{Why? 'Cause Sheriarty is the way forward! I'm busy converting Martha, wish me luck...}
Our Fall
Sherlock had already fallen. Just not in the way he had originally intended.
He'd reached the roof when he finally realised what the criminal had truly demanded of him. Of course. He wouldn't have been any less dramatic. He really should have foreseen this. But really? Wasn't there a simpler way of doing it? Sherlock supposed it was a test. Proof, that he really cared. Proof, that he was willing to die to save his friends. And die he would. But not if he could avoid it. Definitely not.
He sighed heavily as he pushed open the emergency exit roof door. Moriarty sat, swinging his legs, over the edge of the roof. Music blared from his phone, slicing into the stillness of the day, so quiet and cold compared to the bustling, screaming streets of London below. He shut it off, absentmindedly. He was talking again, all purring villainy and charming, serpentine smirk, but Sherlock simply processed the information without listening. He studied his nemesis. His hair was slicked back as always and he was impeccably dressed. Sherlock let his attention flit to the flyaway strands, imagining running his fingers through the dark restlessness reluctantly tamed on his scalp. He let his vision slide over the mastermind. He started with the eyes. He always started with the eyes. Eyes, according to some sentimental he didn't care for the name of, were the windows to the soul. If so, then Sherlock would love to see Moriarty's soul. He wondered if it would dance and whirl like the ebony and cocoa irises he was so intently concentrating on. That would indeed be art worth his time.
{Sorry that it's quite short and vague, but I always wondered why Sherlock always gives Moriarty these intense gazes... ;) } REVIEW!