean up the mess.
*5*
"Who are you really, Moriarty!" He wondered that on a daily basis too. Who was the man of a thousand faces?
"John Watson, you have been sentenced to death as of her majesties secret court of Star Chambers." He delivered as he had many times before with an even sorrowful voice. "I am required to ask how you plead to this accusation."
"Star.. What? That was resolved ages ago!" The seasoned man spouts angrily. Sherlock quickly pushes himself out of the taxi they hired, frowning.
"If you fail to comply with an adequate answer, the sentence will go through without re-evaluation." To demonstrate this Moriarty cocks his gun.
"L-Lestraude!" John cries out gaping in shock at the bleeding man by Moriarty's feet. In exactly five minutes the inspector would be dead. He wonders why it took so long for John to notice the man in the first place. It was odd considering the doctors viewpoint on such matters. Sherlock stands beside John in defiance.
"Not guilty!" Sherlock growls.
Suddenly Moriarty, Sebastian, Whoever! Grows so tired of this. He wishes he could simply drag himself off of this deserted road caked in blood and do something, anything other than this. Than watching these people. Than feeling this sadness. Than loving this man.
"Understood..." He feels ill. Putting away the gun he turns around walking down the empty street.
"Wait!" He hears but it becomes muffled by Sherlock's hand. "Lestraude first." He murmurs quietly.
He wishes he could sleep. Most of all... He wishes he could finish all of this and just... Exist again.
*9*
"So you're an Agent of the government?"
"Yes."
"You killed Lestraude." John growls holding the gun pointing at Moriarty tighter.
"Yes." He replies in the same dead panned manner. "Will you shoot me now? Kill me? End my life?" Oh. He hoped...
John shakes his head, moving the gun to his side. "No."
"Why?" It comes out as a sigh.
"I have a feeling, its worse for you alive than dead."
Smart boy. "How do you know?"
"Its written on your face. You don't want to do this."
"Then kill me." He pleads.
"Do it yourself."
He lets out a bitter smile. "It wouldn't mean anything if I did."
John closes his eyes. "Why don't you want to do this?"
Moriarty frowns. "I don't know... Something about you all... Makes me want you to live. It reminds me of why... I wanted to live."
"Is that why Mycroft is dead? Because you killed him for saving Sherlock?"
"Partly, yes."
Quick as a spring John shoots next to Moriarty's foot. "Then run damn it! Run before I change my mind!"
He doesn't even flinch. With a swift turn he leaves. Why does everything have to turn out this way? With Moriarty running away? Not facing what he is supposed to? When would he tell John, the real reason why?
*10*
"Moriarty..."
"Would you ever believe me if I said I loved Lestrade?"
John shakes his head and Moriarty smiles.
"I should have known..." He coughs noisily, clutching his abdomen.
"Don't move." John is searching him, pressing down in places, sewing him up. "You'll live."
Moriarty smiles. "No I won't."
"I won't let them get you."
"What about sherlock? Isn't he your boyfriend or something?" Moriarty hacks out a shuttering laugh.
"You took a bullet for me, I am not letting you die for that."
"You should..." He states quietly. "I am an evil mastermind after all."
"No... You're just a puppet."
"That's putting it lightly, love."
"I am not your-" Sherlock approaches through the rubble with a frown.
"John."
"Sherlock, he saved my life!"
Sherlock looks over Moriarty disapprovingly.
Moriarty smiles. "I told him to let me die. Not my fault he went off on his own."
Sherlock nods. "We have to get out of here John."
"Not without him."
Sherlock grabs an arm motioning for John to grab the other. With a pull they make it up.
"Come on guys... Just leave me." He states with a bitter smile.
"No!" "No." They say at the same time. Moriarty sighs. He would be dead soon enough.
*1*
"Lestrade?" Moriarty smiles. He is Richard today, and for the first time in what feels like a long time he is a sleeper agent until needed again. It is such a relief he could cry.
"Yes?" The gray haired man looks up from his paper work with a slight smile. "Is there anything I can do for you?"
"Erm... Yes. I wanted to offer my condolences for your current situation, and thank you again for what you did at the set. It was really brave!" Richard spouts uselessly, carefully setting down a pot of forget-me-not's on the inspectors desk. Earlier in the week this strange Detective barrelled through his movie set chasing a man, effectively ruining an amazing on screen performance that now had to be re-shoot. Again. Later the Inspector came back to apologise and pay for the damages from the departments own pocket. But the thing that made Richard want to help the police officer the most was Lestrade's egarness to apologise to him personally. Well the officers exceeding kindness wouldn't do, he just had to give right back.
"Not at all. And thank you." His face turns a little sorrowful and snaps Richard into gear.
"Are you doing anything tonight?" Lestrade blinks for a moment and rubs the back of his neck.
"Well... Due to the circumstances..."
"Screw your wife, honey! Lets go shopping!" Richard squeezes out. Oh it was fun to play an over exuberant character!
"Ah... Bu-"
"No buts!" He covers the mans mouth with a finger. "We are going to have fun, strawdy!"
"...Strawdy?"
"Yep, like lesturade, but more of the end mixed with a strawberry, ooohh! You have to try this cafe I went to last week, my treat!"
The man lets out a hesitant smile and nods. "Alright."
Richard grins. "We are going to have so much fun~!"
*2*
How did he end up like this? Wrapped in Lestraudes arms under the moonlight. Since when did London become so romantic?
"Lestrade?"
"Yes, Richard?"
He trails a slow finger around in circles on the grey haired mans chest. "Do you love me?" He pouts.
"Of course." No hesitation. Why does it create an ache in his heart?
"So this isn't rebound... Off of your divorced wife?"
"No. Ever since I saw you all dressed up in that make up I knew. I could never let you go." The man smiles down at him.
"Dummy! You sound so cheesy." He smiles for a minute, moving closer so he is laying on lestraudes chest fully. "But that makes me glad. It weirdly suits you." Richard taps his nose.
"Hey... Can I ask you something crazy?"
"Anything." Greg replies. He expected no less from the man.
"Lets get married."
"Of course."
Another thing expected. How it made him glad. "Okay!" He slips out two rings he nabbed while Greggory was ordering some strawberry soda. "The moon as our witness we are wed! Lets fill out the papers tomorrow." He snuggles closer.
"Lets."
"For now..." He trails two fingers up. "How about a round two?"
And like that, the sprattic love that blossoms forth from the ashes of end, exploded into everything Richard had ever wanted. But the next morning on, things started to change. The Star Chambers had called. Richard had to say goodbye to go on a business trip. The mask of fantasy and love was replaced by madness and his heart broke again.
"I love you Greg."
*11*
He is on the ground gasping. It hurts. it hurts so much more than he would think. It is not the physical pain that hurts, it is the physiologic. He is sobbing. Sobbing on the ground. Sputtering and moaning, scratching for anything other than this.
"L-Lestrade..." It hurts. Blood, leaking from his chest onto the ground.
"Lestrade, I am sorry!" He screams into the pavement. The flood gates are loose and everything comes out. Those he hurt, killed, loved, all forced through in one mighty gasp.
"I wasn't lying!" A man stands over him with the same sad deadpanned expression he wore before.
"Damn it all!" He knows he isn't going quietly like he should. But he needs this. To tell anyone, to scream to the sky so that they might hear what he truley feels.
"I love you Lestrade!" He chokes out. "I really... D-do..." The tears over come him even more, letting it bleed out. The man doesn't bother reciting the Star Chamber designated lines. The man knows he doesn't need them.
"Y-your next you know... Th-this is your fate too. See well what they will do to you when you outlive your usefulnes!" He spits through tears. Why is this wound taking so long to bleed out?
"See what happens when you are human! Do you see the pain! End the cycle!" He is coughing now clutching his chest. He is too noisy, the man will end it faster if he keeps this up.
"Please... M-make them stop... Doing this to us..." His arms and legs are shaking now, unable to hold his fragile frame up.
"Lestrade..." His arm gives out, leaving his head to smack onto the pavement.
"I always... Will love you." Flashes of the past bring more pain to his eyes. Moriarty watching through binoculars at the man from afar speaking with his co workers. Lestrade joking around with John. Sherlock standing afronted to the side only to be brought back in the circle by the middle man. Sherlock pouts but chats with John. Moriarty wishes... He could so very be apart of that group of smiling faces. Another memory, many memories of nights filled with passion. Him and Lestrade, in bed, shopping, dates, the night he killed him.
Pills, pills, pills, so many pills for the mind. To keep emotions at bay, to stay sane, to obey. None for love, none for longing, and one for belonging. Star Chambers as a child, growing up learning.
More watching of Sherlocks circle. Acting out the plots. Hurting people, so many killed by these hands.
But Lestrade is the last memory. His most treausured memory. Of the night they married on a whim. The best night.
"Greg..." The visions fade. His heart aches. His love stays forver more in a memory.
*12*
Dear Sherlock Holmes,
Dean Sullivan. Was his real name. Irish decent. Lover of Gregory Lestrade. He now lies beside the man beneath the willow in a cicada filled graveyard past the government buildings. Everyone must die at one point, it matters how you live with the death. Dean saved Lestrade's most important people. He also killed important people to himself. Regardless of this fact Dean loved so vibrantly. Loved Gregory, and will rest on in the cicada filled song of summer.
Sincerely,
A Kind observer of government schemes.
P.S. Sherlock, I am alive.
*End*
AN: Who do you think it is, Moriarty or Mycroft that wrote the letter? Or was it Lestrade? DUN DUN DUN~ haha, yeah you're right. It doesn't matter. Hope you liked it even though it sucked. Feel free to read it in order from the numbers!