The Waiting Game
"Sherlock Holmes and Doctor Watson. I have to admit, I saw that coming from a mile away. That pool thing? Do you remember how worried dear Sherlock was about his doctor?" He chuckled at the memory.
"Sir, do you need anything else?" the guard asked. He was looking at his boss uncertainly, not entirely sure how he would take the news.
"Oh no, go away. I need time to process this." A dismissive hand flick was all it took to send the guard scurrying away. Well, it seemed everyone was afraid of him. Hurtful if he thought about it. Or… thrilling?
Jim Moriarty sat back in his chair, contemplating his next move. There were a thousand possibilities to consider.
"Oh Sherlock, you truly are blind in some ways," he said aloud, thinking about the great detective. If only he could see that only Moriarty was his equal. He was the only one who could match the detective's intelligence and cunning.
But, John made Sherlock feel special. Or something along those lines. Moriarty would have his chance. Soon. Oh so very soon.
John held onto the warmth of his dream for a few moments longer, before forcing his eyes open. He'd finally dreamt of happiness when Sherlock agreed to spend the night with him.
John turned around and saw Sherlock right next to him. One long arm was draped over him, while his head was almost leaning on John's chest. God, think of what people would say if they saw this. He sighed and decided not to worry about it.
Sherlock looked younger when he was asleep. Less… annoying. John smiled when he realized that Sherlock was actually moving towards him. He curled his body around John's, effectively spooning him. The doctor secretly relished the feeling.
"Sherlock," he whispered. He nudged the sleeping man, hating himself for doing it. But, it was necessary. They both needed to get up.
"John," Sherlock murmured, adjusting his position. He pulled John in closer, refusing to let go. John tried a few times to rescue himself but gave up when the effort seemed futile. Sherlock seemed satisfied with his efforts and fell into a deeper sleep. John rolled his eyes but snuggled up to the detective to spend the morning together.
He must've drifted off because when he woke again, it was half past nine. Sherlock wasn't there anymore, but the place where he slept was still warm.
"Sherlock?" he called out, still half groggy with sleep. The bedroom door suddenly swung open, revealing an unkempt and frantic looking Sherlock.
"John, good you're up." He was delicately balancing a couple of trays, one holding tea and the other holding food. John raised his eyebrows as Sherlock set down a plate of eggs and toast. Sherlock Holmes helping someone else?
"I haven't got a completely stone heart, John," Sherlock said, rolling his eyes. He nudged the doctor encouraging him to eat. John scooped up the toast, acutely aware of Sherlock's steady gaze staring at him. He only managed to swallow a few bites before the silence became awkward.
"Sherlock… about last night," John started. But Sherlock just shook his head.
"Don't bother. There's really no need for you to talk about it." That shut John up for a second. He lamely licked his lips, wondering what to say next.
"Oh well… thanks. Um… what about-"
"The comment?" Sherlock asked, effectively cutting him off. John just nodded slowly. Sherlock hesitated for only a moment before he spoke.
"John, I meant it. I really did. No games, nothing." John felt his heart lift a bit at hearing the confirmation. But Sherlock wasn't finished.
"But um, I don't think right now would necessarily be an ideal time to start a relationship. While it may be what our hearts desire, we must do what is best for us right now." Sherlock ended his little speech abruptly, seeing John bite his lip.
"That's fine, Sherlock. I understand. It's enough you know. Our friendship. It's gonna be enough for me." He tried to put a convincing smile on, and he thought he did a pretty good job of it. But this of course was Sherlock.
The detective deduced in 1.6 seconds that John was actually not okay with it. But that he was indeed willing to wait as long as needed to pursue anything. Well, that was a comfort.
"Right well, you need to eat your breakfast. We've got a case today."
Sherlock half listened to a man blag on about his case, staring at John in the chair opposite. The man was talking about finding bodies in some old warehouse. All in all, the case was really only a four.
"Get to the interesting part," he snapped. The man stopped talking, giving Sherlock a confused look. He rolled his eyes.
"I'm telling you," he defended. "Aren't you supposed to be some genius or something." That caught Sherlock's attention. John looked up in alarm as Sherlock's blue eyes darkened.
"You know, Sherlock Holmes the guy who knows things that ordinary people don't?" Sherlock took a deep breath before letting loose.
"You mean like how you're having an affair with your boss' wife? Or maybe like how you promised her that you would leave your wife, but never plan to. How the work trip you made last week was really just a romantic weekend with her, and ooh you've even got a flat together. Interesting how you would explain that to your wife."
"I…" he stuttered, unable to refute any of it. Sherlock just smiled. Even John couldn't help the small grin that crossed his face. It warmed Sherlock's heart. But only a little.
"You're crazy. You're an absolute psychopath." The man flinched away like Sherlock was going to turn into a demon.
"High functioning sociopath," he corrected. "Now, skip ahead as to why you came."
"Yeah, right." The man took a deep breath, still wary. "I think I may have killed them." Sherlock's head snapped up in intrigue. Well well, this case had just become a seven.
"You see I've had dreams of the warehouse. I think… I think I killed them when I was dreaming. This whole thing is bloody terrifying." Sherlock narrowed his eyes.
"Very well. Show us." The man looked taken aback.
"Sorry?"
"Show us the warehouse."
They took a cab to what appeared to be an abandoned warehouse. Sherlock followed the man into the dark building. He led them to a small room, half lit by a dusty old bulb. The smell was increasingly awful, as the stench of rotting bodies wafted towards them.
"How did you find this place?" John asked, carefully stepping over rusting pipelines. He winced as his shoulder brushed up against the wall. When he came away, there was a blackish liquid layered on.
"Just bloody fabulous," John muttered, not even daring to try and brush it off. Who knew what that could be.
"I dreamt it," the man answered, unusually confident for someone creeping around an old warehouse.
"Sorry, you dreamt it?" John asked, disbelief tainting his tone. The man nodded eagerly.
"Yes, don't you see? It was like I was being led here in my dream. But I don't know by whom. I could just feel a force pulling me to this place. And, I actually have no idea where in London this is. I've never really been in this part before."
Sherlock continued to walk through the maze of rooms, curious as to exactly where this would go.
"I remember what the people looked like, detective. I remember their faces. I can remember the blood as well." The man continued to go on about his experience, all while leading them further into the building. John began to wonder how they would ever be able to get out.
There were no windows anywhere, and the only way they could see is with their phone flashlights.
"Uh how far are we?" he asked, feeling something crawl over his foot. Please just be a mouse.
"Not far. Just a couple more rooms." Sherlock narrowed his eyes but continued to follow.
"This is disgusting," John muttered, stepping into a puddle yet again. Up ahead the ceiling had caved in some, allowing sunlight to filter through the darkness. That's when they both saw them.
Six bodies were strewn on the floor, all of them in various states of decomposition.
"There," the man said pointing.
"Yeah, we got that," John said, now following Sherlock to the bodies. Two males, four females. All white, with some in the middle class and some in clear poverty. Homeless.
"You killed them?" Sherlock asked. The man nodded, almost eagerly. Sherlock looked one last time before turning around.
"Except you didn't Mr. Roland. You're left-handed. And the person who killed these people is right-handed." Sherlock took another step forward, threateningly so.
"Who sent you?" Mr. Roland backed up some, clearly intimidated. Sherlock narrowed his eyes.
"Uh don't worry. I sent him."
Both Sherlock and John whipped around to see a figure emerge from the shadows. Jim Moriarty.
"Hello, again boys. Lovely to see both of you. You're looking quite well. Mrs. Hudson been taking good care of you?"
"What do you want?" John hissed, taking a step towards the other man. Jim held his hands up in surrender.
"Ooh, so aggressive Mr. Watson. But don't worry. I'm not here to hurt you. In fact, as long as you both follow me. No one will get killed." Sherlock and John exchanged a glance. Finally, Sherlock nodded. Moriarty smiled in triumph.
"Wonderful. Now… let's play a game."
Been a while huh?
Next time… Sherlock and John are forced to play a dangerous game for their freedom where nothing is as it seems.
R&R
NightLightning21