Something short again, to judge people's reactions. I have some pretty big plans for this story and already know a sequel plotline for it. So please review, and tell me what you think. The following chapters will be leading back to this, with smut I assure you and the details of the memories Moriarty mentioned here.
Enjoy and review :)
He stood there, watching his rival. The great Sherlock Holmes was about to jump to save his friends' lives. He had won.
He had FINALLY…won
The game was over.
He could rest easy… No. He never rested easy. He was worried he would lash out more without a playmate but it was too late now. Jim Moriarty would go home after this was done and think about the games he would be playing in 3 and a half months.
Very different games than he was used to.
But then it was ruined. Or saved. He wasn't sure.
Sherlock jumped back from the ledge, proud that he had figured a way to save himself and his friends. So triumphant, he truly looked like an angel who had bested the devil, as he spoke.
Jim was the devil, he knew. He had always been that way and he would be until he took his last breath. Which would be today it seemed.
Sherlock could only be bested if Jim died. It was the only way. If he lived, he had lost. If he died he won. Sherlock would have no choice but to jump and Jim would be free. No more nightmares, no more dealing with morons, and no more… no more insanity. No more times locked inside his own head wondering why he was the way he was and if he could be saved, or at least made better. Or the bigger question…did he want to? Every time he asked himself the latter he would pause and think…
The answer was always no.
A normal person would've told themselves what they had to live for at time like this, talked themselves out of it but Jim…Jim had only 1 person he lived for. Truly lived for. And it was not himself. For the first half of his life it had been just him. Jim alone with Jim, enjoying his riches and watching his little webs as they danced and shook with chaos he had caused.
And then he met his right hand, the right hand of the devil. Ruthless, obeyed orders and had almost killed him several times…his wife. His wife would understand that the game meant everything to him. He knew she would. Neither of them had thought themselves capable to love until they had met. Murderers and psychopaths, the both of them. They were perfect together.
He remembered the first time he saw her, seemingly helpless in an Italian alleyway; he remembered their wedding, just the two of them and a priest. No rings were exchanged as they gave too much away and neither could be seen as having a weakness. Instead they carved each other's initials over their hearts that night. Scars were forever they had agreed.
He also remembered when he realized he loved her. Three years into working together and an attempt was made on his life. It happened quite a lot but this one…this one almost worked. She had seen the signs just minutes before a grenade was detonated and had tackled him to ground, shielding him. She had nearly died and when he thought he was going to lose her… he had kissed her and thought to himself, "No. She can't do this to me." Moriarty was in love. It had terrified him; the first time he'd been genuinely scared in years and it was at the thought of actually loving another person. He had tried to convince himself that it was a random thought from nowhere; he had almost convinced himself…until she opened her eyes and breathed his name.
He was in love. He was fucked.
He would've chuckled at the memory had all these thoughts not gone as quickly through his head as a deduction through Sherlock's.
Despite his love he knew he could let her go; Jim could die knowing she loved him and that she would keep his memory alive.
After all, a blend of their DNA was growing in her belly.
If he had been scared of being in love he was petrified at the thought of being a father. His insanity passed on? Who would wish that on a child? His child would probably be as bad as him. Did the world really need two people like Jim Moriarty? But again, she had come through for him. Convinced him this was good, he would have an heir. He was truly a king, now blessed with a successor to his throne of pandemonium and bedlam, and after a few months he had gotten used to the idea. Boy or girl he decided, it didn't matter. His child was his child and had a 78% chance of thinking like he did. He was…happy.
But now he would never hold his offspring, a son they had found out last month. He would never see his little prince, would never teach him to manipulate others, to take what he wanted, to weave webs like Jim did. His mother could teach him about raw violence and battle smarts. Those were her strengths. She was Jim's Athena and Ares in one, his goddess of war and wisdom.
Jim was Hades and Dionysus, God of madness and death. He wreaked havoc wherever he went, usually leaving bodies in his wake. The boy would never see it for himself, the power his parents held together. He would have to rely on stories. Jim knew he could trust his wife to educate their son. The boy would grow up happy with Sabine. That's all Jim could hope for.
Faced with his decision Jim sighed mentally in resignation. No matter. The game would be won. His son would inherit a prosperous and vast kingdom, with his mother as queen by his side. His name would always live on.
So Jim just smiled. He looked Sherlock in the eyes. And he cherished the look upon the other man's face as he put the gun in his mouth and two last thoughts flitted through his mind.
I'm sorry Darling.
Game over Sherlock.
He pulled the trigger.
And his mind was silent.
