Madness Chapter Four
IMPORTANT
This story was inspired by the amazing video by Candy Hard "Madness" which can be seen by clicking the link below
watch?v=be8vbdh-E4M&feature=c4-overview&list=UUTrUqio_YLy5ZSdhy5dmwxA
Disclaimer: I own nothing. Not the concept. Not the characters. Nothing.
A/N: I'm sorry again for being the slowest updater in the world, but I actually have a plan now for where I want the story to go so that's great. I'd love to hear about what you all have to say so please tell me!
"It was Moriarty," Sherlock stated.
"Do you mean the same Moriarty that was tried for the jewel theft?" asked Jack.
"Yes," Sherlock replied without any elaboration.
"How can you possibly know that?" Jack inquired further.
Sherlock sighed in annoyance but continued to explain, "Fairy tales, this was obviously copied from the Grimm brothers, as was the abduction of the two children before, and the packa-" Sherlock stopped in the middle of his sentence.
"He's not wrong, it was the same killer, or contractor so to speak, but there is no evidence indicating Moriarty," Will Graham commented.
"There's evidence," Sherlock corrected. "We just can't see it yet."
And with that, Sherlock left.
"Is he always like that?" asked Jack.
"Unfortunately," replied Lestrade.
"Useless," Sherlock muttered as he entered the apartment. "Completely pointless."
"What's this about then?" John asked casually not even looking up from his paper.
"Everything. Lestrade called me in on a case. I know Moriarty's behind it. I analyzed the footprints and followed that trail and in the end all I found was the breeding ground of some stray cats," Sherlock complained and flopped onto the couch.
"How do you know it's Moriarty?"
"Patterns and parallelism. Moriarty loves to speak in symbols," Sherlock explained. "And on top of everything else there's your bloody psychiatrist."
"How did that go, by the way?" John inquired finally looking up from his paper.
"Waste of time for the both of us. According to him it's completely normal," Sherlock spat out the last word as if it were a piece of burned food.
"Imagine that, Sherlock Holmes, normal," laughed John. Sherlock just grunted. "Oh, come on you're not going to become any less…well…you if you are somewhat like us normal people."
"You're so insightful, John," Sherlock retorted.
Sherlock fell into his bed utterly frustrated and exhausted. He would never sleep this much usually, but his dreams left him feeling more tired than when he went to sleep. Tonight he would sleep fine. At least that's what he told himself.
Sherlock prided himself in knowing and understanding. Despite how inadequate he felt by having to go to a psychiatrist to figure it out, he now understood. He was positive they would go away the moment he understood and undermined them. He was wrong.
Sherlock stood on the roof of the hospital surrounded by nothingness. He heard Moriarty's taunting voice booming around him. It had no conceivable source; it was everywhere.
"Sherlock," it sang out. "I'm going to get ya."
"Come out and face me you coward," Sherlock yelled back, the shakiness in his voice gave him away.
"Oh, Sherlock, are you scared?" it taunted. "The Great Sherlock Holmes, afraid, cowardly, stupid."
Think Sherlock thought to himself THINK! He cursed his own mind for failing to come up with a solution. His own subconscious, however, was a step ahead of him.
"The Great Sherlock Holmes afraid of a dream," it laughed at him.
A dream. It was just a dream. It wasn't real; he had nothing to fear. So why was his pulse racing? Why was he sweating? Why couldn't he think?
"You're not real!" Sherlock yelled to convince himself more than anything. "You're powerless you can't do anything to me!"
For a moment, everything was still. Sherlock smiled to himself feeling as though he'd out-smarted his own mind.
But then he was pushed down to the hard concrete roof. The crazed eyes of a maniac were staring at him.
"You sure about that?" it sneered while pressing a sharp blade into Sherlock's arms.