So, I'm a new Fan fiction writer. Hi, lovelies! I'm going to write something angsty, I hope, and I would like to know if you like it or not! :)
Chapter One.
Sherlock's phone lit up and hummed with a short, purposeful vibration which rattled my coffee mug that sat next to it. I take a sip of the aromatic coffee.
"What is it, John?" Sherlock looked over at me from where he was laying on the couch with his hands lightly resting on the tips of his nose and chin.
Taking his alerted phone in hand, I read the screen out loud, "It's from...M-Moriarty" I chock on my coffee and Sherlock sits up immediately and is at the table with his phone in hand within a blink.
"The text reads: "I'm baaaccckkk ;) -JM" Sherlock whispers in a semi-shocked voice. "So he's really back, eh?"
"seems so... What now? should we go tell Lestrade?" I'm standing now, facing my flat-mate. I couldn't help but noticed how beautifully the light from his phone highlighted his cheek bones and made his ocean colored eyes glisten. He hadn't brushed his hair for a few days, though he rarely ever did.
"We shall, come along John. The game is on!" He rushed ti the door and gracefully swung his coat fluidly onto his shoulders. I follow him and mimic him to the best of my abilities. it was weird to have Jim back, it almost didn't seem real. how did he fake it? why? why did he decide to come back from the dead? my mind swirled with questions that I didn't know the answers to.
We headed out the door and hailed a taxi to the police station. The cab driver didn't talk much, but that didn't really bother us too much. The tension and confusion between me and Sherlock grew, I knew what he was thinking about. We were probably thinking the same thing. Moriarty. Despite the obvious tension, the ride was pretty quick.
"How the bloody hell is Moriarty back?" Lestrade exclaimed and threw his arms up into the air angrily. He pointed at Sherlock, "You said he was dead. You said he shot himself in the bloody mouth! Now tell me why he's not miles under the friggin' ground!" his face was turning slightly red as he spat at the slender detective.
"Well, I haven't heard from him. Except for the nation-wide video of his face saying 'Did you miss me?'"Sherlock looked frustrated as well. How did they expect him to deduce anything from a photo shopped short video? Sherlock rubbed the bridge of his bird-like nose and stared at his feet. "it seems that he faked his death as well...but...he had a real gun, ho-how.." He pondered flustered.
I put my hands in my pockets, the tension in the air grew ever higher and both Lestrade and myself were unintentionally staring at sherlock with determined intensity. I began to think about what he had said about the real gun and all. "Maybe he had a pack of blood, and the gun only shot bl-" my mouth aired my thoughts without me meaning to, but Sherlock cut me off before I could finish.
"But i saw the life leave his eyes, i heard the shot, i saw the empty bullet cartage hit the ground, John. I think I would know if he fake his de-" he trailed off. Sherlock's eyes lit up and he jumped up with glee. "But that's not how Moriarty would do things, to just give up on this fight when we've been through so much!"