Chapter summary: Moriarty tries to protect Sherlock from John, in a way.
To pin down any concrete evidence against the M-Lab is as much of a goose-hunt as John has expected, given his understanding of Moran's competence in erasing as well as creating. The mood of the flat is of a sulky silence. John sits in his chair, which he has moved a few metres from Sherlock's, and pictures his own arms swung around the bony shoulders, his lips soothing the knotted dark brows; whenever he did that Sherlock would give him a smile, no matter what. As the current development dictates, he now contributes to nothing but the sulk, his uselessness highlighted by the harrowing distance between them.
Uselessness. That's a mortal sin.
The prolonged silence of the interior is emphasised by faint but determined footsteps from the stairs. John hurries to the door, grateful for an opportunity to help somewhat, and freezes for a second at the sight of his Author.
"Nice to see you again, Dr. Watson, it's been a while, I believe." Moriarty sounds abundantly more becoming than Mycroft does. "Although I have come for the objective of renewing our friendship, surely you will not deny me some face-time with the One I adore?"
John does not answer. Various comebacks cross his mind, but he settles for holding Moriarty within the range of the fiery s-field, preferable burning a hole into that intricate mind without a compass. But Moriarty bypasses him too swiftly. John follows his heel, staying as close as possible.
Let it burn.
Moriarty doesn't seem to be paying him any attention. He is, after all, quite star-struck, as manifest in the slight quiver in his voice. "Hello, Sherlock, I am your biggest fan."
Sherlock does not rise from the chair. "What is your offer?"
"Ah, I'm doing well, thank you for asking."
"As a business man in the worst sense of the word you have come with an offer. What is the offer?"
"Oh, Sherlock, your frankness hurt me." Moriarty's head sways slowly in disapproval. "As much as I adore the efficiency of your beautiful mind, a hasty assessment is not always correct. What might have resembled entrepreneurship in my conducts is merely intended to pave the way for the greater quest for Truth, an endeavour that we share."
Sherlock snarls. "I dare not agree to that, esteemed Professor."
Moriarty nods to the preferred title. "As what paves the way has now become a fatal obstruction, some amends are due on my part. I owe you a thousand apologies, Sherlock." With a few very quick paces Moriarty is suddenly leaning in Sherlock's face. John, perceiving the proximity, recedes quietly, his fist half-clenched.
The shuffle does not go ignored by his creator. "I applaud your judgment, John, though the damaging power of the s-field would undoubtedly fail your high hopes in the span of my brief visit. Nevertheless, I request that you turn it off now, and never seek to activate that horrendous device ever again, for I hereby promise to never take advantage of the sixth you-know-what; what I have come to offer is peace."
"Peace is not necessarily productive, nor a promise profitable." Sherlock's eyes sharpen. John does not like his voice there; it sounds almost like Moriarty. "You killed for data points. Tell me, Professor, how is your proposal supposed to convince?"
Moriarty folds his hands together with something akin to reverence. "Oh, Sherlock, Sherlock, you get me, but you don't get me. Yes, I orchestrated certain events, some may call them unfortunate, for the sole purpose of bringing you to your best; is it any stretch of imagination to conclude that there is nothing I would not do to keep you? The threat of a menacing signal, prevalent and unchecked by your side, keeps me awake at night. And to think of the source of that offence!" He turns around to John, a dark shadow clouding his face. "For all I care, the easier way out is to throw you back into the cauldron whence you came. A few ounces of amino acid would always be far more useful and less disturbing - "
"Stop." Sherlock has rose to his feet, his command crisp and condescending. John loosens his fist, silently holding inside the panic and dread provoked by the possibility. And Sherlock is looking at him with a little shake of his head, as if mouthing, no.
No. As long as we are here.
"But let us pay you the proper civility deserved by the Citizen you are, Dr. John Watson." Moriarty continues. "I'm putting up with the trouble, since I have gifted you to a much more meaningfully gifted mind. To demonstrate my spirit of cooperation, I am willing to issue a formal statement on the technical complications of the implants that have accidentally incited the acts of violence, which would grant the poor fellows pardon at my bitter personal cost, if you are so insistent on justice. This will be the most efficient neutral resolution, as you must have found out the hard way. Do we have a deal?"
"Do it." Sherlock replies coolly.
A glint of disappointment flashes in Moriarty's eyes, as if he has expected more. "Consider my action a declaration, Sherlock, I love you to abstraction, in the most literal way. You must excuse my somewhat invasive approach - surveillance, per se, was never the intention. No. This is so beyond watching you, and I imagine you will be impressed by the final output."
"How unflattering." Sherlock says.
Moriarty winks before taking an exit. "Farewell, my dear, I believe we will meet again before the end." He utters as he brushes past John.
"Well, that was quite a deus ex machina for the convicted." John reclines in his chair, not in relaxation, but in emotional exhaustion. The fact that his presence did contribute to the resolution does little to elevate the anger and helplessness that's still tugging at his stomach. "Do you believe him though?"
Against his better judgement John hopes for a yes. A rationalisation, a permission, to switch off his invisible cell, so that he would feel Sherlock again. Damn his brilliant mind.
Sherlock has no answer for a while. Eventually, he says, "Believing is not the issue here. His promise is only as good as we make it. Moriarty is playing with the lives of many because he can. Make it so he cannot. Before that, we… stay cautious. John," he adds in a small voice, "I would very much like to hug you right now."
John nods, his heart sinking a little. "Right, erm, we are staying cautious, just for now."
They shake hands as a good-night, the closest they can afford.