Hey! This is a new fanfiction I'm writing! This is featured in the 'Absolute Wholock: Fan Creations' Which I am a part of! CHECK US OUT!
Anyway, There are no pairings in this one. Minor drug references and all around feels in general.
ENJOY!
"Did you miss me?"
The words echoed around Sherlock's head. After his plane had touched back down on English soil, he'd seen for himself the extent to the problem England was now faced with. Driving through London back to 221B, his face was everywhere. Once back at the flat, Mycroft, John, Sherlock, Mary and Molly had all gathered in the living room. After a few tense moments Greg walked in; he threw his phone down, his brown leather coat waving behind him.
"That was the Yard. Apparently he's got America, Russia and Africa wrapped up in all of this."
"How could he have got to so many people in so little time?" John was confused as he threw his coat over the back of the chair.
"You seem to be forgetting that he has had two years. While Sherlock was in Serbia, Jim must have been planning, I mean two years, that's more than enough time to get something like this together."
"That's another thing; just how could he be back. He blew his own brains out. We found the body! Sherlock saw him do it." John paused. "Sherlock?"
The detective was facing the window with his back to the others. Mrs. Hudson turned the television off but out in the street people were panicking. Common people. People who didn't deal with this sort of thing on a regular basis. His fingers were intertwined and he rested his lips on his knuckles and his elbows on his knees. He was quiet. John didn't like it when Sherlock went quiet. His grey eyes were fixed on outside, bad things usually followed He was looking but he wasn't seeing things the way they were anymore. He'd underestimated Jim Moriarty. Everyone had. Just like Sherlock, Jim must have had plans of getting off that building alive. Sherlock had already made several theories on how Jim could possibly have done it. Fake gun, blood pack that burst on impact with the ground and the same 'ball-under-the-arm' trick to stop the pulse.
"He's going to be coming after you, Sherlock. You're possibly the reason he's back." Sherlock's eyes tilted slightly and he turned around his chair to look at everyone.
"That is most likely. And no doubt he will try and make contact with me. I don't want any of you present when he does."
John opened his mouth to protest but a phone stopped him in his tracks. Sherlock looked at it for a while before his tore his eyes away.
"It keeps doing that." He stated dismissively.
"Ever thought of answering it?" Molly rolled her eyes and answered the phone.
"Hello, Sherlock's phone... Yes, he's here. Who is this?" Molly paled and Sherlock could hear another voice on the other end. It was deep and harsh. She tried to swallow down a lump in her throat. She handed the phone over to Sherlock with shaky hands. "It's him."
Sherlock licked his dry lips and lifted the phone up to his ear.
"Hello?"
"Oh hello, pet. How nice to finally hear your voice again. How is everyone?"
"What do you want?" His tone was low, threatening and was the tone of someone you didn't want to mess with.
"Small talk over already? No matter, meet me at the pier in ten minutes and then we'll talk."
It wasn't a question, it wasn't even a statement. It was a order. A direct order, at that. But still Sherlock questioned.
"Why should I?"
"Because you're curious! You want to know how I did it. And let's just say I know something that you've been trying to keep under wraps for a while now."
"How could you possibly..." Sherlock tried to make his voice steady but he was failing. The others just looked at each other, confused. "Never mind. I'll be there."
"And you'd better be alone or I may be tempted to spill there and then."
"I will be." And with that he hung up. "He's asked me to meet him."
"Then we'll come with you." Said Mary confidently and the others nodded.
"No," Sherlock was shaking his head. "He demanded I be alone. And that's just what I'll be." He got up and shrugged on his long black coat and navy scarf. "I'll be back. I'll call when I'm on my way home." And with that, he was gone.
10 minutes later
"Quite a secret you're trying to keep isn't it?" The all-too-familiar voice of Jim Moriarty rang around the pier. The only other sounds that Sherlock could hear were the sea and his own heartbeat ringing in his ears.
"I mean, you've kept secrets before but this. John would never trust you again."
Sherlock said nothing. He stood there, a figure of light against the darkness around him. Jim was wearing a navy blue suit with a swan tie pin. He was stood at the end of the pier with the water crashing around him.
"Been a while hasn't it. Just the two of us again. It's been fun hasn't it? Me and you quarrelling and the world feeling the aftershocks. It's like a kind of love isn't it? That kind where we depend on the other."
"I do not depend on you." Sherlock spat.
"Don't you? Without James Moriarty there is no Sherlock Holmes. It's the strawberries and cream. They go together. You never get one without the other and you have been busy haven't you? Saving the world in your own little way. What is it that you seek exactly? Forgiveness? Redemption for the things that you've done because I doubt you'll get that."
"What do you want Moriarty?"
"Your help. Assistance in a way. I need to get into the government computers and give me a copy of every file they have on 'Operation: Blood Diamond."
Sherlock slowly lifted up his head to meet Jim's cold, dead eyes.
"Ah, you know it. I knew you would." The words came slowly still wrapped in that thick Irish drawl. And he was always smiling. That was something that bothered Sherlock. He was always smiling. He was smiling when he's 'died' up on the roof of Bart's.
"That's an international scale operation. It belongs to the government." Sherlock realized. He'd heard of 'Operation: Blood Diamond'. It was an operation that could control the nuclear weapons that Great Britain had at its disposal. No-one else knew that there were any other countries that had the weapons other than America and Russia. Mycroft had talked about it often enough. How secure it was. How foolproof it was. He was practically inviting Sherlock to steal it. The program existed on Mycroft's laptop and his only. And that laptop was by his side always. He could pull the same trick he did at his parents' Christmas dinner and drug the man but it was unlikely that he'd be able to pull off the same trick twice.
"And your big brother practically is the government. Isn't that what you always say? That's why I can't go anywhere near it. But you? You can stroll right in, hack into your brother's laptop and download a copy instantly!"
"Then why not ask Mycroft?"
"Because I have information that will make you stay with me. This dirty, dirty little secret of yours is something you don't want spilling, is it?"
"How am I even sure that you know."
"How about I prove it? I tell you what it is I know."
"Be my guest."
"Mary Watson's baby...is yours."
"How could you possibly know that?"
"Hmm, little things, I guess. I'm disappointed in you. You're better than that, having an affair with your best friend's wife? I'm guessing, as you're still alive, that John doesn't know? How long has this little fling been happening then? Are you just going to let John raise a daughter he believes to be his?" Jim stopped then and shrugged. He didn't say anymore after that. He just looked straight into Sherlock's grey eyes, almost challenging him to answer. To protest. To argue. But he couldn't. Because it was true.
It was a few months before the wedding; Sherlock had met up with Mary to discuss the music for her and John's first dance and the two of them had ended up in the bedroom somehow. It had all been a bit of a blur and in Sherlock's defence it was Mary who's first come onto Sherlock. It was her who drew her red fingernails along his shirt and undone his belt. He should have pushed her away, told her no that it was wrong to do this to John but he supposed none of that mattered now. Mary was pregnant and the baby was his. And there was absolutely nothing he could do about it. The situation had been made even worse because now Jim knew. It was very similar to Lady Smallwood's situation with Charles Magnusson, using another's person weaknesses for your own benefit.
While Sherlock was debating with himself and trying to address his current situation, another person had appeared on the pier. Sebastian Moran. He'd been imprisoned last time Sherlock had heard of him. His brown hair was combed backwards and the scar on his face glistened in the moonlight. Jim had his hands in his pockets and he started to walk towards Sherlock.
"You in? Of course, you know what'll happen if you're not. So you don't really have a choice?"
He smiled again and nodded to Sebastian. A sharp instrument pierced the side of his neck and instantly Sherlock fought back. He spun around desperately but the drug was already starting to take affect. He stumbled into Sebastian and already his limbs were starting to fail. His eyes closed and he passed out.
"Perfect. Come on then, let's get back."
Sebastian picked up Sherlock in his arms and carried him to the car that was waiting by the entrance. He threw him into the backseat, only to be scolded by Jim.
"Be careful, will you! Don't want to break him, not while he's still useful." Jim got into the car and Sebastian slipped into the driver's seat. He looked at Jim, waiting for orders.
"Home."
Back at the flat.
"He's been gone too long. He should be back by now."
John was pacing around the flat nervously. Sherlock had been gone for almost three hours now, it was getting dark and there had been no phone call to say he was on his way home.
"John, he's probably forgotten to call. You know what he's like, why don't you call him to ease your mind."
But John shook his head.
"We can't risk calling him, not if he's with him."
Greg nodded.
"John's right, even if he was in trouble, calling him or trying to find him would probably only make things worse. We've just got to hold out and hope that he calls soon. If he's not back by morning then we go looking for him."
"And until then..." Mrs. Hudson came walking back into the living room. She'd been pottering around ever since they all came home; trying to get her mind off everything going on. "You are all welcome to stay here until Sherlock returns, although I like the fact that I now have kitchen space..."
John glared at her and Mrs. Hudson put her hands in the air, laughing.
"Only trying to lighten the mood young man!" She sighed. "He'll turn up, he always does."
"I know, anyway, it's getting late and if it's alright with you Mrs. Hudson, I think we should all grab some sleep."
Mrs. Hudson nodded. "Greg, Molly and Mike,"
"Mycroft." Mycroft cut in. He hated being called Mike and Mrs. Hudson knew it. She giggled and waved her hand,
"Come with me."
The four of them left to room, leaving John and Mary alone.
"Come on, we should grab some sleep." Mary tugged gently on John's shirt. He pulled out of her grip and turned away towards the window.
"I'm waiting; I'm not going to be able to sleep knowing he's still out there."
Mary rubbed his shoulder and let him be. Sherlock meant a lot to him; He'd brought him out of the dark when John had been traumatized, broken and sore and back into the light. John admired him, respected him and loved him, the two of them were as close as anyone and John was possibly the only one Sherlock would confide in but even then Sherlock would still keep things to himself. The odd little thing. They had their fights and that's what families did. They fought but they still loved each other deep down. The way they did things together was unique and no-one could challenge that. Sherlock understood the most complicated things but had no idea about human nature. John however knew about human nature but for some reason couldn't understand Sherlock. In all fairness, nobody could. He was special, an enigma. A creature to be admired, respected and preserved. And when you live with such a person, you need to observe their habits. Coming back late, for Sherlock, wasn't exactly rare.
John sat down in his chair and pulled a blanket over him, looking at the door.
He'll be fine. John thought positively. He'll walk through that door, perfectly fine, and continue with life like nothing ever happened...hopefully.
Thanks for reading c:
Love you all!
R + R PEOPLE.