A/N: This is a collaboration project with Jam_Jar. Neither of us own the characters of BBC's Sherlock. We've only borrowed them for a while.
CHAPTER ONE: The Fall
There had been thirteen plausible scenarios calculated for the outcome of their final confrontation. All of them had been meticulously planned. All he had had to do was pull out his phone and text the proper keyword to his brother Mycroft.
Sherlock Holmes stepped out onto the roof, subconsciously popping his collar. The final game was about to begin.
Moriarty was lounging on edge of the roof glaring at his cellphone. The tin sounding speakers attempting to blare out Stayin' Alive a song by the 1960s band The Bee Gees. Sherlock's mouth curled up into a smile. The song had saved his life during their first encounter.
"Well, here we are at last. You and me, Sherlock. And our problem. The final problem." Moriarty drawled without looking up at Sherlock. "Staying alive?" he gestured manically with his hand. "It's soo boring." He shut the music off, continuing to gesture with his hand. "It's just... staying."
Sherlock paced around Moriarty. He hoped that the man assumed that he was nervously waiting for whatever plan Moriarty had for him to unfold, when in truth he was trying to figure out which code word to text Mycroft. He was busily narrowing down the plans based off of location, height, Moriarty's word choice and all the other information that was slamming into his senses. Moriarty seemed to pay no mind to his actions. He's in the dominant position. He plans to keep it. Sherlock thought to himself.
"All my life." Moriarty continued. "I've been searching for distractions. For the best distraction. And now." He paused glaring up at the taller man for the first time. "I don't even have you. Because I've beaten you."
Sherlock paused in his pacing.
"And you know what. It was easy, and now I need to go back to playing with the ordinary people... And it turns out you're ordinary just like them." Moriarty's head fell into his hands.
Sherlock's insides boiled. He was not like them. He was smarter, cleverer. He quickly attempted to master his feelings. Emotion would blind him and cause him to misinterpret Moriarty's actions, thus giving his nemesis the upper hand.
"I had such high hopes for you Sherlock," Moriarty uncurled himself approaching him as he spoke. His voice was rising and falling with the constant change of his emotions. "ORDINARY SHERLOCK. You know what your PROBLEM is? Everything has to be CLEVER. Everything."
Sherlock's mind was whirling. Four outcomes left.
"My intellect's equal?" Moriarty's face twisted. "You've swam amongst the ordinary for so long" he twirled his hand. "You even decided to keep one as a pet."
"John," Sherlock said speaking for the first time. "Is not a pet."
"Ooooooooo," Moriarty exaggerated the sound. "He keeps you grounded. Makes it safe for you to play with all the other little pets. You've gone and gotten yourself domesticated."
Sherlock opened his mouth to speak only to be cut off.
"If I only had gotten to you first." Moriarty smiled. "Oh what fun we could have had. What potential. What a dance."
Moriarty began to waltz with himself, circling Sherlock.
"Waltzing is ridiculous without a partner." Moriarty laughed gleefully. Sherlock stayed rooted to the spot.
"Ah but it's not about John." Moriarty stopped almost as quickly as he began. "John didn't give you your ridiculous morals. Your ideas of right - Moriaty's face was a large smile. - and wrong" his face took on the appearance of mask out of a greek tragedy.
"Morals-"
Moriarty stood up a little straighter and dropped his voice giving his best impression of Sherlock. "Morals are logical. They are the heart of society, without them we would descend into chaos without morals there is no logic and logic dictates morality." He paused his shoulders relaxing. "WRONG! Morals are a lies Sherlock. Lies to keep everyone in their own little boxes. Nice little safety blankets to tuck us all in at night. No. Chaos. True freedom. We could be kings."
"You're disturbed." Sherlock said but his voice gave away his own uncertainty.
"You don't mean that." Moriarty replied. "You're jealous."
"I am not jealous. You are a raving psychopath with a uncontrollable need to be at the center of attention. You lack any sense of value of human life."
"And you love it."
Sherlock was silent.
"Oh come now Sherlock. You know you've thought of me. Of what we'd be capable of. Think of the fun we could have. You could have. With someone who's your equal. Never having to explain the little details. More time for" Moriarty waved the words away. "We'll get to that eventually."
Sherlock was rigid. Moriarty was right. He was not like the others those he had only recently accepted as his friends. Sherlock saw in Moriarty what he could have become. But together their intellect. What they could do.
This was all Mycroft's fault. If he had been able to keep Moriarty behind bars then this never would have happened. Sherlock's reputation was tarnished. He would never be able to work again… and if he could never world he would go mad.
Moriarty seemed to read his mind.
"I can help you get away from him. Away from it all. Then, I can have you all to myself"
Sherlock locked eyes with the man, his one true nemesis. The one man who had beat him. The word 'nemesis' flickered in his mind. Somehow, it didn't seem quite right anymore...
"I'm listening."
John clutched the phone in his hand, his eyes locked upon the figure of his best friend balancing precariously on the edge of the roof.
"It's my note John, that's what people do." Sherlock's voice was surprisingly calm on the other end of the line. John's mind raced. No. No. No. Sherlock. No. He wouldn't he couldn't. I need you Sherlock. I'm nothing without you
"Sherl-" John started only to be cut off mid-word.
"Goodbye John." The call dropped and Sherlock stepped off the roof.
John screamed.
Everything changed that day. He had thought they had something. He really had. Something special and different. But he was wrong. These bitter thoughts spun through John Watson's head, as he made his way back to 221B Baker Street. It was time to leave. He opened the door and stood silent in the doorway for a moment, trying hard to take deep breaths. The house was full of too many memorizes. The staircase... I've never done anything that crazy. You invaded Afghanistan. He pushed the thoughts out of his mind and made himself move up the stairs. The sooner he made himself get up there, the sooner he could escape the pressure in his chest that was threatening to crush him. Just as he opened the door to the apartment, he sighed in relief to be free of the dreaded staircase, letting himself get caught off guard by the sight of Sherlock's open bedroom door. The bed was visible, the bed he had hoped to share. He had been so close to telling him.. but now it was too late. His eyes began to well with tears, and he forced himself to move to his bedroom to begin packing his things.
Once his meager belongings had been thrown into his bag, he walked into the living room to sit down and write a note to let Mrs. Hudson know he wouldn't be back. It wasn't the best way to go about leaving, but this was too hard for him, and he couldn't be bothered about anybody else for the moment. Sherlock was the only one on his mind. He took a breath to think about what he would say in the note, and turned his eyes for inspiration. He realized his mistake instantly, as his eyes fell upon a half finished cup of tea, long gone cold. His mind flashed back to Sherlock's last excited rush out of the apartment. Feeling a twist in his chest he quickly scribbled "He's gone. I'm sorry. I can't be here anymore. -John" on a paper, dropped it on the chair, and made his way out of the apartment as fast as possible.