"You've seen me die, haven't you?"and for a second, there was a lingering vulnerability in Jim Moriarty's cold glare.
Sam nodded, his stare not once swaying away from the other man. Moriarty stood up, ran his hand through his hair and shrugged playfully.
"A bullet..." he reached into his pocket, slowly pulling a gun out. "Straight through here."
Sam winced as Moriarty's mouth gaped open wide, the gun resting it's aim at the back of the man's mouth. He was half convinced that he'd been living a lie for the past two years or so, that he was still in the cage letting the savage beast tear apart at his skin and burn gaping holes in his mind. But it was just Moriarty, equally as savage and equally as evil, still trying to mess with his head.
"You want to know about that day, don't you?" Moriarty's smile filled his face. "Why you keep seeing it on repeat?"
"And why would I ask you?" Sam scoffed.
"I've been watching you," he continued. "Lestrade too. Well when I say I, I mean people who work for me. By the looks of it, the BBC will be producing That's So Sam and Lestrade any time soon."
"You've had the premonitions too, Jim."
"True. But I don't care for the people in them. In fact, I'd rather ensure a few of them will be dead."
"Why are you doing this?" Sam asked calmly. "What is it all for?"
"Power?" he shrugged, tapping his feet as he paced. "Maybe I'm just insane."
Minutes later, and Sam's dangling off the roof, threatening to fall backwards down onto the pavement...
...
"Sam's in trouble," Rory noted, wincing as the pain from his latest vision shot through his head. "St Bart's roof."
"Rory, is he dead?" Dean's head turned in Rory's direction, looking slightly worried.
"I... don't think so. He's hurt... Moriarty was there."
"Shit, okay... Doc, get the TARDIS moving ASAP. Sherlock and John, you stay here. Can't risk you two getting caught. If Sammy's badly hurt we'll bring him to you John. Rory, you come with me. Amy you go and get the police and tell them there's been a sighting of Moriarty."
...
Lestrade shot into action, startled by his own premonition. He darted up the stairs of the hospital to get to the roof. His heart sank as he noticed that Moriarty was gone and it was almost as if the lonely handcuffs in his pocket sighed, desperate for a new companion. His eyes turned to Sam, who lay-his body limp and still- in the middle of the ground. Lestrade cursed under his breath, examining the wound on Sam's head.
"Shit, that's a lot of blood..." he mumbled, dry retching at the sight of the thick congealing liquid oozing from the cut that sat on Sam's hairline. "Come on Sam, wake up."
At the sound of clattering, Lestrade turned his head to see Rory and Dean. Rory fought the urge to look away, having faced too much tragedy for one day and not having the sufficient tolerance for yet another problem appearing. Dean knelt down beside Lestrade and looked at the cut on his brother's head.
"You'll live..." he grunted. "Now wake up, you son of a bitch. Rory, you're a nurse. Come here and check him over."
"He's still breathing..." Rory stated. "The cut just looks bad because of the blood. Head wounds tend to bleed a bit more."
"Anything else?"
"Moriarty probably just knocked him out cold. Bumps to the head do that sort of thing."
"Who are you?"
"Sam's brother," Dean grinned as he introduced himself. "And my friend."
Sam's eyes flickered open and he twitched, forcing himself to sit up. He reached around for a source of comfort, feeling completely disorientated in the aftermath of unearthing from his injuries. He raised an eyebrow at Dean and Rory, wondering what they were doing there. The three of them helped him up onto his feet, causing him to wince.
"Hey, take it easy." Dean told him. "Anything else hurt?"
"My shoulder." He winced, raising his other hand towards it. "I'll get it checked out. You and Rory can go. I'm fine."
"Nice to see you too, bro," he laughed. "Lestrade, right? Alert the rest of Scotland Yard. Go find Moriarty. I can't see him being too far away."
Lestrade nodded, phone already pressed to his ear, mumbling something that sounded like 'Donovan' and 'Dimmock' before he headed downstairs to catch a cab back to the station. Sam sighed, obviously struggling to handle the pain pulsing through his left shoulder.
"We're um..." Dean looked down and chuckled. "On top of a hospital. Are you getting checked out here or are we heading back to the TARDIS and John can have a look."
"TARDIS, but I'm staying in London, Dean," Sam mumbled as he staggered forward, regaining his steps.
"That's just the concussion talking, Sammy."
"Dean, I'm serious. I'm staying here."
"We'll talk about it in the TARDIS."
...
Sam- with his arm now in a sling and his head stitched back together- sat on the seat near the stairs to the bedrooms in the TARDIS control room. Adamant that he wanted to stay in London, he was desperately trying to defend his decision, but trying to convince Dean to agree to it was like trying to convince Sherlock into thinking that Anderson- the whiny forensic investigator he'd been forced to work alongside a couple of times- was not as annoying as he made him out to be. To say that Dean was angry would be a complete understatement- he was fuming. Sam's voice wavered between trying to stay calm and trying to assert himself, so Dean's booming grunts overpowered his minuscule attempts at trying to convince him.
"You're staying on the TARDIS, Sammy." Dean stated calmly, sounding the quietest he'd ever been in that past couple of minutes.
"Why, Dean?" Sam demanded, chucking his hands in the air with despair.
"Why are you so desperate to stay here?"
"People would die around here if it weren't for me... Lestrade, Sherlock's brother... They'd be dead if it weren't for me."
"There's hunters in Britain already, Sam."
"And clearly, there's not enough. Anyway, I need to stay there for the case. Lestrade... he's been acting strange."
"What do you mean by strange?" Dean scrunched his nose and shrugged in confusion.
"I think he might be one of the psychics."
Checkmate.
And Sam just walked off, clattering past the door of the TARDIS without a goodbye. Dean's over-protectiveness loomed over him, making him want to scream out in a rage and say that he wasn't a kid any more, and that he wasn't the stupid adult that he was a couple of years ago and that for once in his life he didn't feel like he was a freak or that he was crazy or that he was evil. Of course he understood that after all that he'd been through, he could never really be normal, but if being somewhere near normal gave him even the slightest bit of reassurance he'd accept it with the most gratitude that was humanly possible.
His phone buzzed in his pocket and the mere thought of it being Dean or one of the others from the TARDIS lodged a thick ball of dread in the back of his throat. He looked at the caller ID and sighed with relief- it was Molly.
"There's a body that's just brought in that I wanted you to take a look at." she explained nervously, not necessarily the best person on the phone. "It's... strange. I thought you could help?"
After he'd saved Lestrade and Mycroft from the serial killer ghost, Sam had discovered that Molly had actually met a couple of hunters as they often came into the mortuary and weren't that hard to spot so wasn't new to the fact that some things that the ignorant deemed impossible were actually... not so impossible after all.
"Of course."
...
"You called?" Sam smiled as he stood in the door frame, looking towards Molly. "Something about a dead man?"
"About that..." she nervously scratched the back of her neck as she pointed towards the slate with the body bag on top of it. "It wasn't so strange after all. It was... completely natural causes."
"Hello anyway," he wandered over to stand beside her.
"What happened to you?" she looked at his head and the sling on his arm.
"I've..." he looked down at the floor, his head injury making him feel a little uneasy. "Been through the wars today."
"Do you want a cup of tea?" Molly asked as she peeled off her rubber gloves and led him through to the other room.
"If it's not to much trouble?"
"Honestly, it's no bother. You look like you need it anyway."
They walked in silence for a bit, just enjoying each others' company. Molly's shoulders relaxed as she realised how chilled Sam was. Sam caught on to her smile and grinned back. Silence for once seemed more like a comfort than something to fear. It was as if it sat between the two of them smiling like the vicar at a wedding anticipating the moment that it would be socially acceptable to hold together the couple's head and shout 'now kiss'.
"So what are you doing once you leave here?" Sam asked, his voice gently replacing the silence.
"I'll probably order in a takeaway and watch a film or something," she laughed quietly. "What about you?"
"Beans on toast for me. Haven't had a chance to shop lately."
"Forget the takeaway. You look like you need a good meal," Molly- still not having made that cup of tea- smiled. "There's a restaurant down the street. I'll treat you to a meal."
"You don't have to-"
"Consider it a date."