DISCLAIMER: I do NOT own BBC's Sherlock or any of its characters. I do NOT gain any profit from this fan-fiction. It is strictly for my entertainment and anyone who enjoys reading it!
CLAIMER: I OWN my OMC Mace Nolan aka Nolen James aka Mace Moriarty.
WARNING: This is a SLASH / MALE x MALE / YAOI fan-fiction. If you do NOT like same-sex relationships, then this story is NOT for you. Slight AU. Character Death.
BETA READER: None, so there will be some mistakes that I miss.
AUTHOR'S NOTE: For once something ended the way I originally planned for it to. How rare is it that my muse actually agreed in the direction I was going? Very rarely I say.
"Fading in, fading out
On the edge of paradise
Every inch of your skin, is a Holy Grail I've gotta find
Only you can set my heart on fire, on fire
Yeah, I'll let you set the pace
'Cause I'm not thinking straight
My head's spinning around, I can't see clear no more
Oh, what are you waiting for?"
- Love Me Like You Do by Ellie Goulding
.:Mature Content Ahead:.
.:oOo:.
The only time Sherlock's mind was ever free of the world's markings was when he was with Mace. Silence resonated around them just as loudly as noise in a bustling city, but despite words never being verbally spoken by Mace, Sherlock never felt more at peace with someone than he did with him.
They had met by chance; Sherlock stepping into Angelo's for sustenance just as a curiosity was leaving with a take-away of cannoli. The man was an inch or so shorter than Sherlock with carefully styled raven locks and a well-kept appearance. The suit the man wore was tailor made, a Vivienne Westwood if Sherlock had to guess. Sherlock had a sense of deja-vu and it took longer than Sherlock liked for him to understand why the man seemed familiar. He blamed it on the lack of calories needed to sustain his body and mind at full capacity. Sherlock had grabbed the man's wrist and spoke a name before he realized his body had moved before his mind could process the action.
"Moriarty."
The confused expression marring the familiar face was the first clue that Sherlock was incorrect in his assumptions. The similarities of the raven's features were close enough to indicate a familial relation to Sherlock's rival (those were definitely the same brown eyes Moriarty had), but obvious enough that Sherlock inwardly cursed at his mistake.
You're mistaken.
Sherlock's fingers loosened and the wrist in his hold slipped free as he processed the signed words. Blue eyes flickered to the man's throat, catching a glimpse of a faded scar that indicated a past attack that took his ability to speak.
"Apologies…," Sherlock murmured, trailing off as the word rarely used by him slipped out.
The man nodded and turned away. Sherlock frowned, his eyes following the man's steady and relaxed gait. Sherlock had a feeling that would not be the last he saw the raven. As he settled down at his regular booth and ate his usual pasta dish, Sherlock thought about all of the information or lack thereof that he knew about James Moriarty. There was not a single piece of information that signified Moriarty having a brother, much less a living family member. His frown deepened.
.:oOo:.
"Sherlock, are you listening to me?" John voiced with exasperation before sighing heavily. "Of course, you aren't. Why would you?"
Sherlock continued walking down the sidewalk, his stride never faltering as he cut across the street without looking. A honking of a car blared, but he ignored that too along with John's curse.
"What has you so distracted?" John demanded, jogging to keep up with Sherlock's fast pace. "Sherlock!"
Sherlock finally looked at John, annoyance twisting his lips into a sneer.
"What? What is it, John?" Sherlock inquired loudly and John flinched back in surprise.
John should not be surprised when Sherlock spoke with a raised voice, he was loud himself when questioning Sherlock. All Sherlock wanted to do was get back to Baker Street and for John to stop spouting useless noise.
"Clearly you're in a foul mood. I think I'll spend the night at Mary's. Call me when you cool down," John huffed, turning on his heel to wave down a cab.
Sherlock watched John go, his brows furrowed. If that was all John wished to say, why did he not just do so and go? Why all the unnecessary shouting? Continuing onward, Sherlock turned a corner and paused mid-step just as the other person coming towards him did the same.
"Hello again," Sherlock voiced in his deep timber.
It had been a week since Sherlock had run into the man standing in front of him and during that entire time, Sherlock was hard-pressed to think about anything else. The suit he was wearing was another tailor made one, but not a Vivienne Westwood. The emerald green suit bordered on a dark Sacramento hue and the black silk dress shirt paired nicely with the man's fair complexion.
Hello.
"Sherlock Holmes," Sherlock finally introduced himself, wanting to hold out a hand in greet like everyone else would tend to do, but he stuffed his hands deeper into his coat pockets.
Mace Nolen. M-A-C-E N-O-L-E-N.
Would Sherlock ever thank Mycroft for forcing him to learn multiple languages including sign language? Absolutely not, even if it came in handy at this very moment.
"Mace Nolen," Sherlock repeated the words and the raven nodded. "Would you happen to be related to James Moriarty?"
You know my brother?
Sherlock bit the inside of his cheek, his shoulders hunching as he stared at Mace. There was honest curiosity in those brown eyes. This could be an elaborate trick…a new game Moriarty decided to play with Sherlock. If this was a game, Sherlock would go along with it. In the end, it would not be he who loses. Sherlock forced his lips to curve into a smile.
"Have you had lunch yet?"
No.
"Would you care to join me?"
Mace checked the time on a titanium Cartier wrist watch before answering.
Alright then.
.:oOo:.
"I forbid it," James voiced strongly as he stepped into his younger half-brother's room, discovering Mace getting ready for a day out.
Mace glanced up from securing his obsidian cuff links, frowning lightly at James' words.
Will you tell me why?
"He is my enemy," James practically hissed, walking closer until he was gripping Mace's shoulders.
Mace's frown deepened as he tilted his head slightly.
Everyone is your enemy.
"Yes, but none of them know of you. None, but him and I refuse to allow this ruse to continue any longer," James stated without pause. "He is using you simply to get to me."
Mace pulled away, running a hand through carefully styled locks.
James, not everyone is out to get you. Let me have this. Please.
James' jaw clenched, his hands closing into fists at his side.
"I'll kill him before he hurts you, Mace," James told him, his words carrying promise.
Like you killed the other one?
"They had it coming," James sneered and Mace looked away, his hand coming up to touch his scarred throat.
I suppose they did, but not Sherlock.
.:oOo:.
Fifteen thousand pounds worth of clothes lay crumpled on the floor, but Mace could not find it within himself to care as Sherlock held him in their post-orgasmic bliss. Mace knew with how rough the other was, he would be sore come morning, but it was a soreness he looked forward to. Turning around in the firm arms holding him, Mace nuzzled the length of Sherlock's throat before drawing the brunette into a passion inducing kiss. As much as he enjoyed being taken up against the wall, on top of the dining room table, and finally in bed, Mace winced at the fingers circling his abused entrance. Sherlock, always the observant one, moved his hand away to caress Mace's hip.
"I was too rough with you," Sherlock voiced apologetically, pressing a kiss to Mace's temple. "I lost control and for that I am sorry."
Mace shook his head, leaning back enough for his eyes to meet Sherlock's. He ran his hands up Sherlock's side and over his back, the brunette inhaling sharply at the stinging sensation covering his back while Mace grinned. Sherlock could imagine the claw lines marring his back so clearly that his own lips formed a grin. Mace's carefully styled hair was disheveled in a way that gave no doubt to what he and Sherlock had been up to all evening. When had Sherlock's suspicions towards this man turn into adoration? Just thinking about Mace brought on a sense of warmth inside Sherlock's chest. How could this kind, caring man be related to that cruel, heartless beast of a brother? Mace cupped Sherlock's face, drawing his attention out of his thoughts.
What are you thinking so hard about?
"You," Sherlock answered truthfully, dipping his head and closing his lips over Mace's.
Mace returned the kiss with equal affection, moaning softly as Sherlock slotted a leg between his. The raven trembled, his body sensitive to Sherlock's touch. Mace was unsure if he could handle another round with Sherlock so soon after their last, but he was unwilling to stop those long, nimble fingers running down his spine. When they came together for a fourth time, it was with slow and careful movements that were no less earthshattering. Mace's back arched and his lips parted in a silent scream, his heels digging into Sherlock's thighs as his fingernails bit new marks into the brunette's shoulders. Sherlock groaned at the pleasured pain, his hips jerking with his own release. Mace drifted off, too lost in Sherlock to care that he was falling asleep instead of leaving for home. The last thing on his mind was his brother's reaction.
.:oOo:.
Sherlock stood opposite of Moriarty on the rooftop of St. Bartholomew's Hospital. Moriarty was angry, seething with a simmering rage in dark brown orbs so much alike to Mace's own.
"He may not see it, but I know the truth, Sherlock," Moriarty stated with a curl of his lips that showed too much teeth. "My, have you lowered yourself in my eyes. Using my brother like you have."
Sherlock kept him face blank, not disputing Moriarty's words. It did not matter what Sherlock said, Moriarty believes Sherlock was using Mace to get to him and at first that was the plan…a plan that quickly fell through.
"Mace is easy to fall in love with," Sherlock voiced hoarsely, the threats to his friends and possibly Mace himself was strongly felt.
Sherlock had attempted to get in touch with Mace since Moriarty's threat, the raven being his first call before John. He received no answer, only a text about being whisked away forever. Sherlock knew then that the text was not from Mace, but from Moriarty.
"I told you weeks ago for you to back off, Sherlock, or that I would burn the heart out of you," Moriarty said with a small amount of amusement.
Sherlock felt a sudden bout of dread.
"What did you do?" Sherlock whispered, disbelieving that Mace would actually be harmed by Moriarty, but unable to think otherwise.
Moriarty began to grin even as he narrowed his gaze at Sherlock. Slowly, he drew a gun from his coat pocket.
"You believe you know so much, Sherlock, of the situation you dug yourself in. The moment you decided to play a game with my brother, you lost. Only I know the safe word that will stop my snippers from killing your friends, and only I know of Mace's whereabouts," Moriarty told him with a lilt to his voice. "This was never a game you could win, Sherlock, and I'm going to make sure you fail completely."
With that, Moriarty placed the end of the gun inside his mouth.
"NOOO!" Sherlock shouted, reaching out to stop Moriarty from pulling the trigger.
The gunshot rang loud and Moriarty fell limply to the ground dead, and with him everything that was important to Sherlock.
.:oOo:.
Thirteen months passed since Sherlock faked his death in front of John and biding his time working for Mycroft to help clear the world of Moriarty's criminal network. Thirteen months of searching the world for desperately tiny crumbs leading to finding Mace. Thirteen months and it finally paid off when one of Sherlock's informants spoke of a Nolen James residing in Napier, New Zealand; has been for just as long as Sherlock has been dead to London.
Out of the 65,000 people residing in Napier, it took Sherlock another five days to discover the exact location within the beachside city where Mace was currently stowed away. The luxury mansion reflected both brothers' tastes and the privacy gates with armed guards spoke of Moriarty's hands. Sherlock wanted to storm the gates, demand answers from Mace to see if the raven knew…had he known of Moriarty's actions? He plans to kill? The longer Sherlock stood watching the goings-on surrounding the large estate, the more he wanted to just see Mace again.
As night fell and the lights within the mansion dimmed out, Sherlock made his move. The closer he got to Mace; the longer time seemed to drag on as if it too was against the brunette. Sherlock found him in the master bedroom on the third floor standing outside on the terrace balcony overlooking the seaport of Hawke's Bay. Mace looked exactly as Sherlock remembered, until the raven turned away and locked eyes with Sherlock's. Those brown eyes were surrounded by dark circles speaking of many nights with little to no sleep and that fair complexion held more of an ivory pallor.
"Mace…," Sherlock breathed, slowing in his steps as he reached the open doorways leading outside.
What took you so long?
It was if he never stopped moving. Sherlock had Mace in his arms and held the figure protectively against him. They held each other, for how long Sherlock was unsure. All that mattered in that moment was the trembling man in his arms. Leaning back just enough to slant his mouth over Mace's, Sherlock savored the familiar taste of honey and lemon. Mace's hands caressed the sides of Sherlock's face, reminding the brunette of his unkept appearance. Sherlock had been focused on finding Mace, damning his appearance in order to not waste time. The beard was unusual to the both of them and Sherlock broke their kiss.
"I suppose I look a fright at the moment," Sherlock whispered and earned a smile from those adoring lips.
Mace gave Sherlock's bearded chin a playful tug and blue eyes flashed with humor and lust. He cupped the back of Mace's neck, rubbing his thumb along cool skin.
"You haven't been eating or sleeping," Sherlock pointed out, frowning at the obvious signs.
Mace pursed his lips, before he was smiling again although not as wide. Taking his hand, Mace led Sherlock to the ensuite bathroom and nudged the brunette towards the solid glass shower. Stepping away, Mace opened a near-hidden closet and pulled out a thick robe and towel set before placing both on the counter for Sherlock.
Take your time, Sherlock. I'm not going anywhere.
Mace told the hesitant man, before leaving the bathroom. Sherlock watched through the open door as Mace settled down on the bed, the raven laying down facing the bathroom as if to reassure himself that Sherlock was still there. Maybe it was a dream. If so, Sherlock did not wish to wake. Thirty minutes of cleaning the dirt and grim away, shaving his face smooth and then drying off, Sherlock wrapped himself up in the robe Mace had left out for him before joining the dozing raven in bed. Mace latched onto Sherlock within seconds of him settling down beside the raven and he returned the gesture.
"I searched everywhere for you, but I never gave up finding you," Sherlock murmured against the crown of Mace's head.
I am glad my informant found you then.
Sherlock blinked, processing those words. He quickly leaned up and looked down at Mace.
"Your informant?" Sherlock inquired with furrowed brows.
Mace nodded.
You were getting further away. Canada? Really, Sherlock?
Sherlock's lips twitched.
"Canada was a perfectly plausible assumption," Sherlock stated and Mace lifted a brow, which caused Sherlock to roll his eyes. "Yes, yes, but I was running out of options. How long have you known I was looking for you?"
Since the beginning.
Sherlock frowned, sitting up completely now. Mace moved to his knees and wrapped his arms around Sherlock's shoulders from behind, nuzzling the side of Sherlock's face with his own.
"Did you know what Moriarty was doing, what he had done?"
Sherlock felt Mace nod his head, but that could have been him further nuzzling the brunette's throat. Sherlock turned his head slightly to meet dark eyes.
Of course, I know. James is my brother. We tell each other everything.
The present tense caught Sherlock's attention and blue eyes grew with stunned surprise. He turned completely around while grabbing hold of Mace's wrists.
"He's alive," Sherlock whispered, disbelief filling his tone.
Mace smiled.
"The eyes will believe anything they see, making deceit easy. Wouldn't you agree, Sherlock?"
At the sing-song lilt coming from the bedroom door, Sherlock tensed up. Light footsteps came closer until a weight settled on the opposite side of the bed. James Moriarty beamed at him, although there was a flicker of concern in his eyes when Moriarty glanced at his brother.
"Is this a trap?" Sherlock demanded, his voice no louder than a whisper.
"A trap, you say? Hmm…," Moriarty trailed off, an amused grin stretching his lips over his teeth as he laid back and tucked his hands behind his head, crossing his ankles in a relaxed manner. "I wouldn't go that far."
No, Sherlock, this was never a trap to lead you to death.
"No?" Sherlock inquired, his timber deep.
You coming here is my proof to my brother that you are being true in your affections towards me.
Sherlock did not gawk. He does not gawk. Surely, he does not despite Moriarty's laughter ringing out.
"You caught my brother's attention long before we met, Sherlock. Really, you should be thanking Mace. If not for him, you would have been long dead and I would still be miserably bored," Moriarty stated so nonchalantly that Sherlock winced.
"So, I was just a game to you?" Sherlock asked, directing his question to Mace.
No more at the start than I was to you.
"Well," Moriarty started, suddenly getting up off of the bed and striding back towards the bedroom entrance. "Daddy has work to do. You kids don't stay up too late."
He left without a backwards glance, the door shutting securely after him. Mace grabbed one of Sherlock's hands, pulling them to his chest so the brunette could feel his heartbeat.
Stay here with me, Sherlock.
"I can't…Mycr—."
If Mycroft could not find the links between Richard Brooks and Mace Nolen, then he shall not link Nolen James with the deceased James Moriarty.
Sherlock reached up with his free hand until he was cupping the side of Mace's face.
"Your name, your true name…what is it?"
Mace Moriarty.
Sherlock closed his eyes with a sigh. Figures he would fall in love with the enemy.
.:END:.