Disclaimer: I do not own Sherlock! Sherlock belongs to its rightful and respected owners! Enjoy!
Heads up! Don't read this if you haven't seen His Last Vow and don't want spoilers, because this contains loads!
Ch. 1- A Fallen Angel
It was a moonless night as Sherlock trekked through the streets of London, his coat collar up not just for its usual decorative purposes, but also to block the consulting detective's neck from the howling wind. The wind blew and whirled around Sherlock, pushing against his back and propelling him closer and closer to his destination. Without the wind, Sherlock might not have been able to move at all. He had no desire to reach his destination. Rather, he would have loved nothing more than to turn around and sprint back to 221B Baker Street. But the one time he began to turn, a strong gust snapped him back to facing forward, and with a sigh, Sherlock continued on.
His walk was nearly twenty five minutes long. Not wanting any record of his route via a cab fare or a tube ticket, Sherlock had resolved to make the journey on foot. No doubt Mycroft's cameras had caught sight of him, but he would lose his annoying older brother's watchful eye upon reaching his end point. Turning a corner, the detective began to see his end point, and his mouth went dry. Swallowing the lump in his throat, Sherlock quickly paced toward the building, trying to keep his mind on something that would calm him down.
He almost always kept thinking of John. Of his army doctor, in a warm bed somewhere with his new wife Mary sleeping beside him. The two of them, together and happy, with a little bundle of joy on the way. Sherlock grimaced, placing his hand over his chest as his scar began to tingle. It always stung whenever Sherlock thought about her. About Mary.
As much as Sherlock loved John and loved the idea of John and Mary being together, he would never be able to trust Mary again. He wasn't sure that he would even be able to ever like her again. It wasn't very easy to forgive the person who shot him, even if said person was just trying to protect the one she loved. But perhaps Sherlock wasn't just sickened by Mary, but also sickened by the fact that he had allowed sentiment to rule over him, blinding him from the obvious.
Stupid. He had been so very stupid. And John was stupid too. Stupid for forgiving Mary so easily, and for allowing her back into his life easier than he had allowed Sherlock, his best friend. Jealousy and anger coursed through Sherlock, and he again considered turning around. What he was about to do would preserve John and Mary's life together; it would preserve the stupidity. Sherlock wanted nothing more than for John to come back to Baker Street, and for things to be the way they used to be, without Mary.
But once again, his thoughts went back to John. He was doing this for John, fulfilling his last vow so that he could protect his best friend from the dangers that he and his wife now faced. With this resolution, Sherlock continued to move toward the entrance to the building, slowing down as he reached the high-vaulted, steel doors guarded by two men with machine guns. When neither guard spoke or went to move, Sherlock coughed and spoke,
"I have an appointment."
"We know Mister Holmes," one of the guards spoke brusquely. "We've been expecting you."
With that, the doors behind them opened slowly, and they parted, forming an entrance for Sherlock. Gulping, Sherlock passed them and entered the building, slightly scared yet also exhilarated at the possibilities this place held for him and his future. Hearing footsteps behind him, Sherlock realized the guards must have followed him inside. He was slightly surprised that they hadn't bothered to search him, but he supposed that they were told by their boss not to worry. The younger Holmes boy wasn't there for any killing spree, but rather a negotiation.
This thought made Sherlock uneasy, so he pushed it out of his head and began to observe anything he could. No windows, solid walls, floor on a slight angle; they were going underground. Sherlock wrinkled his nose. He had never enjoyed going underground; too much darkness and dirt. Too many surprises in store for him. The clang of the guards' guns against their metal belts however, told Sherlock that he wouldn't be able to turn back now. There was only forward. From now until the end of this ordeal, there was only forward.
They walked down the corridor for a few more minutes before coming upon a single door. Sherlock analyzed it, his stomach clenching. The lock on the door was accessed by the outside. If the guards were ordered to, and no doubt they were, Sherlock could be locked in the room from the outside. Still, this information didn't slow him down. He neared the door, pushing on it before he was roughly tapped on the shoulder. When he peered over the shoulder, the guard who had spoken earlier was right behind him.
"We're not coming in with you Mr. Holmes, but if you try anything, you will meet a most unfortunate end."
"What a dull threat," Sherlock snapped, turning back to the door and thrusting it open. He stepped into the room, allowing the door to swing shut behind him. As he had expected, there was a small click, indicating that Sherlock was indeed locked in. As to who he was locked in with, Sherlock only had to turn around to see the furniture that occupied the small quarters. A large desk took up most of the space, with two chairs facing either side. One of the chairs, the smaller of the two, was empty, and no doubt his. The other chair, a big leather one with a tall back, was faced in the opposite direction.
"Sit my dear."
The high, sing-song voice that Sherlock hadn't heard for so long echoed slightly as Sherlock grimaced, sitting in his chair. He couldn't believe this was actually happening.
The chair was spinning, legs were crossing and lips were stretching into a tight, psychotic smile. Sherlock sat face to face with Jim Moriarty once again.
"Sherlock," the consulting criminal cooed. "You haven't changed a bit."
"Can't say the same about you," Sherlock replied. While Moriarty still resembled the dangerous criminal from the past, there were some marked differences. Jim's suit fit a little more snug, but Sherlock could tell it wasn't from fat, but rather, muscle. Wherever Moriarty had been, he had been a bit more active than usual. A thin layer of fine-groomed stubble was spread across the criminal's chin, making Jim look older than before.
"Do you like the new look?" Jim cocked an eyebrow flirtatiously.
"Ages you," came Sherlock's short response.
"Really?" Jim mocked surprise before rolling his eyes. "You know Sherlock, sometimes age isn't always a bad thing. It can mean more experience, more wisdom, and more...skill at certain things. I've had quite a lot of experiences since our little game."
"As have I," Sherlock spoke.
"I know," Moriarty said without hesitation. "It seems you were quite busy with Charles Augustus Magnussen...well at least for a little while."
"He had to be eliminated," Sherlock explained, shifting in his seat. He was uncomfortable enough thinking about the man who had outsmarted him, let alone having Moriarty scrutinize his stupidity right in front of him.
"Curious you never thought of shooting me." Now Jim began to look around the room, absentmindedly strumming the desk. Sherlock couldn't help it, he followed Jim's gaze even though he knew the criminal wasn't looking at anything in particular. He was all the more unprepared when Moriarty snapped back to glare at him.
"Or was that because I couldn't turn your stomach like him?"
Sherlock grimaced. So Moriarty had heard that.
"I...might have been a bit dramatic," Sherlock quipped. "He was a real threat."
"Oh please Sherlock," Jim rolled his eyes. "Maybe if you weren't busy following John and Mary around like a dog, you would have been clever enough to beat him without being dull."
"I do not follow John and Mary around like a dog!" Sherlock protested, but Jim just smirked, knowing he had found Sherlock's pressure point.
"Oh please," the criminal continued, "it's been rather sad watching you tote on him, making that idiotic vow that you would protect him at all costs. I'm assuming that's why you're here anyway, something to do with John and that trigger happy wife of his. You wouldn't break into a high security prison to tell Sebastian Moran, my second in command, that you wanted to meet with me only to have a friendly chat."
A long silence followed this. Sherlock weighed his options, tempted to tell Jim the straight truth or to try and get out now, while Jim was refusing to help him. He could back out now, if he said the right things that would just get Moriarty pissed and make the criminal order him out.
And yet, Sherlock couldn't lie to the consulting criminal, mainly because he needed Jim's help and also because... Well, Sherlock would just stick with the first reason, he didn't want to think he had an ulterior motive buried in his subconscious. He decided to settle on a compromise, half truth and half lie.
"I...I want to leave them Jim," Sherlock hated how desperate he sounded. "I can't handle it anymore. It was alright when John was working with me; I was at the peak of my intelligence and efficiency in crime solving. But sentiment is ruining everything. John has become more of a hindrance to the work than a benefit to it."
At this, Moriarty raised an eyebrow. Apparently he hadn't been expecting that. It wasn't entirely a lie, Sherlock really was considering leaving London; sentiment was making him weaker by the day. Soon he would be just like everyone else, and he would lose the one gift that made him special.
"So you want to make sure there's no one else out there who's going to target John?" Jim put two and two together. "How do you know I won't come after him?"
"Well I was hoping that would be part of our agreement," Sherlock spoke hesitantly. This was it, the moment all of his apprehension and excitement and fear had been leading up to. Moriarty smiled, and leaned over the desk, his face now very close to Sherlock's.
"And our agreement is?" the consulting criminal's eyes were dilated with excitement, and it was all Sherlock could do to not show his fear and stand his ground.
"You will help me hunt down the remaining people that know of Mary's past and pose a threat to her and to John. And you yourself will promise not to interfere with John's life once we are finished. In return, while we are working together, I will follow all of your orders, and hunt down the targets on your terms."
"You'll work for me?" Jim's wide grin showed his dangerous level of excitement. He leaned back into his chair, eyes cloudy as he began to think about the arrangement. Sherlock watched the consulting criminal think it over for a few moments before a look of victory crossed the consulting criminal's face. Slowly, Jim got up from his chair and walked over to where Sherlock remained seated. The air was tense as Moriarty stood behind Sherlock for a minute or so, and the consulting detective was about to speak when the criminal's hands clamped down onto his shoulders.
"An angel selling his soul to the devil," Jim's voice was laced with desire now. As he began to rub Sherlock's shoulders, Sherlock did his best to remain still, but found himself shivering as a spark went off through his body. "I like the sound of that."
"Do we have a deal?" Sherlock grunted, already deeply afraid of what Moriarty had planned for him. He was at the mercy of a psychopath, of the man that had had an unhealthy obsession with him since day one. But what else could he do? Jim was essential to his plan on protecting John.
Jim's grip on Sherlock tightened as he bent down so his mouth was an inch from the detective's ear.
"We, my dear, have a deal."
My new story in light of His Last Vow and the amazing ending! -LJ
