Here is the new chapter folks! This is chapter is the first one from Sherlock's perspective so hopefully it explains his side a little bit. Once again, I would like to thank you guys for all the follows and reviews! I even got some favorites this time around, which is greatly encouraging. Anyway, enjoy! :)
Disclaimer: I do not own anything Sherlock related, except this story.
Sherlock heard the door slam behind him. He took a deep ragged breath, running his fingers through his hair, trying to quail the battle that was raging inside of him.
"Why did you do that? You ruined everything!"
"There wasn't anything to ruin. It was better to stop it before it started."
"But you did start it, the moment you kissed him and admitted your feelings. And now you threw it all away! He won't be coming back this time."
"John will be fine. He has Mary and the baby."
"But he wants you! He said so himself. And you just let that go."
"I couldn't risk it."
"Risk what? Happiness?"
"No, hurting him. Ruining his life. He is better off without me."
"Excuses, excuses. But really you're just scared. Scared of how you feel. Scared of allowing yourself to be happy."
"Stop it."
"You think it will make you weak, but really you're already weak. You've proved that time and time again. Every time you shut him out. Every time you suppressed your feelings, instead of dealing with them. Every time you stick that needle in your arm."
"Stop it!"
This time the words left Sherlock's mouth and he realized he was curled up in a ball on the floor. He could feel himself shaking. He let out a dry sob before standing up and walking over to the fireplace.
He was weak.
Sherlock bent down and removed his kit from underneath a old log, where he had hid it the moment he had heard John coming up the stairs.
Sherlock set on the floor, leaning against John's (old) chair. He opened the case with shaking hands. He still had a full syringe laid out. He flexed his hands, trying to steady them. He set the syringe to the side and begin to tie a tourniquet around his left arm.
"Is this what John would want?"
"It doesn't matter."
"Yes it does. You don't have to be weak. You don't have to be scared. You don't need this."
Sherlock reached for syringe, his arm prepped.
"Yes I do."
"No. You just need him."
Sherlock paused, the needle hovering above the throbbing vein.
"But he's not here."
And with that excuse to comfort him, he inserted the needle into his arm. He took a deep breath and was just about to press down on the syringe to release the wonderful poison, when he heard his phone ring from across the room. At first he ignored it, but then horrid visions flooded his mind. Of John kidnapped. Of John beaten and blooded. Of John dead.
Sherlock removed the needle from his arm with a wince and rushed over to his phone laying on the coffee table. He saw his brother's name flashing across the screen. He snorted, content to ignore his brother's whining. But then...if John was hurt, who would call...? Mycroft did see everything.
He reached down for the phone and pressed it against his ear.
"This better be important, Mycroft. I am very busy."
"I'm sure you are dear brother." He answered, his voice dripping with sarcasm. "But this is of the utmost importance."
Sherlock's heart skipped a beat.
"Is John alright?"
"Of course, though I think you might want to contact him since this does involve him."
"What does?"
"It's Moriarty, Sherlock. As you would say brother, the game has begun."
Moriarty has returned folks! I know this chapter was much shorter and I do apologize, but I promise the next one will be much longer with murders and angst and other such fun. Stick with me guys!
Tea and biscuits for all reviews/follows/favorites!
