A/N: It's Thursday, ya all! And you know what that means. (smirks) BUT, first…
THANK YOU, so very much, for the reviews and love you've given this story! My rl schedule's a bit manic right now so it means a lot to have you sticking by this story. (beams and hugs)
Awkay… Because I think that I owe you some answers after the previous chapter, let's go! I REALLY hope that you'll enjoy this one.
The Shadows of Past
For several long moments it was completely, unnervingly silent and still. The group gathered into Penelope's living room barely dared to breathe in fear of what it might trigger. In the end Derek was the one who rose from where he'd ducked at the sound of the bullet, a gun firmly in his steady hold. "Is everyone alright?" he demanded in a bark that was colored by more than a touch of terror.
Slowly everyone nodded. Muttered that they were fine. Hesitantly started to get up from where they'd ducked.
Everyone except for John. For the doctor never went down in the first place. He formed soldier's fists were balled so tightly that in a more coherent state of mind he might've been worried about breaking skin. But as it was all he managed to focus on was the sight in the mirror before him. The image was all too clear despite the fact that the bullet, which missed John head with about two millimetres, had shattered a part of the glass. The image showed a man on the opposite building's rooftop. There was a entirely too smug smirk on the face of James Moriarty while the supposedly dead madman lowered his gun, then gave a brief wave before disappearing like a ghost.
John shivered at the feel of a hand on his shoulder. Looking quickly to side he saw JJ's lips moving but his ears were ringing from the bullet so he couldn't hear the words. He was, however, fairly sure that she was asking if he was alright so he nodded although he wasn't quite sure.
Surely it couldn't be Moriarty right there? Moriarty was dead and gone. Moriarty was gone. Nothing but a very unpleasant memory.
Someone offered him a glass of water. He accepted it with a nod of gratitude, hating the way his hand shook while he attempted to take a sip. Hated how his spinning head and a rapidly intensifying headache made it practically impossible to think straight.
The ringing in John's ears eased just in time for him to hear Sherlock's voice. Everyone else had already gathered close to Penelope's laptop, which had gained a life of its own once more. There was a frosty grin on the man's face. "… that serve as enough of a warning for you?"
John gritted his teeth so hard that it hurt. His eyes and blood blazed. "You could've had one of us killed! With the help of James bloody Moriarty!" he snarled, his heart hammering a million miles per hour. Was that man really his friend? Surely even with amnesia… "Sherlock, what the fucking hell is this?! What are you doing?"
Sherlock chuckled in chilling manner, shaking his head. "You honestly have no idea of what's going on, do you?" Those eyes looking at him seemed pitying."Don't worry, it'll all become very clear soon enough." All of a sudden the man's eyes became colder than ice. The whole expression radiated threat. "As I said, this one was a warning. The next time you interfere it won't be. Stay out of my way… or your hearts will burn." With those ominous words the face disappeared. All they had was the timer, still counting downwards inevitably.
While everyone else stared at the screen – shocked, disappointed, outraged and confused – Mycroft began to leave the room. "There's a phone call I must make." No one commented in any way.
John managed to keep himself in control for a respectable amount of time. Then, with such speed that probably startled the others, he finally gave in to the urges of his body. He dashed into the bathroom and threw up.
Spencer began to wake up to a massive headache and general ache that seemed to have taken over all of his body. He groaned, not quite daring to open his eyes. He tried to move his hand but didn't quite get the limb to co-operate.
What… happened? Why did he feel like he'd been driven over by a truck? What was going on?
Hold on…
He was on his way somewhere, wasn't he? Yes. And he wasn't alone. Emily…
That snapped Spencer right back into focus. His eye flew open to discover a darkening sky above him. "… 'tiss?" He could barely hear his own voice. He struggled to get up. "Emily?"
A large, firm hand appeared to stop his movements. "Stay very still until you're coherent enough to be able to tell if it's really safe to move", a quiet yet steel hard voice told him. "Can you do that for me?"
Spencer blinked twice, feeling dizzy and out of breath. Gradually everything began to slip into place. He turned his head, just enough to find the one and only Sherlock Holmes kneeling beside him. The man was wearing a hood to hide his face from anyone who might've been observing. He frowned. "What…?"
"This isn't the time for questions", Sherlock snapped, the British genius' patience clearly wearing thin. The man's sharp eyes scanned the environment. It was around then Spencer's ears had recovered enough to catch the sounds of approaching sirens. Well, even with the remote location someone must've caught the flames, not to even mention the explosion, and alerted emergency services. "Do you think you can manage walking?"
Spencer nodded carefully, lifting himself to a sitting position slowly although he would've wanted to just jump up and run. "Where's Emily? Is she alright?"
"She's relatively fine, all things considered. She's safe." The sirens were already quite close. Sherlock's posture stiffened slightly. "Now let's go."
Spencer hauled himself up, wincing slightly when his body protested loudly against the motions. He was mildly touched by the hand that appeared to help him but knew better than to comment. In silence the two of them disappeared into the shadows, leaving behind the ruins of a exploded house and a wrecked car.
Leaving behind one disaster to prepare for another.
Aaron knew that it was only a matter of time before he'd be connected to the explosion outside the factory looking area. Something like that was bound to catch attention. That's why he found it safest to play low while trying to come up with his next move.
He had no idea how long he'd been walking aimlessly until a rather expensive looking red car pulled to a stop right next to him. He froze, a part of him knowing who it was instantly. All of him turned cold when the darkened window rolled open and he met a face that only now seemed familiar although David Rossi had shown him pictures. "You look so very lost, Aaron", Queen told him. "Why don't you let me give you a ride?"
Aaron scoffed. He took a look around to notice no one before taking a step forward, then another. "Do I have a choice?"
The woman shrugged while he sat into the vehicle. "No. Not really." It wasn't a surprise that she didn't wait for him to fasten his seatbelt before beginning to speed away.
They'd been driving for about three minutes until she gave him a blindfold. "Put that on or you can be sure that you'll never see your child again."
Cautious fool's hope rising inside Aaron obeyed. Obeyed although all of his reason screamed against it. "Is Jack okay?" he asked as soon as the fabric was firmly in place.
"He is. For now." He felt her eyes on him before she went on. "So… Have you figured out who I am, now?"
Aaron gulped laboriously. He didn't like the way his heart was jumping. "Yes", he admitted.
"You called me your sister. Remember?" Her voice carried a clearly traceable edge of bitterness. "I was your sister, no matter how briefly. Still you let that asshole father of yours beat me up and worse. Every… fucking… day. And… And when I finally got away… I never heard from you again. I was your sister and you didn't try to contact me even once."
Aaron shivered. He wasn't sure if the thundering of his heart or their current speed was more dangerous. "I was a child", he attempted to reason, with which one of them was unclear.
"SO WAS I!" For a few moments all of the woman's astonishing control was lost. And then, just as quickly, it was back. "But no matter. We're both adults, now. That's all in the past. Right now I have something very special planned out for you."
Aaron barely heard. His thoughts were buzzing hard, his head trying desperately to bring any sense at all into this. He failed.
He asked his father about his adopted sister of less than two years, once. He could still recall quite vividly the look in the man's eyes. 'Your sister is dead.' From the beating that followed Aaron knew better than to ask ever again.
To him the woman sitting beside him wasn't Queen. Not even Eveleen Moriarty for he didn't know that name. She was Erica Hotchner, as his father and mother introduced the scared little girl they brought home one stormy evening.
Sherlock led Spencer to a field nearby the explosion site. Spencer blinked with confusion when the detective stopped in front of what seemed to be nothing. "Why…?" He was interrupted when the British genius grabbed a handle that seemed to have come out of nowhere and pulled open a lid. Revealed stairs that led into darkness.
A pair of sharp, demanding eyes met him. "Go in. Quickly."
Spencer obeyed although a tiny part of his brain attempted to message that something was horribly wrong. He slipped into the dark, all too familiar with the feel of his gun against his thigh. Would he know who he needed to use it on anymore?
As soon as they made it down Sherlock offered him something. A flashlight. "Use that. We won't get anywhere if you break your leg at this point."
A cautious smile tucked the corner of Spencer's lips. Now this was beginning to feel familiar. "Thank you."
"Hmph."
They went on about thirty steps until he saw a door. At Sherlock's nod he pulled it open. For a moment the light inside caused him to shield his eyes until the blurry figures began to clear out. He saw Emily, who appeared bruised and shaken but largely unharmed. She'd pressed a hand to her stomach, as though attempting to feel the baby. Beside her sat Jason Gideon, who had a grim look on his pale face.
Spencer staggered back a step with shock and overwhelming relief. "You… I thought…"
"I was able to leave the house before the explosion", Jason explained. The man, however, appeared suspiciously tense for someone who just cheated death. "Someone tipped me off."
Spencer frowned. At that point his hand was sneaking closer and closer to his gun. "Who?"
"I did, love." Irene Adler stepped out of the shadows as gracefully as a hunting tiger. Her eyes focused on Sherlock although she was talking to him. "Someone asked me to look after the family of his… friend. I failed once. I won't do it a second."
Spencer frowned, a hundred questions burning on his tongue. He never had the time for any of them. Because completely without a warning Sherlock pulled out a gun and pointed it at them. "I have no idea of who any of you are." He glanced towards Irene. "But somehow you managed to lure me here and you all seem to know me. I need to know why. So start explaining. Now."
During the five minutes and twenty-eight seconds John spent in the bathroom he managed to compose himself. Was able to chase the picture of… this Sherlock's devilish eyes into such a distant corner of his mind where it was bearable. He rinsed his mouth and face, took several deep breaths his therapist would've been proud of and walked back to the others.
Looking at him Penelope frowned with worry, her caring instincts taking over. "Hey. How are you holding up?"
"I'm fine." It was a flatout lie but as it was John didn't manage to care. "And right now… Right now we have bigger problems. James Moriarty is still alive."
That certainly started out a havoc. John was forced to answer about a hundred questions. Derek was the one to make the dreaded one. "Is it possible that he's managed to talk Sherlock into working for him? I mean… Now that Sherlock has no memories."
John didn't have to focus too hard to be able to summon the memories.
Sherlock asking if he was alright at the pool, focusing on him instead of rushing after Moriarty.
Sherlock playing the violin.
Sherlock's smile, the true and honest one. Because John knew the difference.
And finally, Sherlock's genuine tears right before the fall that made his world crash and burn. 'Goodbye, John.'
Sherlock himself told John, once upon a time, that he was a fake. A lot of people told him so. But John refused to believe them. Even now. Because he just couldn't bring himself to believe that the heart he'd seen come to life was nothing but a hoax.
"No", he murmured, already pushing himself up. He wondered how many steps he'd be able to take. "I'm sorry, but…" He needed space. Some time alone. Room to breathe.
Penelope nodded, seeming understanding. "Feel free to use the bedroom. Just… Just stay away from the windows."
John nodded although he processed the request only partially. He didn't need to glance over his shoulder to know that there were eyes watching him. He hated it. People looked at him the same way after Sherlock's…
John must've been sitting right beside the bed for at least three minutes until he remembered the tape recorder in his coat's pocket. It was old fashioned and barely functioning but perhaps it'd work. Because there was something that he needed to say, just in case…
He wondered if Mycroft had been listening. Because mere seconds after he was finished and the recorder was safely hidden the British government entered, a solemn look on his face. "I was wondering if this is a good time for a talk."
John scoffed, wiping his eyes as subtly as possible. He could tell that the man noticed the gesture, though. "There's never going to be a better time." He took a deep breath, trying to deduce what was coming and how he should brace himself for it. "So… What is it?"
Mycroft's eyes were truly sad. The emotion was stunningly raw and vivid. "I told you that soon enough you may have to reconsider you beliefs and loyalties."
John shook his head. And despite everything there was no hesitation behind the gesture. "No, I don't." He was surprised by the thin and tiny gloomy smile that came to his face. "I become very loyal very quickly. Isn't that what you said?"
Mycroft's expression was unreadable but softer than anything John had been expecting. As was the tone of voice. "Well. Sherlock rarely makes mistakes."
John didn't ask for a clarification, mostly because it would've done his splitting headache no favors. He sighed, rubbing the bridge of his nose roughly. "So… What's our next move?"
"We leave." Mycroft's eyes were steel. This part, handling a crisis, the man was good at. "Obviously this place isn't safe anymore."
John frowned. "What about Spencer, Emily and Aaron? And what about Sherlock? They're still out there."
"There's something massive coming. I'm sure that you've figured out as much." Mycroft's jaw tightened to a extend that should've been impossible. "We need to prepare ourselves or we won't be much help to any of them. And we'll find them."
John scoffed, running a hand through his hair. The limb wasn't shaking. "Sounds like a rubbish plan."
Mycroft seemed almost amused. "Do you have anything better in mind?"
John offered no response. Instead he frowned, like a bloodhound that just caught a scent. "That's not the only reason why you came to me alone." He glanced towards the clock. "It's been half an hour. What else did you talk about after I left?"
Mycroft took a deep breath. Was that… fear on the British government's face? "There's something you need to know about Sherlock. He was insistent on never letting anyone know but I believe that this calls for an exception."
An hour later James Moriarty, although he would've never admitted it out loud, shivered when he entered a small room and flicked on the lights to discover that he wasn't alone. There on a worn chair sat a monster wearing Sherlock Holmes' face. The eyes looking sharply at him didn't appear pleased. "We had an agreement. Remember?" It was smooth yet only a fool would've missed the threat. "John was not supposed to see you yet."
Moriarty shrugged, trying to keep his expression light although he could feel tension in his muscles. His fingers reached subtly towards his gun. "You know that I don't play in the shadows well. I adore the attention too much."
There wasn't even a word of warning until the other man was up and had grabbed James' throat. The taller man threw him right at a wall with a force no living human being should've been able to possess. The eyes boring into the criminal's were definitely those of a demon. "You know the things I've ordered you to do for over a decade", the man hissed in a voice that would've brought anyone chills. "So tell me, Richard… Do you honestly think that it's wise to defy me?"
Moriarty struggled, his body reacting violently to the fact that he couldn't breathe. Was that… panic coursing through him? Could it possibly be?
The other must've seen something in his eyes that pleased the man for the hold slackened without any warning, sending James sliding to the floor gasping for breath. "Well, now that the dull part is behind us and we've reached an understanding… We have a lot of things to do, in case you've forgotten." The other man was almost out of the room while speaking. "Hearts to burn. A world to set on fire."
Moriarty smirked, a hand still on his sore throat.
TBC
A/N: Oh dear… Sooo, it looks like we're fast approaching the peak of the story. But biggest question goes: Do we have two Sherlocks or just one that's gone badly astray? And what, exactly, is Mycroft about to tell John?
PLEASE, do leave a note to let me know your thoughts! It's always good to hear from you.
Until next time, folks! I truly hope that you'll join in for it.
Take care!
