Akilah Swiftblade said: "Love this story, but never ever reviewed.. I know its very sad, BUT now I have an idea to share...what if Seb Moran and Johns places were switched and John was the assassin that Moriarty used against Sherlock."
I wasn't sure what sort of angle exactly you wanted me to go with this, but I had two ideas so I decided to do TWO different chapters for this prompt exploring those two different ideas. Here's the first chapter, and the next will be the second idea! (I swear I didn't mean to make this one so sad I PROMISE the next one will be so much happier)
Also I had great feedback from that last chapter so thank you all so much! I learn so much from you guys and your support really encourages me to keep writing.
John had had nowhere else to go when James Moriarty found him.
He came home from the war a broken man, and with nowhere else to go he soon found himself ready to take a permanent dip in the Thames. His therapist quit, his family didn't answer the calls he never made, he couldn't find a job and his cash was running out, there seemed to be no other choice.
He was just working up the courage to jump when a slick man in a suit sidled up next to him and hissed in his ear.
"Why, Johnny boy, why so glum?"
Five minutes later they were seated in a nearby bar, Jim was sampling some drink John had never heard of and smiling like he knew exactly how the world was going to end.
"You know I'm a doctor, right?" John asked, almost sickened by what the man was asking him to sign up for.
"No...you don't get it, that's what makes it interesting." Moriarty near growled, as though offended that John didn't get the punchline. "The man who saved a million lives, now takes away a million more."
John frowned, that just wasn't who he was but...he didn't want to die either. Besides, a part of him liked the idea of being back in the action again...back in the war.
"Here's your most important target." Jim slid his phone across the bar towards John's hand.
"I didn't say I'd do it." John shot back.
"I know you will." Jim smirked. "Oh you're so cute and stupid you know that?" He stood, waiting for John to view the image on his phone. John sighed and looked, seeing the image of a pale man with sharp cheekbones and dark eyes.
"His name...is Sherlock Holmes." Moriarty purred. "I don't want you to kill him just yet, just keep an eye on him. Do some small jobs for me first. Then take him out."
"What do I get out of this?" John asked.
"I'll pay you whatever you want." Jim shrugged. "Money is boring, people are far more depraved. The things people will do for money...oh I couldn't even tell you. Also I'll give you a place to stay. Say, why don't you come live with me, eh Johnny? Won't that be fun?"
"I still haven't agreed." John stared at his hands, curling them into fists. He felt helpless.
"So you say." Moriarty sighed and picked his phone up before placing it back in his pocket, as he did he pulled a piece of paper with an address written on it out of the same pocket and tossed it in front of John. "Here, for when you make up your tiny stupid mind."
John killed three people for Moriarty before he ever met Sherlock Holmes.
The first time he was sick. It wasn't like the war, he didn't feel like he was fighting on the right side, and he didn't feel like it was necessary to save someone else's life. He certainly wasn't a doctor anymore.
But after the third time he'd stopped feeling. So Moriarty decided it was time for him to meet his primary target.
"John, come here." Jim waved his pet over to where he was sprawled across some sort of modern styled chair. Everything in Jim's flat was sleek and modern, and meticulously clean. John made his way to Moriarty's side, and the criminal mastermind cooed and ran his hands over John's hair and clothes fixing them and dusting them off. "He's solving a little puzzle I've set up for him, how would you like to keep track of his progress?"
"You mean the thing with the cabbie?" John asked, ignoring Moriarty's closeness. He was used to the man's lack of personal space by now.
"Yes, and the suicide murders." Moriarty added. He was very proud of that part. "Ought to have him hooked."
"Do you want me to kill him now?" John asked.
"No, no not yet that's not fun at all." Jim sighed. "John, you need to have more fun. Cut loose. Okay? Seriously I might have to beat this concept into you with a lead pipe..."
And so that's how John ended up hiding in an alleyway behind a dumpster on a cold night, just to fulfill one of his boss's whims.
Sherlock Holmes was a perplexing man, John could tell that right away. The Yard seemed thoroughly annoyed with him, a few might even get away with killing him before John could. It was simple for John to sneak into the crime scene with a fake badge and a few quick movements. Sherlock crawled all over the crime scene that the cabbie had left for him, examining the woman dressed in an awful shade of pink. He made a few sharp comments to the graying detective inspector standing next to him, but otherwise was silent.
This guy needs someone to brag to. John decided.
"Rache. It's German. She must have been German." One of the men next to the detective piped up.
"Good lead, Anderson, really. Why don't you go stick your head up your arse to look for more clues like that one?" Sherlock snarled back. John had to stifle a laugh.
He stayed and watched the man work for a few moments more before leaving. He'd seen enough for one night. He made his way down the stairs, his limp bothering him a little as he went. It hadn't been as bad since he started working for Moriarty, he didn't need the cane all the time, but either way the limp still bugged him.
Despite his leg he made it outside and was just about to duck under the police tape and fade into the night when a voice came as though floating across the wind to his ear.
"Well trained for a rubbernecker."
John turned around, and was stunned to see Sherlock Holmes staring him down like a cat regarding a mouse.
"Excuse me?" He asked.
"People sneak into crime scenes all the time...reporters, curious passerbys...but none make it so far as the body." Sherlock narrowed his eyes. "So who are you?"
"I'm no one. You're mistaken." John scowled and turned away but Sherlock's deep voice rumbled after him.
"You're a soldier. A trained killer." Sherlock corrected him. "Hardly no one. You were a doctor once. You're suffering from a psychosomatic limp, and you've recently starting seeing someone."
"I'm not seeing anyone." John protested.
"Someone's taking care of you. I'd say a girlfriend but...no...it must be a man." Sherlock decided.
"Yeah, sure." John chuckled bitterly. "That's a laugh. If you're done prying now, I'll be going."
"You do that..." Sherlock raised an eyebrow, and he watched silently as John departed.
"I do hate getting messy." Jim slowly unbuttoned his blood covered shirt, keeping it far from his skin as though it was burning him. "That's why I have you around. You should have handled that."
"I don't even know where you just came from." John argued. "I'm not a mind reader, I can't kill everyone for you all the time."
"Speaking of killing, I'm getting bored of Sherlock Holmes." Moriarty pouted. "He's so predictable, so boring."
"And he's solving your little bomb problem simply enough." John snorted, earning himself a sharp glare from his employer.
"I don't pay you to side with the enemy." He snarled. "You're both so boring, so stupid." Jim slammed his fist into the nearest possible surface, which just so happened to be the coffee table. He'd cut open his knuckles doing that, so John sighed and went to fetch the first aid kit. When he came back Jim was sitting on the couch, his blood fist hanging off to one side and his eyes staring absently at the floor.
"You'll kill him for me, won't you John?" He asked. "You'd kill anyone for me?"
"Of course." John opened the first aid kit and started treating Jim's hand. As he cared for his boss he thought back to the last time he'd seen Sherlock close to death. The cabbie plan had actually worked, Sherlock had played his game. He took the pill, swallowed it. John was watching from the next building over and remembering every detail so he could give Jim the play by play. He watched as the cabbie fell to the ground dead and Sherlock went pale from the shock of being that close to a messy ending.
Then John remembered the case with the acrobat. Moriarty had struck a deal with a Chinese gang, it was just a little problem to keep the detective distracted while Moriarty handled a matter overseas. John didn't have any orders to watch Sherlock, but he was curious so he went anyway. He kept watch over 221B and studied the detective's comings and goings. He must have not been paying close enough attention though because suddenly...
"You know what my brother says about coincidences?"
John's head snapped around and he came face to face with the famous detective.
"The universe is rarely so lazy." He finished, eyeing John with a glare. "I've seen you before, at...that murder with the pink woman..."
"A study in pink." John suggested.
"What?" Sherlock made a face that was either shocked or disgusted or maybe both.
"That's just what I call it." John shrugged. "Yeah, I was there too. But you're wrong, it's a coincidence."
"Don't insult my intelligence." Sherlock sighed. "Who sent you? Was it my brother?"
"This brother of yours comes up in the conversation a lot." John chuckled.
"Are you my new babysitter? Because the last man he hired to follow me met with an unfortunate circumstance." Sherlock threatened. John just rolled his eyes.
"Let me tell you something, Holmes. I know a man that could pull off that scary loner act, but you aren't cutting it." He sighed. "You don't mean it. You wouldn't kill anyone."
"I could." Sherlock argued, but John just shook his head.
"No, you wouldn't. I can tell. After all you only said you could, not that you would."
"Who sent you?" Sherlock asked, this time he leaned in so close that John could feel his breath on his face.
Well he shares Jim's feelings about personal space. John noticed.
"You can't make me give him up." John shrugged. Sherlock's face softened into something akin to a triumphant grin.
"Oh...oh but you already have, haven't you?" He smirked. "A killer is he? Well I've caught dozens of those. How completely and utterly boring. You tell your boss to give me something challenging." He commanded, poking John in the chest. "You tell him to give me something fun. Then maybe I'll be intimidated when he sends his goon to spy on me."
John came back to reality, he was holding Jim's bloody and bandaged hand. Jim was sighing and rubbing his thumb over John's fingers.
"Such a pity we'll have to kill him. He's getting in the way..." He sighed. "Such a pity."
"When do you want it done?" John asked, standing up from his crouched position and then sliding onto the couch next to Jim. Jim came closer, and John ignored it.
"He'll call for me sooner or later." He sighed. "Wait until then..."
John was keeping himself busy, trying to fill the day with walking and watching people. He couldn't sit around Moriarty's flat any longer, so he walked around London and thought about what he would do after he'd killed Sherlock Holmes. He didn't notice when a pair of strong arms wrapped around his mouth and waist and yanked him into the nearby alleyway.
He fought back, elbowing his captor in the stomach and then swinging a punch at him. The other man fought back, knocking John against a wall and holding him there. Then a familiar voice rang in John's ears.
"You tell him I'm solving his game. You tell him to come out of hiding and face me himself." Sherlock snapped.
"I thought you didn't care about other people." Sherlock was holding John against the wall by his throat and shoulder, so John's voice came out choked. "It's not like you to get so emotional."
"You'd know, with the way you've been following me." Sherlock glared. "How does this game end? With either him or I dead, am I right?"
"That's the plan." John admitted. Sherlock released John and began to pace restlessly.
"I've heard rumors of a new criminal mastermind in London...Moriarty, the criminal consultant." He said. "And you're his pet, am I right?"
"I'm one of his employees." John corrected him.
"You're his pet. He feeds you, clothes you, lets you sleep under his roof, he scratches you behind the ear." Sherlock half taunted.
"It's better than my other options. It's better than where you are right now." John countered.
"That's where you're wrong." Sherlock said. "I can make my own choices."
"Every choice you've made has been manipulated by him." John gave an empty laugh. "You could have died taking that pill, you could have walked away from any of these problems but instead you played along just like he wanted."
"So did you." Sherlock pointed out. "We're both his pawns, but you let yourself be that way."
"I think we're done here." John scowled, and was surprised when Sherlock let him leave.
John had three men up in the rafters with sniper rifles, but he stayed low to the ground with a pistol like Moriarty told him to. Jim wanted him to be close, just in case the execution went awry. John watched the two men throw verbal abuse at each other and play a sort of chess game with words until suddenly Moriarty got very bored. He waved to the snipers above, signaling them to shoot.
John looked at that strange detective, the one who told him that the universe was rarely so lazy as to throw two people together over and over again. Of course, he knew why it wasn't just coincidence, he knew it was because Moriarty wanted him to have a hand in Sherlock's death. Still, he couldn't help but wonder if maybe he met him for some other reason. Maybe meeting Moriarty had been the coincidence and Sherlock had been his fate.
For some stupid reason, he decided he was going to end up the way he'd begun this insane life of his. Facing death. For some stupid reason he grew a conscience, he gave up his job, and flung himself in front of the bullets that would otherwise have pierced Sherlock's chest to gift him with a slow painful death. Sherlock's mouth fell upon as he looked at the one thing he'd failed to predict about this moment. He'd walked into the building prepared to die, but not prepared to have someone die for him.
Jim was just as surprised, and he screamed John's name as though maybe the soldier had actually meant something to him. John spent his bullets on the snipers above, though the pain in his body made it near impossible to aim. It was unrealistic and unlikely but somehow he made it. The adrenaline most likely sustained him.
But then it caught up to him, and he found himself bleeding out into unfamiliar arms, Sherlock Holmes's arms.
"I don't understand..." Sherlock muttered.
"Geniuses like you two never could..." John winced. "Only idiots like me could understand compassion...or stupidity really...you know...I used to be a doctor, I used to save lives instead of taking them..."
Sherlock examined the dying doctor, but his attention was quickly drawn away as Moriarty drew a gun.
"Remember when you said I'd never kill anyone?" Sherlock asked, picking up John's gun and firing it straight at the criminal mastermind. When Moriarty's body hit the ground, John was already dead.
Sherlock leaned back in his chair, staring at the empty eye sockets of the skull he kept on his mantelpiece. Tonight it sat on his knees instead, as he perched in his chair and pondered what had happened that day.
Lestrade was still pouring over all the paperwork, with so many people dead and Sherlock to blame for at least one of them he was having a tough time. Sherlock didn't have the time to worry about all of that, so he went home and smoked the first cigarette for awhile-he figured there was no use trying to quit anymore he just didn't feel like it.
He smoked and then he sat with his skull and thought about the doctor. He'd never even learned his name, but somehow it felt wrong that he would be working for Moriarty, wrong that he would be dead.
Maybe he was never supposed to be there, but it didn't matter because he had been, and now there was no chance to do things differently.