::CRASHED::
A/N: Yup... ehehe. Before you kill me for throwing out a new story out here, and scandalously neglecting everyone else, allow me to make the feeble excuse that life got in the way. As usual. But I just want to thank you all for waiting, and reading. And being patient. 3 And, Happy New Year, everyone!
Oh.. and LOOK! change of username :)
Disclaimer: Nothing here belongs to me. It belongs to the fabulous BBC. :)
...
It was over.
They had lost. The end was just beginning.
Sherlock Holmes had failed.
There he lay, surrounded by the wreckage of a crashed plane, surrounded by flames all flickering and dancing, all of them teasing him.
You lost. They said. Moriarty won.
And... there was Moriarty.
Laughing that cruel, maniacal smilethat absolutely grated on Sherlock's nerves, those black eyes, staring into the utmost depths of his soul, glittering in the fiery glow.
"You're ordinary. The great Sherlock Holmes, still an ordinary man, oh so boring. Though, I must admit, you did put up a good fight." Moriarty said, stepping closer to Sherlock's still form. "But I still won."
Sherlock could only lie there silently, as his life-blood drained from him, slowly growing weaker by the second.
"You led me quite a merry dance, didn't you? You thought you were so smart." Moriarty paced around Sherlock slowly. "Paris, Rome, Madrid... but it wasn't good enough, was it now? Now, well." Moriarty paused. "Now it's time to finish the game, Sherlock. This is the finale of the extremely long opera that we've been composing. It's the end. only one move stands between me and checkmate, and rest assured, I will be the king." he drawled, coming ever-closer to Sherlock's prostrate body. Sleekly. Like a cat.
"No-" Sherlock began, then choked on the ash floating in the air. He coughed, and tried to continue again.
"No matter what happens to me in the end, whether I'm dead or alive, the world will always recognize you as a tyrant, James Moriarty, and you're a fool to think otherwise. Checkmate? You have deluded yourself, my old nemesis." Sherlock said, so softly that Moriarty had to bend over him to hear.
Moriarty had nothing to say, his eyes trained intently on Sherlock, who was growing breathless.
"Every last one of your contacts are gone, and now only two links remain. Care to give a guess as to who they are?" Sherlock asked, managing to look extremely smug, even though he was lying there, sprawled on the floor in a rather strange fashion.
Moriarty's eyes widened.
He'd been caught in his own trap. He stumbled back, not really believing it.
James Moriarty, world's consulting criminal. Beaten at last.
"I still have you. I still have you." he repeated to Sherlock, eyes seemingly staring into Sherlock's very soul. He slowly reached into his pocket and drew out a gun.
Sherlock summoned up the last of his strength, slowly, but surely standing up to face Moriarty, two equal men standing face to face amidst a burning wreckage.
"You were so concerned about finding me, about catching me, that you forgot about the rest of your organization. Tell me, Jim. When was the last time you checked your phone? Oh sorry. I meant, your other phone." Sherlock asked, with that familiar smirk in his tone. Moriarty stiffened. He clearly hadn't.
"In fact, you'll find about 17 distress calls from all over the world, from your so-called trusted men and women. Don't worry. They won't be coming out of jail anytime soon. And it's all thanks to your stupidity, Jim. I hope it was worth it, chasing me. I hope I did entertain you. Because of your stupidity, you forgot to widen your horizon. You forgot about everything else. And thus the spider got caught in his own web." Sherlock paused, taking in a raspy breath.
"And I regret to inform you this time, Jim, that I'm not the ordinary one. It's you. You're ordinary."
Everything was silent. Time seemed to stop, and the two men seemed enclosed in their own small world, no one moved. No one even seemed to breathe.
"Bravo, Sherlock. You have got me this time. You actually have. But I think you overlooked one thing." Moriarty bowed his head regretfully and said. Sherlock looked shocked.
"With Sebastian by my side, I am invincible. I can rebuild my empire, I'll build it even stronger and bigger than before. In fact, I can probably rule the world, with you gone. There is but a small flaw in your plan, maestro. And I'm quite sure you couldn't have predicted that Sebastian would have come with me onto the plane."
And there, within the flames, Moran emerged, holding a gun at the ready. He was slightly bruised and battered from the crash, with cuts from broken glass littering his skin. "Hullo, g'vnor." he grinned satisfactorily, showing a mouthful of brilliant white teeth.
Sherlock let out a repressed sigh. "Of course. The flight attendant. Very clever, Jim."
"For the last time, DON'T CALL ME JIM!" Moriarty raged, and was about to raise his gun and shoot wildly, had Sebastian not put a firm hand on his shoulder. The sniper looked very concerned. Moriarty's breathing seemed to calm down. "I'm tired, I don't want to play anymore. Can we just finish this and get it over with?" he asked, quite in the tone of a small boy.
"We will, love. Just be patient." Sebastian soothed, then turned back to Sherlock. "You've made my master quite impatient." he chuckled, stroking Moriarty's back soothingly, as if Moriarty was a large cat.
Sherlock had no response, but he looked calmly at Moriarty, every muscle in his body screaming with the effort to stay standing.
Then all of a sudden, as if he had completely become a different person altogether, Moriarty walked over to Sherlock.
"Sit down, Sherlock. Don't you feel tired? All this running around? I wouldn't want you to be uncomfortable in your last moments as you die." he purred silkily, slowly walking in a circle around the consulting detective. "And believe me, you will die this time. Properly. Seb here will make sure of that. He never misses, right Sebastian?" he turned to his sniper, who gave a quick shake of the head and a slightly queer, and scary, full teethed grin, cocking his head to one side.
"And because you are going to die in a few minutes, I'm going to be nice. Very, very, very nice to you. In fact, I'm not sure you even deserve this, since you've made daddy run after you for so long." Moriarty teased in that lilting Irish accent of his, which had somehow reappeared during this confrontation.
Sherlock gritted his teeth and hissed loudly. "I don't need your pity."
"And you won't get it." Moriarty retorted, slapping Sherlock across the face. Sherlock reeled back from the impact, nearly stumbling, but catching himself just in time, standing shakily back up.
"Sebastian, hand me the phone."
Said phone was handed over, and then Moriarty approached Sherlock once again.
"I'm going to let you call someone. One last time. Just to say goodbye to whoever you love the most." he said, and pressed it into Sherlock's loose hand.
The king of crime then stepped back, and wondered to himself thoughtfully. "I wonder who it will be. John Watson, your faithful dog and- lover? Or will it be our favorite dominatrix, Miss Irene Adler? Or perhaps you want to patch up things with your brother, and say sorry to Mycroft for stealing his teddy bear?"
"None of them." Sherlock's lips curled upwards "You've forgotten someone, Jim. Someone who was, and is a very important part in the plan. But i won't be calling her now. In fact, I fully expect to see her in a few days time, once this is all over."
Moriarty's eyes widened in surprise. "Sherlock Holmes has a paramour waiting for him back home? How surprising. And it isn't even the doctor we all know and love. So who are you calling now, Sherly old boy? Come on. You can tell me." he winked.
Sherlock merely typed in the number carefully, and held his finger over the call button. "You know, you were actually correct in some of your previous guesses. I just didn't want to ruin the surprise." he said.
The ringing tone sounded on speaker.
Beep beep... beep beep... beep beep...
The tension was so thick in the air that you could have cut it with a blunt knife.
Then the person on the other side of the line picked up.
"Hello, junior, finally ready for us to come and help you out?" A familiar voice rasped from the speakers. "Sherlock? Sherlock, are you alright?" came another very familiar male voice.
"I'm fine. But I might need some help." he shrugged nonchalantly. "The spider has torn his own web." he said cryptically.
"On our way."
Moriarty's face darkened.
"Shoot him. Shoot him now, Moran." he commanded, switching personas so quickly Sherlock didn't even have the time to blink. It seemed that Moriarty had long crossed the line that separated genius and insanity. It seemed that he had chosen insanity.
"But sir, the orders you gave me before we left-" Moran began.
"FORGET THE BLOODY ORDERS. I WANT YOU TO SHOOT HIM NOW, AND YOU WILL DO AS I SAY, SERVANT." he raged, spittle flying from his mouth and his face turning red in rage. "I've let him live far too long. We need to wipe this scum off the face of the earth, and quickly."
Sebastian hesitated, his eyes never once leaving his master, as Moriarty raged around the place.
"Well, what's got Jim-dear in such a tizzy?" the sultry tones of Irene Adler rang out from behind them. And there she was, standing there, a gun lazily pointed at Jim's heart.
"Sherlock, are you alright?" came the concerned tones of John Watson. The doctor sucked in a sharp breath as he saw the pitiful condition of his friend.
"SHOOT THEM, SHOOT THEM ALL!" Moriarty screamed, tearing out his hair and laughing maniacally.
Then a look of intense sadness passed over his sniper's eyes.
Sherlock noticed it, and turned his head to look at the sniper curiously.
"I'm really sorry it had to end like this, James. I really am. But this... this is just.. I can't explain myself." Sebastian Moran said quietly, so quietly that only Moriarty and Sherlock could hear him.
"Moran, what are you talking about?" Moriarty snarled.
"I'm saying.. I'm saying goodbye." his faithful sniper said, cocking his gun.
"Goodbye?"
"Yes. And that I will always remember you. And miss you. And that I love you." Sebastian said shakily, raising his gun to his own master's heart.
And with that, he pulled the trigger.
Just like on the roof of St Barts, Moriarty crumpled to the floor.
Only this time, he was most definitely dead.
"And this is for him." Moran said calmly, shooting Sherlock in the leg. "You're a good man, detective, but I hate you."
Sherlock crumpled onto the floor as well, giving out a silent cry of pain.
"You shouldn't have done that." Irene hissed, pointing her own gun at Moran.
"What does it matter?" he gave that strange, macabre smile again, chilling Irene to the bone. "I'm already going to die."
And with that, he put the gun to his head, and smiled. "At least I'll get to see him again."
And he pulled the trigger.
Just like that, the two most dangerous men in the world were gone.
OoOoOoOoO
Sherlock's breath rasped unsteadily as shocks of pain ran up and down his body.
"Sherlock, stay with me. Don't die." John said, trying his hardest to close up the bleeding wound.
"Phone- Now." Sherlock said breathlessly.
"What?" John asked, utterly confused and frantic.
"Don't- ask- just.." Sherlock gasped.
John took out his own phone, and handed it to Sherlock.
With something that required much effort, Sherlock pressed the buttons of the phone, to a number that John knew fairly well.
The dying man pressed his ear to the phone, listening intently for the slightest bit of sound.
"Hello?" came a familiar voice.
"Molly. It's me. I'm coming home to you." he said, and then smiled.
OoOoOoOoOo
A/N: MWAHAHAHAHA Yes, I know, it's a cliffhanger, but I really couldn't decide whether to let him live or die.. :P Anyway, I hop you enjoyed that, and I will try to update Jealousy Burns ASAP. :)
Remember to review! :D