I don't own the characters
Special shoutouts to CC, ramen-luver101, Lexisfightingrobots, random flyer, RosemaryJohnSherlock, and monik for their reviews and to everyone who favorited/followed the story! Glad to know you're enjoying it!
Sorry for the slow updates :/ I'll put out two chapters today :D
John watches from the shadow of the street lamp as the man hobbles down the street. He had seen the old man leave the hospital twenty minutes ago. Slipping his hand into his jacket pocket, John fingers the small blade. It had been risky to leave the flat in the dead of night, but John knew Sherlock's body was catching up with four days of no sleep trying to figure out who the murderer was.
John had decided it was time to show everyone that the murderer was, in fact, a villain. He stares at the old man.
Unconsciously has a ramrod straight posture. Favours his left leg. War veteran who was shot in the right shin. John narrows his eyes in delight, he would carve crosses into the still living man until he died from blood loss.
Dark circles permanently etched under his eyes. Heavy PTSD and possible insomniac. John licks his lips in anticipation. A mosaic of war scenes on the forehead as well.
Walks hesitantly. Body always angled towards the hospital. Someone close to him close to dying. Most likely his wife. His wife, whom even now, he is still smitten with.
Sits heavily on the park bench in darkness. Pulls out a photo. Wipes eyes angrily. Guilt. His wife could survive with better treatment, better medication that he cannot afford on an army and old age pension.
John tries to cease the information flowing from the man, but like a car skidding a wet embankment he cannot stop deducing.
The man will be alone in the world without her. She was a piano teacher but they never had children. He stayed active in the community, organized charity runs for invalid soldiers. Owes his wife everything for helping him through all the sleepless nights and nightmares. Recently sold all his belongings to pay for her treatment, everything except her piano.
The deductions crescendo until they become one loud thrumming in John's head.
Doesn't deserve to die. Doesn't deserve to die.
John slips into an alleyway and shoves his fist into his mouth to stifle a scream. He inhales sharply and shakes his head. He is Moriarty dammit, a cold blooded killer, a consulting criminal. The morals of John Watson are just some pathetic attempt on Sherlock's part to conjure an impossible human into existence. John Watsons don't exist. People that GOOD don't exist. John steels himself and strolls out of the alleyway, slipping on his "I'm just a harmless bloke" look he had used to get close to the other victims.
John manages to get Sherlock to eat while on the case. They are sitting in Angelo's, Sherlock picking halfheartedly at his pasta, while John shovels down his with gusto.
"I don't understand it, John" Sherlock ruminates. "The murderer kills during the day which is extremely risky. Likely has a spouse who is unaware of his pastime. But this last kill occurred at night. So was the spouse away that evening?"
John sighs, "Eat Sherlock. It's been over a month since the first murder. If you continue with your whole 'Don't eat, don't sleep during a case,' you'll be dead before we can catch the murderer."
Scowling, Sherlock takes a deliberate bite into his food and continues, "Kills every week on a Wednesday, what is so special about a Wednesday. John, you're a doctor, is there something special about Wednesdays?"
John rolls his eyes, and is just about to answer when he catches sight of Angelo walking towards them. "I swear, if those roses are for us, I'm going to…"
But Angelo walks past them with a wink and gives it to a little old lady entering the restaurant. She's attached to an oxygen tank and leaning heavily on her husband, but her eyes are bright and perceptive.
A nurse trails behind them and helps settle the old woman into a booth before walking over to the bar. Angelo smiles at the couple and exclaims in his boisterous tone, "Food is on the house for this lovely pair!" The man smiles gratefully at Angelo before turning his adoring gaze onto his wife.
Sherlock presses his lips together. "Would you like to hear their story, John?" Sherlock is not normally the sentimental type, but happiness this pure is rare and even he can appreciate it. John nods absently.
"He used to be in the military, fought in the Korean War. After getting shot in the right shin, he was sent home and then married his wife. She was recently very ill. Still is, but some miracle has allowed her to continue on this earth for a while longer. Not new medication, but they've gotten money from some unknown benefactor to pay for her treatment. I reckon they've got another three years together now."
John looks mildly ill as he stares out the window. Sherlock wrinkles his brow in confusion, then his gut clenches. Of course, it's the Moriarty in John repelling all that is good in the world.
They sit in silence for the rest of the meal.
John having morality conflicts? Good job Sherlock :) Please Review!