Detective Inspector Lestrade was not having a particularly good day.
He'd gotten another dressing-down from the chief inspector over some pretty trivial matter. He didn't seem to trust Lestrade with anything anymore, not after the whole Sherlock fiasco. Anderson had come up him ranting about time travel and Sherlock being alive, with Lestrade desperately trying to shush him. That hadn't been the first time Anderson had pulled a stunt like that, and it was starting to draw attention. Lestrade had enough on his plate without worrying about Anderson stumbling onto the truth about time travel.
During his lunch break, the detective inspector had met with John at 221B, saying he needed some of Sherlock's old case files. He needed a couple of them for ongoing cases, and more importantly, he wanted John to feel useful. Sherlock's former flatmate had spent the last three months since Sherlock's "death" moping around. He'd gone to his therapist, he got a new apartment, he still had his job, but other than that, he wasn't... really enjoying anything. He was just going through the motions. Sherlock's death had hit him hard. He was looking a little haggard, his clothes rumpled and his face right with sadness.
The worst part was, Lestrade knew the truth. Sherlock was alive, off in the TARDIS with Molly and that Doctor of hers, working hard to come home. He knew, and he couldn't tell John. It still wasn't safe for him to know, he knew that, and he had promised Sherlock not to breath a word. But it was still hard to have to look the miserable man in the eyes and lie when he could cheer him up so easily.
221B was still under heavy construction. Lestrade'd had a time of it explaining the explosion caused by the Master, especially since he couldn't tell anyone about either the Master or anyone who'd been there during the explosion. Eventually, it'd been waved off as one of Sherlock's old enemies getting some posthumous revenge. Lestrade could see the area where the bomb had exploded, where the walls and ceiling were being rebuilt. The furniture and the TV were all new, although to his surprise, it all looked exactly like what had been there before. He supposed John had wanted to keep the flat looking just like it had when Sherlock was alive.
He was seated on the couch when John came over, a few scorched folders in hand. "Here," he said as he handed them to the detective inspector. "This is everything I could find that was still legible. The, uh, bomb destroyed the rest."
Lestrade nodded, getting to his feet. "Thanks mate." He started to say something else, but before he could, a familiar sound started echoing through the flat. Vworp, vworp. He froze. The only time he'd ever heard that sound had been when he'd watched Molly, Sherlock, and the Doctor fade away in their big blue box.
Sherlock. Sherlock would be in there. And John was in the room. He'd see him, and it wasn't safe yet.
Lestrade let out a groan. Ah Christ.
"Hey, John, um, let's move out into the kitchen, yeah?" He yanked the surprised man's arm, trying to drag him.
He tried to herd the doctor out of the room, but now the TARDIS was phasing in and out of view, and it had caught John's attention. "What in the name of-?" His eyes widened as he recognized the blue box. Lestrade knew he'd never seen it himself, but Molly and Sherlock had surely told him what it looked like. John looked uncertainly at Lestrade. "Um, you might want to step out..."
Lestrade could've laughed. John didn't know he knew about the TARDIS; he was worried about sparing Lestrade from too much weirdness. He had no idea. "You know what, you're right, lets move out of the room-"
It was too late. The TARDIS had fully formed, and before Lestrade could call out a warning, Sherlock had swung the door open right in front of John.
John's eyes widened in shock. "Sh-Sherlock?" he choked out.
Lestrade groaned as he slumped back down onto the couch. He put a hand over his face, suddenly feeling the strong need for a drink.
This was definitely not a good day.
SCENEBREAK
Everyone froze when John uttered Sherlock's name. Molly looked uneasily at Sherlock, then at the Doctor. Had they landed in the right time? Was it too early? Was John's life still in danger, or was this just going to be awkward rather than dangerous. She wasn't sure, but either way, it wasn't going to be fun.
Sherlock seemed to have frozen entirely. He was staring at John as though he was starved for the sight of him. Fear, relief, and uncertainty all crossed over his face at once. He took a few shaky steps out of the TARDIS towards his flatmate. "John," he breathed.
John stared at his best friend with shock, but also with uncertainty, as if he expected Sherlock to be an image that would flicker out and fade at any instant. After several moments, he reached out with a shaky hand and laid it on Sherlock's shoulder. His eyes widened in shock when his fingers touched solid shoulder. He looked at the shoulder, then Sherlock's face. "You're actually real? You're really here?"
Sherlock opened his mouth to say something, but stopped himself, swallowing hard. Molly felt a pang of sympathy for the detective. He was obviously thinking about the Year, seeing John's bloody, pale, lifeless corpse. He finally managed a hoarse, "Yeah."
John slowly drew his hand back. His expression hardened, his finger curled, and before Molly could call out a warning, there was a loud crack as John's fist connected soundly with Sherlock's jaw.
The detective stumbled back against the side of the TARDIS, hand going automatically up to his jaw. He looked at John in shock. "Wha-?"
"YOU BLOODY BASTARD!" Molly flinched from the pure fury in John's voice. Desperate for a escape, she poked her head out of the TARDIS and scanned the room. She finally noticed a familiar face seated on the couch, looking decidedly done with the whole situation. She smiled for the first time in what felt like ages. "Greg!"
The detective inspector looked up in surprise. "Hey, good to see you again Molly," he said cheerfully. He waved the companion over, and she hurried gratefully to the couch, sitting beside him. Unlike the Doctor, and even Sherlock to a certain degree, she felt no awkwardness around Greg when it came to the Year. The chance to build a real friendship with him, with the hint of something more, had been one of the only good things about the Year. She leaned easily against his shoulder, his arm reaching out around her shoulders. They had lived in pretty close quarters at times, so they weren't really opposed to casual cuddling.
John was still ranting at Sherlock. "Three months, Sherlock! Three fucking months. In all that time, you couldn't have picked up the phone once and mentioned that you weren't dead!" While John went on, the Doctor had snuck out of the TARDIS to stand awkwardly by the door of the flat, while Donna had come out to stand beside Sherlock, having closed the TARDIS door behind her. John didn't even look at her as he continued, "I saw you fall off a fucking building, Sherlock. What was all that about?! Some stupid publicity stunt, something for a case?" He turned away, laughing harshly. "You know what? I always stood up for you Sherlock, but you really are just a machine, aren't you? You don't care about hurting anyone else, because you're the great Sherlock Holmes, and the only thing that matters is the case."
"That's not true," Donna interrupted softly. She was standing beside Sherlock, supporting him, but not antagonizing John. Her expression was soft with sympathy as she regarded Sherlock's flatmate. Molly had noticed before how sensitive Donna tended to be to other people's emotions. She didn't know how much Donna knew about the whole Sherlock faking his death situation, but she clearly understood how much John had suffered. "Sherlock cares about you. He would've come back if he could."
"I'm sorry, who are you?" John asked, not unkindly. "You know what, nevermind." He whirled around to face Molly and Greg, who obviously didn't looked surprised enough by the big blue box for his liking. "You two, did you both know about this? And you?" he added, turning to the Doctor. The doctor let out a humorless laugh. "Am I the only who wasn't in the loop on this?"
"We didn't exactly tell Greg, he just sort of stumbled onto the truth," Molly explained. "Anyway, we made him promise not to tell you."
"Why?" John asked sharply.
"Because they would've killed you if you knew I was alive." Sherlock seemed to have found his voice at last. His eyes kept darting across John's face, imploring him to listen, to understand. "Moriarty laid a trap. If I didn't jump off that building, he was going to kill you, Mrs. Hudson, Lestrade. He had a gun trained on you, and the only way to stop them was to jump. I didn't have a choice."
John narrowed his eyes. "That's all well and good, Sherlock. But after that. You couldn't have come up to me after? You really had to make me stand there and watch while you flung yourself off a bloody roof? You selfish bastard." He was still angry, clearly, but his initial rage was slowly draining out of him. The tension slowly leaked from his posture, leaving him standing awkwardly, looking between Sherlock and the TARDIS, as if not sure which to be mad at.
"I know you're mad at him," Lestrade said quietly from his spot on the couch. "I was too when I found out, and I never lived with him."
"But please, just listen what he has to say," the Doctor continued from the door frame. "I promise you, he really didn't have a choice."
John hesitated. Before he could say anything, Molly interrupted by saying, "Look, this is all well and good, but wasn't the whole reason we couldn't talk to John yet because we hadn't made sure Moriarty was totally taken care of?" She turned to Sherlock as she asked, "Are we safe here right now?"
Sherlock narrowed his eyes. "We should be. The people who caused an immediate threat should all be imprisoned at the moment, or at least awaiting trial. But we still need to be careful." He crossed over to the area where the window had been, which was covered by plastic sheeting. As the detective looked cautiously out onto the street, Molly leaned back against the couch, looking anxiously off to the side, away from the drama in front of her. As she did, she noticed a strange, metal device on the wall above the couch, painted the same color as the wallpaper so as to blend in. She narrowed her eyes, trying to figure out what it was.
Her eyes widened in understanding as it began beeping. "Everyone, move it!" She started to get up from the couch, Lestrade following her lead. Before anyone else could move, there was a bright flash of light, and a blast of energy slammed into Molly's head. She suddenly felt pressure in her head, and blackness swarmed over her vision as she passed out.
The last thing she felt before blacking out entirely was hands grabbing her roughly and hauling her over someone's shoulder, carrying her away.
SCENEBREAK
The Time Lord let out a groan as he came to. He put a hand to his throbbing temple, trying to block out the pain pounding against his skull. Someone else groaned across the room, but he wasn't quite up to investigating quite yet.
Thanks to his superior Time Lord biology, it only took a minute for the pain to fade and to get his senses back. The Doctor opened his eyes, blinking a couple times until his vision became less bleary.
His hearts froze as he took in the sight of the flat. It didn't look any more damaged than it had already been, but the lights had been blown out, making the sunlight filtering in from the plastic-covered window the only light source.
But what had him truly worried was the distinct lack of people. The flat had been filled with six people before he'd blacked out, including himself. But now, there was only one huddled shape on the floor right next to the TARDIS, which was thankfully still there. Everyone else had vanished. His hearts clenched painfully. His companions were gone, again.
The Time Lord forced himself to get shakily to his feet, wincing slightly at the soreness in his limbs from falling to the ground. He made his way over to the figure, recognizing it as Sherlock as he got closer. "Sherlock, you alright?" he asked cautiously. The detective let out a groan in response.
The Doctor sighed. It probably wasn't a good idea to move Sherlock while it was unclear how injured he was, but there was no way of knowing whether another blast wave was coming. They had to get into the TARDIS where it'd be safe. "Alright, up you get." The Time Lord wrapped his arms around Sherlock's torso, lifting the semi-conscious detective awkwardly to his feet.
He started to drag him towards the TARDIS, but Sherlock managed to wake up enough to push the Time Lord away. "Get off," he growled groggily, stumbling awkwardly away from him. The detective leaned his shoulder against the side of the TARDIS, a hand reaching up to rub the back of his head. "How'd you get up before me?" he asked somewhat irritably.
"Superior Time Lord biology," the Doctor explained, not without a hint of smugness. "Nevermind that. Just keep your eyes closed, head level, breath in through your nose, out through your mouth."
Sherlock did as the Doctor ordered, keeping his head up as he took in slow, measured breaths. After several moments, he opened his eyes again, pushing off the TARDIS to stand on his own. "Thanks," he said stiffly.
The Doctor nodded. "No problem. Knock-out blast wave. Nasty feeling."
The detective looked up with interest. "You know what that was?"
"Incapacitating energy blast wave," the Doctor explained. His brow furrowed worriedly. "Trouble is, that's alien technology. Why's it being used here?"
Sherlock didn't answer. His sharp gaze was flitting over the flat, taking in every detail and filing them away in his mind. After a few moments, he strode up to the couch, stepping carelessly on the armrest in order to reach for something on the wall. He returned to the Doctor with it held out in his palm.
The Doctor pulled out his sonic screwdriver and gave it a quick scan. "Disabled," he realized with relief.
Sherlock clenched his jaw, growling, "I should've seen it earlier." His gaze swept around the flat again, searching for anything he missed. "I was too distracted. I always said, sentiment, it gets in the way."
The Doctor knew that Sherlock was just frustrated because John was missing, so soon after getting him back. He too was worried for his companions. He was pretty sure Donna would be okay. Scared, yes, but she was tough. She could hold her own. It was Molly he was worried about. She was tough too, and undeniably brave, but ever since the Year her behavior had been decidedly erratic. He wasn't sure how she'd react to being kidnapped and kept captive.
Without warning, the TV switched on, the picture grainy and the speakers emitting a loud screeching. The Doctor and Sherlock exchanged a wary glance, then returned their attention to the screen. After a few moments, the picture cleared slightly, but was still grainy, and flashing and flickering erratically. The two geniuses flinched back in shock at the sight of the face flickering in and out of focus, grinning maniacally.
"Hello boys," James Moriarty said, his grin full of cruel glee.
Sherlock's expression was one of complete shock. His face, usually so composed, was completely vulnerable. He took a shaky step forward, starting at Moriarty like a scared, lost child. The Doctor could only guess at his thoughts, whether he was doubting the possibility of the evidence of his eyes, or whether he was fearful for John.
The Doctor's own response was quite different. The moment he saw Moriarty's face, his blood was boiling, turning to fire in his veins. His expression turned stormy, the hate and rage burning underneath. That man. That little, insignificant man, one stupid little ape on a stupid little planet, who thought he could threaten the people the Doctor cared most about, over and over again, and get away with it. The first time, he'd let him go so he could focus on helping Molly. The second, Sherlock got to him first, and he couldn't mess with that established event. No more. This man had gone too far and taken too much to ever beg the Time Lord's forgiveness.
Moriarty's face on the screen kept zooming in and out and skipping around random parts of the screen in sharp, quick transitions, the screen glitching in random patches. It just added to the chaotic feeling of James Moriarty. The man in question tipped his head, grinning with an eerie smugness. "Helloooo there alien boy. Long time, no see." He straightened up, voice suddenly more collected. "Well, for me anyway. Of course you, you just popped off in your little box, so it's only been a few seconds in Doc-tah time."
"It can't be," Sherlock breathed. "It can't. He's dead."
Moriarty's expression became smug again, amused. "By this point, Sherly boy's probably whining this being impossible, about me being dead, and probably being all-around dull." He smirked. "But don't worry, I'm long gone. Or at least, I assume I am. After your little trip, it wasn't hard to guess."
The Doctor pulled out his sonic screwdriver, scanning over the TV. "It's pre-recorded," he confirmed. "It's not a live feed."
The psychopath looked off the center of the camera, expression thoughtful. "You know, in the end, it was always going to come to that, wasn't it? I was never really long for this world. Such a tedious thing, existence. Never saw the point in a long-lived life. And if things go down the way I've been planning, well then, my death means that I won." Sherlock's expression hardened at that, his anger finally catching up with him.
"Now," he said in a frank tone, "To business. The two of you are probably wondering where are your little friends are. You always were so simple-minded when it came to those brainless little pets who followed you around." He sighed, passing a hand over his face. "You see, I was going to leave it alone, Sherlock, I really was. But then I started thinking... what were you doing with that nosy alien in the box? Unraveling my network, I already knew that. Really, Sherlock, you're a bit obvious. But then I thought... Sherlock's undoing all my hard work. He's stealing my win. And well, I can't have that, now can I?"
His grin widened, his face zapping closer to the camera, zooming in on that horrid grin. "So here it is. My last victory. The final game." A countdown appeared on the top left corner of the screen that read, "24:00." Moriarty continued, "Find your companions within 24 hours, or my men will kill them. And don't try getting extra time by using that box of yours, Doctor. You noticed my little trick with the knock-out pulse? I have access to alien technology. After Canary Wharf, Torchwood's goodies were up for grab. Soooo many fun toys to be found. I can track your TARDIS. If you try to take off, my men will know, and they'll kill your companions immediately." He smirked. "You're fast, Doctor. But are you faster than a bullet? And remember, they might not all be in the same place. Oh, also, be quick about finding them. I can't account for any pain they go through. The long er you wait, the worse it'll be." He paused, looking thoughtful. "Oh, all right, you can travel through space, but not time. No time jumping, time boy. We'll be able to know. We're watching you two, so play nice."
Moriarty smirked as he added, "And Doctor? You really need to find smarter companions. I mean, using her mother's maiden name to get into a building? Not very smart at all. Donna Noble's family might just be getting a little visit." The Doctor felt a pang of fear in his hearts.
The counter started counting down. "Happy hunting," Moriarty said with a final grin. Then the screen shorted out.
It's nice to be posting chapters so quickly again. It's a nice feeling. ^^
Anyway, onto the Final Game, the last hurrah of the deceased James Moriarty. Yes, I'm keeping him dead. I considered bringing him back, but in the end, I figured let him rot. We've pretty much had it confirmed that he truly is dead, and while I could bring him back with alien tech, I figured it makes more sense to keep him dead. Let him keep his victory. Besides, if he stayed alive, I don't think I could've kept the Doctor from doing something truly Time Lord Victorious to him as punishment.
I'll post more soon, hopefully. Like I said, this is going to be a two-parter.
By the way, if you want hints as to who was taken with whom, take a look at who was standing where in the room and who was close to who.