The Connotations Of Red:
Set after A Scandel In Balgravia, and before The Reichenbach Fall.
Moriaty is back. For John.
Sherlock practically jumped out of the cab when he reached 221B Baker Street. He threw the money at the cabbie, getting an 'Oi!' in return, which he didn't take notice of. He had just returned from Scotland Yard telling Greg –Lestrade- Or whatever he calls himself about the painfully obvious scenario of how the maid had killed the owner of the house because she was deeply in love with the mistress's son and they had planned to run away together, with mummy's money. Sentiment. No wonder they were caught; Sherlock snorted at the emotion. Sentiment is found in the losing side.
He made his way through the door, up the stairs; taking two at the time as usual. Excitement and adrenaline coursing through his veins, he wanted to share his analysis with John because John always listened. Told him it was amazing, or bloody brilliant, or any synonym or adjective that popped into his barely used brain at that time.
"JOHN! I was right, it WAS the maid…obviously…I told you, but oh no you didn't think she had it in her. Well your hypothesis was not all incorrect, the maid did have a hand in the killing, she wanted that old crone dead as much as Henry…our killer!, but chivalry is not dead…if that's the right phrase. Phrases, John. I don't see the point in them, why not explain your intentions outright instead of dressing them up and putting them into code. The human brain, well, that's probably the only code-breaking that the average puny little brain can cope with. Stupid really. All those brain cells, so active like electric to your nerve endings, so fascinating, yet underused." Sherlock babbled as always, he'd say he never did such a thing but John begged to differ. He was traipsing through the flat, pushing every door open to locate John and having no luck at all.
"Probably out with Sarah, no, not Sarah, the new one….Meredith? Maria? Mmmmmmm…the one that snorts when she laughs. Odious…oh! That's it! Muriel! What a horrible name"
Sherlock could hardly keep up with John's conquests. They all had such boring names. Maybe John actively seeked the dull ones, their names were a dead giveaway as well as their desperation to agree to a relationship so quickly after meeting said man. They were probably single for quite a while, hence their promptness in agreeing, it was annoying. Obviously this meant that there was a reason why they were not being dated, but John would never deduce this, he would just blame it on him being lucky. Luck. No such thing.
Sherlock finally gave up and slumped into the arm chair nearest to him. He sighed, rubbing his eyes and running his fingers through his curls. He was tired, but sleep was the enemy. He needed to be awake for when John reappeared so he could go through the case, he was planning to write an entry in his blog about it. Sherlock pulled out his phone and text him.
'Come home when appropriate –SH'
'By appropriate, I mean when she's boring you to death, which is every time she opens her mouth. Better just come home now. That seems the logical thing to do –SH'
He still had no reply. Ten minutes later he decided to bombard John with texts until her replied; he knew that really annoyed him.
'It's urgent –SH'
'Say I've been taken into hospital after a collision with a car. I'll phone you if you would like, pretending to be from the hospital's reception- SH'
'For god's sake John, answer your phone –SH' .
"Right that's it!" Sherlock exclaimed before selecting the 'call' button.
It rang for a long time, causing him to curse John in every language he knew, but then finally someone answered. Someone who wasn't John.
"Oh, hi! Its Jim here, how are you? Still worried about your flatmate. Ohhh but when I say flatmate there's also something else there…can't quite put my finger on it, but I will. When I engage the bomb he's currently wearing. Oh yeah, I forgot to tell you that bit, didn't I? Oh well, you probably would have worked it out when it was too late, shame on you." Moriaty said in his most uplifting tone.
"Let him go" Sherlock all but snarled in reply, "Oh I don't think so…what would be the fun in that?",
"Put John on",
"Sorry, John can't come to the phone right now…if you leave a message, I'll be sure not to pass it on" Moriaty jested in an answer phone impression.
"Put. Him. On."
Sherlock pronunciated every word, getting annoyed at his enemy's attempts at not co-operating, "Ooooh! Someone's getting worked up! Tell me, is it because you and John are…how should I put this? Engaged with each other? What's it like to finally give-in to normal human instinct. Must be so frustrating. Every touch, every look, every syllable. Seem's like you have sentiment after all. Stupid really, that's weakness right there. I could put an end to it…by it I mean John, then you wouldn't have to worry that pretty little head anymore…whaddaya say?".
"You know how I detest repeating myself."
"So that's a no? really? Don't wanna phone a friend? Oh yeah, I have your only friend, and you are phoning him. Do you do that often? Of course you do. You love to show off…a lot like me really"
"I'm NOTHING like you."
"I beg to differ, and so does John here…don't you John?"
"Put him on! NOW!"
"Tut tut, patience my dear. You see…I would, but John's a little unconscious right now. Well…when I say little. He's currently having dreams of tea and jam, or you, or maybe both, ill be sure to ask him when he wakes. If he wakes."
"What have you done to him?"
"Oh nothing major, just a few broken ribs, soft tissue damage, a coupla bruises here and there, mostly on the side of his head. Sorry about that, needed to get him…ruffled"
"What do you want?"
"Well, see that's the wrong question, I could retort with a million different answers about new designer suits, oh! Shoes! Gotta love the shoes…or I could tell you of how I would love to skin you alive. Be more specific Sherlock. Your deteriorating all the time you are living with this leech."
"Okay, I'll rephrase that for you. What do you want from me in return for John's freedom?"
"You"
"Finally! We're getting somewhere. Give me a time and place and I'll be there"
"Now, that would be too easy wouldn't it? I know what going through your mind now…Am I touching John? Am I hurting him? What am I going to do to him next?. I'm sure your vivid imagination has come up with numerous scenarios. The power of the imagination is the scariest tool."
Sherlock sighed. He squeezed his eyes shut. Moriaty was right, he was imagining John lying comatose on the floor beside him, Moriaty running his hands through John's hair, over his jumper as he spoke to him on the phone. He could see John, all battered and bruised, coughing blood and looking so damn scared it hurt. But he was not supposed to feel emotion, he locked it up in his mind palace and threw away the key long ago…but it seems as if it's escaping. Somehow. Oozing out of the locked door like the evils from Pandora's box. He was crumbling, he could tell. He was uses pointless, human phrases and his mind was running wild. His control was slipping. All for John.
"Ju-just stop. Please. Tell me where you are and we can talk. I'll do whatever you want, just please don't hurt him"
"Is that the sound of the great Sherlock Holmes, begging." Moriaty laughed.
"Yes, it is, you've had your fun, you've made me beg, just tell me where you are…I want a location."
"My, my, how the mighty have fallen"
"Location" Sherlock forced out through gritted teeth.
"Go to your window. Look across the street. Do you see the window with the red curtains."
"Yes"
"I've been here alllllll along, right in front of your eyes, and not once have you questioned it. Your getting slow Sherlock"
"Oh, why didn't it see that before! That is so OBVIOUS! The window is clearly visible from any line of sight looking from this perspective. I should have seen this. Why didn't I see this!? How utterly STUPID!" Sherlock growled letting out all that pent up rage.
"Come and get meeeeeee!" Moriaty sang before dropping the line.
Thanks for reading!
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