Choices Made
It's not hard to find Moriarty. The screaming tantrum the criminal mastermind was having was not exactly the most subtle thing John had ever seen.
The amulet around his enemies neck writhes and twists in pain - John only takes a moment to call the right spells into place and the leather thong burns Moriarty's neck as it wrenches away from him.
"It's alright, Jude," John whispers, soothing the amulet with gentle fingers. This was the last remnant of Jude Kinsey and her magic alive, deserving of his respect and kindness. She had served Moriarty unwillingly, bound to the man by her own knowledge: it was a moment's work to undo to the binding Runes he'd put in place and set her free, the whirling fires around him flaring higher for a moment in sheer jubilation. John smiled as she caressed his cheek in farewell, nodding to the wordless request that he destroy her captor and her lexicon.
Moriarty knows that the Mage of London is here - the fire and the amulet have been a bit of a give away - and now he is scrabbling for the lexicons he stole in an attempt to reactivate some of his traps. John ignores him for a moment to focus on the myriad of miniature whirlwinds that swirl throughout the building. A moment of thought calls the needed spells to mind and then he is raising his palms, whispering into the flickering darkness. Soon all the whirlwinds are gathered into this space with him and his foe, and John merges them into four pillars, standing in the four corners of the world. They flicker and whirl in a quiet symphony of crackles and hisses, expanding and contracting as if breathing, which they are.
"Hello Mr Moriarty," John says quietly as the other man finally manages to prise the books he had hidden beneath the floorboards free. The lexicons were not capable of active casting themselves, but they were more than capable of hiding when they wanted to, especially from someone who was not their owner, "This is a turn up. Bet you never saw this coming."
They were the words from the Pool - the words that John had been 'forced' to say. In reality he had already rendered the chemicals strapped to his chest inert. He had been working on a way to get out when Sherlock arrived, which had led to some hasty improvisation and a strategic retreat. He was curious to see if Moriarty remembered making his captive - Sherlock's Pet - say them.
"Whoever you are, I will destroy you!" was the cold response. John tutted mildly, moving silently around his pillars of fire, projecting his voice from a different spot, all the better to unnerve the Mundane that was even now wrenching at the cover of Paul Pierce's lexicon. John sketched a quick rune and blew it onto both of the lexicons, sealing them from Mundane hands.
"Did I really make so little of an impression? John? John from the Pool? But I suppose, that was kind of the point," John murmured with mean enjoyment, watching the realisation dawn on Moriarty's pale face. He moved three more steps to the left and chuckled as the other man sputtered and cursed, his hands still wrenching at the now sealed books.
"Sherlock's Pet," Moriarty spat, "The ever inadequate John Watson... sent by your master to do his bidding, I suppose. Had I known that Sherlock was one of Them, I would have..."
"He's not a practitioner," John interrupted, "Sherlock can no more wield magic than you can, Mr Moriarty. I'm surprised at you, really, and a little disappointed. Haven't you worked it out yet? Think hard, maybe it will come to you."
John watched closely as thoughts and memories flickered over Moriarty's face. Ordinarily, the other man would not have been so easy to read, but he was thoroughly off balance and resented it. John watched as Moriarty thought back to the Night at the Pool - how he'd had his men strap John into the bomb, how he'd toyed with John and Sherlock, John's attempt to free Sherlock...
"You wanted him out of the pool so that you could use magic!" Moriarty gasped, "He doesn't know about you! Oh, this is all too delicious."
"Oh, he knows all about me," John purred, "He knows me intimately. Did you never wonder why he didn't keep chasing you after that night? Why he ignored whatever petty little crimes you were committing? It's very simple, Mr Moriarty. He was involved with something much more interesting. You bore him."
Moriarty shrieked in wordless fury and threw Jude's lexicon at John. He shot a hand out to arrest its momentum and then directed it to the West, burning it in the purifying fire. The column flared intense white and positively moaned its pleasure for all to hear. John released the Air and smirked unseen at the expression on Moriarty's face. Impotent fury and the beginnings of understanding was displayed for all to see - Paul Pierce had been an easy mark once they'd gotten the PCP into his system, but now Moriarty was facing a Mage in all his naked fury, hopelessly outclassed and beginning to realise it.
"Have you worked out what happened at the Pool yet, Mr Moriarty?" John continued to taunt the man, curious as to his breaking point. He had no intention of allowing Moriarty to leave this warehouse, but if he did it feet first under a coroners blanket, or on his own two feet in custody of the Yard was entirely down to the responses he now gave John, "Surely you don't think that our survival was down to something so Mundane as luck?"
"You were trapped in that vest!" Moriarty protested hotly and John sniggered. Even Sherlock didn't know this little detail.
"A vest full of Play Dough," John replied, "It's a very simple change of chemical to chemical. It took me all of a minute to complete and all the time your minion thought I was praying. When Sherlock shot that vest, it didn't explode."
"Yes it did," Moriarty contradicted, "I have the plastic surgeons records to prove it."
The bitterness in his tone was plain enough for all to hear and John smirked again - the man in front of him was extremely vain: it was no shock to hear that he'd spent a small fortune to correct the damage John had caused him by igniting the Air around the bomb vest. He wondered if the surgeon had survived his patient and made a mental note to look into it later.
"Oh, there was an explosion, Mr Moriarty, a very carefully shaped one. All the force and heat went your way, and none of it ours. We walked away from there with only a few bruises and a set of wet clothes. Sherlock believed that the shaped charge in the vest saved us - I wasn't about to contradict him."
The consulting criminal snarled like an animal at bay. John took a breath and readied his pen once more, the slender gift from Sherlock a comforting weight in his hand. He stepped quite deliberately into the space that penned Moriarty, triggering the other mans final action. Army training took over and he had the gun from his enemy's hand, the clip from the gun and the gun in the southern pillar all in the space of five heartbeats. He kept Moriarty between himself and the southern pillar, holding the smaller man easily as he squirmed and wriggled.
"You have a choice to make, Mr Moriarty. I can make you forget this; forget everything you learned with the murder of Jude Kinsey and Paul Pierce. You'll live, albeit in custody, for the rest of your life. Or you can remember it all, with a life expectancy of mere minutes," John spoke his promise in a quiet tone, allowing the other man to hear his intent and gauge his determination.
"I will not forget!" Moriarty hissed, "You can't make me!"
"I can," John promised dryly, "Your time is running out, Mr Moriarty. You must make a choice, now."
"I will not forget. Kill me if you dare!" the arrogance in the other mans tone said it all. John looked at the southern pillar and the gun still tumbling in the flames.
"As you wish," he replied, "Goodbye, Mr Moriarty."
The gun went off.
TBC...
Disclaimer: characters and settings as depicted in BBC series, not mine. No money being made. Plot is mine.