Title: Storm Chasing
Rating: T for possible language, violence and mature themes
Pairing: POSSIBLE H/L later on.
Summary: When Holmes becomes depressed and nostalgic, his fantastic powers of deduction begin to slip. In order to prevent the Great Detective from becoming a liability, and to restore his happiness, Doctor John Watson is returned to life. The question is: Will he be any happier than Holmes in a new century and a new life?
Extra notes: Late, I know, though I'm going to be less speedy on the updates in the future, given that I've finally caught up with my muse, which has slowed down to normal speeds. On a more chapter-related note, I bring you Moriarty as a peace-offering, and a hint at the future plot! See if you can find it! Due to the switching between scenes and perspectives in the chapter, I decided to break habit by making it third person omniscient, and I'm unsure if I'll be using it frequently in later chapters.
Disclaimer: Not mine. Duhhh.
Chapter Eleven: Blizzard
"Back door is secure, Holmes, as are all the windows."
"Very good, Watson. Come, do sit down with me while we wait for the signal."
Watson climbed the seventeen steps and sat abreast to Holmes at the top. His hair had been ruffled in the preceding last-minute rush, and it was a testament to the new era that he didn't feel compelled to fix it into a more appropriate style. In fact, he and Holmes looked very similar as they sat, watching the front door doggedly. "You think he's coming through the front way?" Watson chanced to ask, and Holmes let out a hiss of impatience.
"I know he will, Watson. I know as geese know to fly south as the ground freezes. Moriarty is not a man to sneak about his enemy's territory." He steepled his fingers and rested his chin on their tips, looking down upon the doorway with lidded eyes. "I know." He repeated lazily.
The doctor nodded quietly. "He's a clone, correct? A duplicate of the Moriarty we knew?"
"Yes, Watson. He is."
"Is he anything like the original?"
Holmes surveyed his friend with a closed expression and looked back at the door, clearly thinking hard as his brows knit together. His lips pursed and he ran a hand through his ever-darkening hair. "He is, and yet he is not. He is perhaps even more clever and devious as his predecessor, but he lacks tremendously in that gift of subtlety the original Professor was endowed with. You remember, Watson, how many years I toiled to unravel the threads of Moriarty's criminal empire? How carefully I had to snip the lines away to reveal that great spider in the center of it all?" With his expression growing blacker as he spoke, Holmes clenched a fist.
"Rest assured, Watson, this man is not so sly as our old fox. He knows fewer tricks, but his fangs and claws are infinitely sharper. There is truly no level to which he will not stoop, and he has the advantage of us in this age."
"Advantage, Holmes?" Watson looked up in alarm.
Holmes nodded gravely. "Indeed, advantage. You might remember the professor of old was on in his years. He was of weak body, even if his mind was as sharp as a freshly whetted knife. He was forced to remain in the shadows, entrusting agents to his most difficult tasks. Our new Moriarty is not so inhibited. He is youthful—older than our bodies, perhaps, but still in his prime. He is able to do his own dirty work now, and he does it with great enthusiasm." He looked at his good friend, though Watson had clearly missed his point in saying as much, for he shook his head.
"But Holmes, I don't understand. Is that not a good thing? If the man does his own work, he's that much easier to catch in the act!"
"No, Watson! That is not the case! Good heavens, man, think! It makes him that much harder to ensnare, for he's more dangerous now than he ever was before! I shall no doubt drag you and Lestrade into a dozen life-or-death conflicts with the blasted man before I ever come close to catching him!" Holmes cried impassionedly, throwing up his hands in emotion. "How am I to seize him if I can scarcely think for worry? Yet I can't go alone, since he is as skilled in combat as I ever have been, if with a rash temper that has a history of working against him."
Watson set a hand on Holmes's shoulder in a tight grip. "Holmes, you need never worry for me. If I could survive your company for so long as I did, I am certain I can handle myself with this new villain. He shall never compare to the evils of his predecessor." A haunted look came over the doctor, and he glanced away. The rush of the Reichenbach Falls[1] was almost palpable as they sat silently on the step, until the wrist communicator they held between them lit up with a beep.
"Holmes, we just saw one of Moriarty's hover-lorries heading in your direction. I'd bet any money it's them." She looked haggard, and Holmes recalled it was past one in the morning by now. "You've got about ninety seconds, I'd say."
"I see." Watson leapt to his feet and descended the steps, tucking himself into the stairwell. "Watson, you remember how to use the ionizer?"
"Of course Holmes. Ten shots before it must recharge, correct? I doubt I shall need all of them."
"Good man, Doctor. I'll turn down the lights to make it appear as though I am enjoying a quiet fireside read before bed. Remember, Moriarty shall undoubtedly enter the sitting room alone. That is when you must spring and incapacitate his cohorts." Holmes ducked into the sitting room and the lights died until only the firelight was available. "Are you ready, Watson? I believe they are arriving as we speak."
"Of course, Holmes. Do get in position."
"Stay safe, old friend."
"You too."
Minutes passed in tense silence as Watson waited beneath the stairs. He fingered the trigger of the ionizer often, tracing the cool metallic material it was encased in. He had set the muzzle to its thinnest setting, which released a bullet-sized stream of light that he felt more comfortable using. He only hoped he was still the good shot he had been in the past. Holmes's well being might rely heavily on it.
The front door swung open and interrupted Watson's thoughts. He settled against the shadow-cloaked wall, using it to blend into the scenery while still observing the group of men that had just entered as silent as specters. Four dark-clothed individuals besides the one he knew to be Moriarty.
Clearly the Professor—if he could still be called such—didn't expect a fight. The advantage was theirs then. Watson held the ionizer tightly in his grasp and slipped silently out of the stairwell as the intruders began to ascend, taking each step with maddening slowness until with relief he saw Moriarty touch a hand to the doorknob leading to the sitting room. As Holmes had anticipated, he held up one hand to keep his subordinates back and without another word pulled open the door and vanished therein.
Watson, bringing his wits about him for the first time in two hundred years, lunged forward and began to fire with his old precision.
"Moriarty. I do wish I could call this a surprise, but I'm afraid you've caught me totally prepared, as always." Holmes smiled as derisively as he could, sitting by the fire in his chair while Moriarty glanced around. "Were you expecting me to be stunned? Really, you must get up earlier in the morning to achieve that end."
Though his tone had remained light and teasing, there was an atmosphere about the room similar to a pair of tigers encircling each other, waiting for the first sign of a fault in the other's defense. Moriarty took a moment to stretch, and propped a hand on his hip with an unimpressed expression. "Your bluff isn't working, Holmes. You've been removed from the Yard as a consultant and your robot friend is in for repairs. I know you're alone here, so if we could please skip the droll denials." He sauntered forward, and a smile spread over his lips when Holmes did, indeed, tense at the lessened distance.
Taking control of the confrontation, Moriarty sidled further still into the room until he was almost toe-and-toe with the seated detective. "The latest gossip amongst the denizens of the underworld is that Sherlock Holmes has lost his touch." He lamented, and Holmes clenched his teeth, glowering up but still refusing to stand. "They say you've gone 'round the proverbial bend, though of course I defended your honor to the teeth. Really, Holmes, you must think of your rivals before you do this sort of thing. It makes us both look bad."
"I wonder, Moriarty, why you couldn't just write this in a letter and mail it? It certainly would have saved some time." Holmes cut in boldly. "I can't imagine the cloning process robbed you of the ability to spell as well as the ability to act in any way subtler than a raging elephant." He crossed his legs and sighed morosely. "Do go away. I'll partake in your little games on some other occasion. I'm sure New Scotland Yard will be willing to play in the meantime." He rolled his eyes, though he caught the bunching muscles in Moriarty's arm. Ah. Three… two… "In fact—guh!" Holmes was unsurprised, but still mildly peeved to be picked up by the front of his shirt and hauled closer to Moriarty's face. The lack of personal space tried him more than the physical danger.
"I said to drop your bluff, Holmes. It's tiring on me. I have every intention of having my just dessert this evening, and you will make that possible."
"Let me go, Moriarty."
"Pray, why?"
"It would be in your best interests. I would hate to have to hurt you, you know."
Moriarty laughed aloud then, and dropped Holmes in time to catch the detective's fist before it left him with a concussion. They traded blows for several moments, until Holmes used the force from a hook to his cheek to fall across the room and draw his cane, extending it and lunging forward anew. Unsurprisingly, Moriarty caught it with his own bludgeon and the dance continued in a blur of heavy strikes.
Holmes staggered back at last, winded and panting. "I suppose you conveniently missed the etiquette lesson on attacking kings in their own castles?" He asked sharply, dodging a lunge and countering with a heavy handed blow of his own that was easily diverted to the floor.
"Yes, I never did approve of that notion." Moriarty mused, parrying another strike from his rival and smiling mirthlessly. "After all, why not attack while the enemy is most relaxed? Isn't that right, my dear Holmes?" He gave a barking laugh and caught the detective with a sharp strike to his ribs, which sent Holmes rolling into the wall with a groan. Though the theatrical part of Moriarty rebuked, and would have liked nothing more than to see his nemesis suffer more than a few cracked ribs before the end of their time together, he didn't trust that Yarder, Lestrade, to keep her nose clean and out of his business here. It was best to end it without any more speeches or talking. He raised the bludgeon high, as Holmes still blinked away stars blearily. This was the end…
"Stop!"
Watson burst through the door, sporting a bloodied lip and the makings for a fantastic black eye, and in one fluid motion he ionized the wretch and ran to Holmes, dropping onto his knees with a grimace. "I'm terribly sorry, Holmes. A few of the blackguards weren't so easy to hit, so I took care of them the old-fashioned way. I have them all tied up and stunned in the kitchen." He moved to help Holmes up, but his hands were pushed away.
"Watson… you are an infallible man to have at hand at times like this. Though I would much prefer if you cuffed Moriarty and woke him up—a little jolt from the stunner will do that well enough. You simply must introduce yourself. I've been dying to see his expression!" Holmes stood up, groaning painfully as he made his way to his chair, falling into it weakly. "Put him on the settee, Watson— there's a chap. We may be enemies, but we are still gentlemen." Watson set up the criminal, and then followed Holmes's instructions to the tee, handcuffing the villain and then reviving him with a shock from the stunner.
"What in blazes…" Moriarty sat up with a perturbed expression, which sank into despondency at the sight of Holmes, quite all right and packing tobacco into his pipe. "How… this time… I was certain you were alone, Holmes! I was sure of it! The robot was gone, as was that damned Scotland Yard zealot!"
"That would be Inspector Lestrade to you, Moriarty. Remember your place." Holmes growled, though it lost some effect when he winced. "I must commend you on that last blow. I believe you may have broken several ribs."
"Holmes, you must let me check them." Watson moved into the dim light of the fire, attracting Moriarty's attention for the first time yet.
He raised an eyebrow. "A new friend I see, Holmes;how convenient for you."
Holmes let out a harsh laugh, and gasped in pain again. "A newfriend! Oh hardly, hardly Moriarty. In fact, this man is my oldest friend. He's the oldest man alive, for that matter—my apologies," He said hastily when Watson scowled. "Surely, Moriarty, you can put that superb mind of yours to proper use for once in telling me the name of this gentleman?"
It seemed the villain took Holmes's challenge to heart, for he scowled in deep thought, reminding Watson at last of the professor of old. He witnessedMoriarty's head begin to oscillate in such a reptilian manner that the two men on the side of justice in the room scarcely held back their shudders. "Doctor John Watson, I see." Moriarty said at last with a decided nod. "It is a privilege indeed to meet you. I would shake your hand, but…" He shrugged instead.
Watson wasn't taken aback, given what he had known of the Moriarty of old. The felon was a gentleman, even if he happened to turn to evil. He had the good grace to allow Holmes to write a note of explanation before their final confrontation, even, and he did offer to abandon his hunt for Holmes's life if only the detective would leave his affairs to peace. In all frankness, Watson would have been much more perturbed if this new Moriarty had been anything but a gentleman when in a sticky situation. It was the namesake's last resort in most cases. "Of course. I must say, I was alarmed when I was told about you." Watson replied at last.
"I imagine you are another pet project of the zealot?"
"Lestrade." Holmes growled from nearby.
"Oh, really Holmes. She is a zealot if ever I have met one." Moriarty replied condescendingly. "An aficionada of justice."
"Moriarty, you are an insufferable bore, and you are crowding my sitting room!" Holmes ground out.
"What on Earth does that have to do with Lestrade?" The combined voices of Moriarty and Watson made Holmes furrow his brow angrily, even as his friend turned red.
"Turncoat." He muttered.
Watson blanched. "Oh, Holmes, really now!"
Moriarty raised his eyebrows. "You could join the criminal realm, Doctor. We always have need for men of your talents." His sharkish grin made Watson hastily move to stand next to Holmes's chair.
"Don't throw yourself at my colleagues, Moriarty, you cretin!" Holmes snarled, though his communicator cut the tension with its condescending beep.
"Holmes?"
"Speak of the zealot and she shall preach."
"In the words of the very woman, 'shut up'!" Holmes looked back at the tiny screen. "Hello Inspector, how are you?" His voice was so falsely cheery that Watson and Moriarty shared a tremendous grimace, and Lestrade made a noise of disgust.
"What's going on there? Did you get them?" Her voice sounded concerned.
"Yes, look." Holmes turned the screen on Moriarty, who bowed his head in greeting. "It went according to plan. Watson even got to partake in fisticuffs for the first time in two centuries! He did quite well, being the oldest man alive."
"Holmes!"
Lestrade raised an eyebrow. "Okay, I feel like I should be really creeped out right now. It sounds like you're having a garden party, not holding onto one of the most notorious criminals in the world."
"Really, Inspector, you flatter me." Moriarty purred from the settee, while Watson picked up the kettle they let boil over the fireplace to pour himself a cup of tea.
"Can it, Moriarty." Lestrade's voice resonated through the room and the criminal sighed in mock defeat, appearing for all intensive purposes to be thoroughly enjoying himself. "A squad hovercar'll be there in a few seconds to pick up all the scum." Her face flickered out, and Holmes sighed, grimacing as his torso throbbed.
"Tea?" Watson proposed, glancing about the room. Holmes merely shook his head, and Moriarty made a point to clang his handcuffs together. "Ah. I see." The doctor returned to nursing his own cup.
"How long will you allow yourself to stay in custody this time?" Holmes asked abruptly, casting a glare at Moriarty, who appeared genuinely thoughtful. "I imagine you brought only low level associates with you?"
"Oh, of course, of course. I'm not an utter fool, though you did play me like one, Holmes. I have my plan routed and ready, and I promise you shall both see me soon enough, though perhaps not where you would expect." He smirked menacingly, though after years of receiving looks of that make, Holmes and Watson merely exchanged a bored glance. "And that, I believe, would be my chauffeur, gentlemen."
On cue the door opened and two constables entered, looking at the master criminal in their midst nervously. "Mister Holmes… um…" The younger of them looked at Watson curiously.
"Doctor John Watson, it's a pleasure to meet you both."
"Oh yeah, we heard about that. It's great seeing you, Doctor. Sorry you had to hold onto the trash so long, Mister Holmes. Traffic's mad out there for some reason."
Holmes glowered at Moriarty, though Watson clearly couldn't see any connection. Instead he watched at the window as the police pulled away, taking with them one of the most nerve-wracking men he had ever met. But that was a business for a later date. In the meantime, Watson turned to Holmes in determination. The detective tried to scoot further away in his armchair, but Watson had his arm in a steel grip within an instant. "I am wrapping your ribs, Holmes, until a modern age doctor can see you." It took only a few moments to rid Holmes of his clothes above the waist, and several more to fetch the needed supplies.
The taller man grimaced as his friend's cold fingers traced his ribs for damage and eventually began to apply bandages liberally. "You really don't change, Watson." He said softly.
"Nor do you, Holmes. Nor do you."
[1] Final Problem: The canonical story in which Moriarty and Holmes have their final confrontation. I can only assume Watson would find the original Professor infinitely more evil than his clone, being that in the canon Watson spends three years under the impression that Moriarty had murdered Holmes. Aside from that, he was also responsible for the detective fleeing across Europe, and later indirectly the cause of the 'great hiatus'. So… to put it simply, Clone!Moriarty's got nothing on the original.