TheDarkestShinobi: review! (please); send me prompts, anything!
Start
Two sets footsteps echoed through the hall. One was the sound of work shoes, a click-click; the other belongs to a set of heavy combat boots in light feet, quick thuds. The sound was broken by another set of protests from the shorter.
"I need you to be quiet and listen." Mycroft cut the other off as he stopped semmingly randomly in the hall.
"You pulled me out," John looked away before shaking his head and locking eyes with the other. "They could need me." John was adamant but stopped at the others expression. "Mycroft?" Mycroft sighs grips his umbrella tighter. John would never know why the man carried it indoors.
"John," The other started in a pleading voice, "please," another pause "for England." John narrows his eyes and Mycroft looks down before up. "Its Moriarty, he's threatening to put some kind of poison in our systems if you don't meet him now." Mycroft sees John's eyes soften in understanding and turns to push open the doors they stopped in front of. Mycroft pushes open the door without any other warning and John looks to see Moriarty sitting against the desk with a smile.
"Hello Captain!" John's face sets into stone and he hears the door close behind him. "Had I known you looked this good in a uniform I would have left you my number." John didn't respond and Moriarty's eyes took him in head to toe. "Oh and another medal I see, must have had to do with Mr. Green." John's fists are clenched and he has half a mind to reach for his gun and end the git now. Moriarty still spoke in a joking manner, as if they were friends."Well, to business then."
"What is it?" Moriarty didn't respond right away, "You're threatening England." John tilted his head but other than that stayed the perfect soldier, Moriarty loved that.
"Oh, right, well, I could have phoned you, but you'd be less likely to agree." Still chatting as if they were friends and there weren't lives in the balance.
"How did you know I was alive?" He just smiles and that's the only thing John gets as an answer. Moriarty holds up a clear circular object in his left hand between his pointer and middle finger.
"So I'm going to give you this earpiece and you're going to do everything I say." And in John's hands it looked like an ordinary earpiece. He feels anger and barely suppressed the urge to punch the other.
"What? So I'm your new assassin now?" Moriarty tilts his head in thought.
"No," he sounds like he was debating it but John knew better. "no, killing people isn't as fun as what I'm about to do to him." Him, of course it always came back to him.
"Sherlock." Moriarty's face dropped into one of annoyance at the name.
"Sherlock knows you're not dead. He can't find any mistakes-because I haven't made any-but he's sure you're alive." John didn't let it show but he was kind of happy. But wait…
"So you-" It made sense; the precision, and why he had to die. Who else would want Sherlock to think he was dead?
"Of course, the whole thing has been my doing." He held his hands outwards.
"Why?" John clutched the earpiece in his hand as he held his to his side.
"Because every good story needs a betrayal."
"Betrayal?" he echoed in question. His stomach may have flipped and he may have swallowed a ball of ice all at once.
"Yes, a betrayal. He is on his way to where he thinks I am, and I'll be there shortly. So will you." John tilted his heard to the side and let the question hang in the air again.
"He's going to try and kill me, shoot me for your honor or something or other." And Moriarty pulled his lips apart and down, more like a grimace than a smile.
"And why shouldn't I let him?" John's voice held a dangerous edge Moriarty made a note to explore.
"Oh." Moriarty let out a breath. "BORING!" He exclaimed like a child before his face changed into one of derision. "It must be dull in those little minds of yours." He spread his arms out and spun in a slow circle "I have orchestrated this, obviously with a threat so big and feasible that the British government is down on its knees." His face held no joy or amusement anymore; he was a criminal mastermind at work. "They have complied, so now," he lifted his pointer "all this, Dr. Watson," and pointed to John with a malicious smile "is now on your hands." It took a few seconds before John ceded by taking the earpiece and placing it in his ear. Moriarty let a side of his mouth quirk up.
"I see it's not all wasted."
"What would you have me do?" He was scared Moriarty noticed.
"Protect me from Sherlock, shooting him if it comes down to it." John shook his head.
"You have men."
"As I was saying, RUDE! Convince him you've betrayed him. Convince him he's lost you, and not to death," he walked closer with the sile of a madman and shook his head. "Oh no, to something worse, to me." John swallowed and his posture stiffened. They were hairs apart and Moriarty entertained the thought of grabbing the man's collar. It was a shame for the doctor; he could be so much more intimidating if he was taller.
"And If I don't." He would, the solider would do anything for England.
"I'll leave that to your imagination."
…
"What have you done to him!?" Sherlock yells as he approaches Moriarty, who is standing on the edge of the roof. Moriarty turns and Sherlock had a gun trained on Moriarty's face, but Moriarty simply steps down with a small smile and walks a little closer to the enraged man leisurely, with his hands clasped behind his back.
John had been given a hand gun and a close range automatic; it was to make sure he would have to be close to the two. The earpiece was emitting static now but instructions could come through at any second and he'd have to follow them. He stands too still for a man, his mind in overdrive. He was feeling for wind, but there was nothing to affect a shot this close, there usually wasn't. Where could he shoot to cause the least damage? Could he even shoot Sherlock?
A red dot appears on the back of Sherlock's head for an instant, but John watched it with dismay. It was a clear message from Moriarty; another threat. Laser sight wasn't accurate, and a trained sniper would never need one. He learned that in Afghanistan, having the pleasure of knowing an American, Chris Kyle, who was very proficient. It drew attention to the people next to the target and gave away the snipers location to anyone in the vicinity. Therefore it had one purpose and one purpose only.
A threat.
"He has no intention to shoot, stand down." His earpiece informed him. He was undetectable in these shadows so he stayed and watched, his finger hovering over the trigger he prayed he didn't have to use.
"Oh, hello Sherlock." Moriarty sends Sherlock a smile and receives a glare in return.
"Enough, Moriarty, What have you done?" Moriarty's hands find his pockets and pull them up as he shrugs looking left and right.
"Me? To John?" He looks taken aback "Nothing." He lets his shoulders fall and Sherlock tilts his head as a frown settles on his face.
"You're lying to me." John has missed that voice.
"Am I? What have I done to him, you ask. You are the one who drove him away." The lines in Sherlock's face became valleys as he sneered. "Overdose, was it? Hard to imagine."
"We both know he is not dead, and if he is you killed him. Completely textbook, clever, but it wasn't clever to target my best friend."
"Intent rising, John." It was, but John wanted to see more
"No danger yet," he lied "give it a moment more." And it unnerved him to no end to know he was commanding Moriarty's men. Or rather Jim, being that that was what he was instructed to address him by.
"I'm not playing games, Moriarty."
"And yet you played with matches with your pet John." Moriarty looked to the side, 'I told you so' written on his face.
"He is not a pet." John could tell that tone, Sherlock was about to get violent, and he had been told if a single Westwood thread was out of place the bets were off.
"Sherlock." He tried to keep his voice even and threatening and was satisfied. Sherlock let out a small huff of air of relief. There it was, the voice he had been aching to hear, only much more serious, dark, deadly. "Put down your weapon." And traitorous.
"No." It was disbelief, not disobedience that coated his word. His hand shook and his shoulders slumped.
"Oh, Sherlock," Moriarty looked up and away and took his hands out of his pocket "You're right, John is alive and well. See for yourself."
End.
Thoughts?