Back from holidays and ready to give you guys a good time.
DISCLAIMER:
As usually, I own nothing but my OFCs Sorcha and Gloria (yes, she will be back). Sherlock Holmes belongs to ACD, Sherlock to the BBC. The songs I use belong to the respective artists. I am not making any profit, so don't sue me.
This is the series from the point of view of Jim and his people.
Title of the fic and this prologue: taken from Mike Oldfield's Moonlight Shadow.
Prologue: Would you come to talk to me this night?
He could hear her retching when he opened the front door. Retching and coughing. For a second he thought that she already knew what had happened, that somehow one of Jim's men had told her that Jim was dead, and that he wouldn't have to be the one to break the terrible news to her. Sebastian Moran was an optimist.
But when he put his rifle down next to the couch, he knew something else had made his sister sick. One of Jim's silk handkerchiefs was lying next to the couch, and as Sebastian picked it up, he noticed the smell of chloroform, faint, but still present, and traces of lipstick. So this bastard had drugged her. Of course, after that incident at the pool (fourteen months ago… time had been ticking away so fast…), it was clear that Jim hadn't trusted Sorcha anymore, and that he couldn't have risked her going after him this time. Oh God… she had no idea what he had done….
Sebastian braced himself for the screaming that would await him once he had told her and was just about to open the bathroom door when it was pushed open from the other side violently and something in-between his sister and Mozart's Queen Of The Night dashed out, fury painted in vivid colours on her face.
"You fucking mor… Oh, Bastian. I thought it was Jim." She looked awful. Eyes rimmed with red, lips swollen, pale, hair matted to her head with sweat. "This son of a bitch knocked me out. He knows exactly that I can't stomach chloroform. He has like a million different drugs at his disposal, all of which I can handle much better, but no…" She leaned against the doorframe; apparently the effort had exhausted her. "Where is he, by the way? Prancing through his town?"
"Sorcha…" No, he couldn't. Despite all her rambling, she loved him. And now he was dead. Jim Moriarty, the greatest criminal mind on this whole goddamn planet. Dead. And he, Sebastian Moran, was supposed to tell her she would never see him again. Because he didn't have a body. They couldn't even bury him. "I…" He could see the exact moment when she understood, just like he had seen the exact moment when Jim had realized his plan had failed. Jim had smiled, somehow. But the look on his sister's face was nothing but pain. "I am so sorry, Sorcha."
"He is dead?" Her voice quavered. "Sherlock killed him?"
This is getting worse by the second. "No… he… He talked to Sherlock and then…" Sebastian noticed his own voice breaking as he recounted the last seconds of Jim Moriarty's life. Good lord, when had he become so attached?
"Why?"
How would I know? "I think Sherlock discovered a flaw in his plan… Sorcha, he almost had him. Sherlock was already standing at the edge, looking down. And then he turned back to Jim… I saw them discussing… and suddenly I knew what was going to happen, and I tried, really, I ran, but I was too late…" He breathed in, breathed out. "When I got to the roof, Sherlock had jumped; I saw Watson down on the street, shaking."
"How did he do it…?"
"Sorcha, stop doing…"
"How?"
He shook his head. "I heard a gunshot. He shot himself."
"Oh God…" She had to steady herself against Jim's desk. "He shot… Christ…"
"Sorcha, I am so sorry…"
"Where is he now?" Her voice softened. "I want to see him…"
"I didn't find the body…"
"You didn't… but, but, Seb, maybe…"
He knew what she wanted to say. Maybe he's still alive, then. "Sorcha, when I left, there were only two people on the roof. Jim and Sherlock. And Sherlock jumped. And there was… there was a lot of blood and…. brain… and… He has to be dead. Not even he could survive a gun to the head."
She swallowed. Sebastian almost expected her to run back to the bathroom and getting sick again; blood and brain matter did that to the ordinary people. But then again, his sister had been living with Jim and him long enough so that blood couldn't possibly bother her. She swallowed again before she said, "I need to go to work."
"What? Sorcha, listen, you're not…"
"No, Sebastian, you listen. I need to get my hands on the surveillance tape. I need to see what exactly happened." Her voice was a whisper by now. "I don't want Mycroft Holmes to get his hands on him. We will never have a place to mourn him if Mycroft… he humiliated him while he was alive, Sebastian. Remember how much… We cannot let him degrade him again now."
She could have stabbed him right in the heart, and it wouldn't have made a difference to Sebastian. Yes, he did remember. He had not been there when Jim had gotten back, but living with him, he had noticed the difference, had seen the scars… "You're right. Let's get back to work."
Sebastian Moran was a soldier, used to follow orders. And for a second he thought he had heard Jim's voice in his ear, giving him one clear order:
Go on.
Btw, I am looking for a beta.