The Wrath of CyntaxA Sherlock/Star Trek/OC crossoverChapter#6
March.28.2012
John goes about his morning routine, moving sluggishly. He draws out every menial task, postponing the unavoidable obligation of approaching Ms. Hudson. He stays in the shower until the water runs cold. Eventually, he turn off the taps and rests his head on the wall in front of him. His tears puddle on the already dampened floor. After his crying dies down, he takes the time to dress himself. Now clothed, he heads downstairs, He makes toast, though he knows he won't be able to eat it. He makes tea, but can't bare to drink it. The house is so empty; the world so lost. He wishes Sherlock we back, beating him to a bloody pulp. Because at least that would hurt less than this; at least he would be here. No pain he has ever felt can compare to the loss of his companion.
After hours of wallowing in misery, John finally builds up the will to approach Ms. Hudson. He makes his way downstairs to 221A. He reaches her door when he hears a knock behind him. The doctor turn to the sound, expecting Cyntax left her key. He opens the door to reveal Lestrade, flanked by two other officers.
'John Watson, you are being arrested for the murder of Sherlock Holmes,' says Lestrade. One of the other men comes behind him, cuffing his hands together, 'I trust you know your rights.
Watson doesn't understand what's happening at first. When they hall him out to the curb, it clicks, 'Wait! Sherlock was my best mate! I'd never kill him! Lestrade! Uncuff me, for Christ's sake! This isn't funny!'
John catches a glimpse at Cyntax from the corner of his eye. He is suddenly filled with relief, 'Plus! Tell them what happened! Tell them I didn't kill Sherlock!'
She stares at him, unmoving. Something is different about her. She is dressed in all black underneath Sherlock's trench coat. A cigarette rests in her hand. Her mix-matched photoreceptors have lost their warmth. This is a Cyntax he has never seen.
'You can't let them do this to me!' he pleads.
She takes a drag of her cigarette, blowing the smoke in his face. The companion he once knew is gone. All he can do is feel betrayed as they escort him in to the police car. Cyntax+ watches with distant eyes as they drive away.
One of the officers approaches Cyntax, 'that's some wicked face paint. Is that one of those Steam Punk things?'
The robot pulls out a large knife, casually pointing it at the man, 'it's not face paint. It's my scull. Do you want to know what it feels like to have your skin torn from your body?'
'Ma'am, you are threatening a police officer. Please put down your weapon before I take arms.'
'Awful sorry,' says Cyntax, putting her knife away. She can't even muster the energy to fake a smile, 'I'm having a dreadful day.'
Jeff Morison sits in his flat, watching telly with a carton of takeout. His dinner is rudely interrupted by knocking at the door. He looks through the scope to see a young woman with multi-colored hair and some sort of face paint. He opens the door, ' what do you want?'
'I found your phone,' she says, handing it to him.
'I know who you are,' he says, taking it from her.
'Good,' she answers, pulling out her gun, 'that'll make this easier.'
Jeff raises his hands, baking in to his apartment. Cyntax follows, gun trained on him. The door closes, locking automatically. Jeff swallows hard, knowing he can't call for help.
'Where is Moriarty?'
'I don't know. I-'
'You're far too loyal,' says Cyntax, cocking her pistol, 'I'm not.'
'He lives in Saint Albans!' cries the man, 'I don't know the exact address. He lives up in the hills on a dirt road.'
'Thanks sweetheart,' Cyntax pulls the trigger, sending a bullet in to his heart. It's a been a while since fresh blood has stained her skin. It feels good. The man collapses on the floor and Cyntax+ is suddenly filled with the rush of war. She almost forgot how much of a thrill killing brings her. After taking a moment to soak in the glory, she makes a brake for the stairs. The robot makes her escape via rooftop and continues this way as long as she can. The police will be on her trail and she can not risk getting caught.
James Moriarty arrives home, parking the Rolls in the driveway. His suede shoes patter on the concrete as he enters his not-so-humble abode. He walks through the spacious floor plan, making his way downstairs to what he refers to as his "command centre"; it is the hub of crime network. The level is fit with weapons, torture champers, interrogation rooms, and a wall of monitors displaying CCTV, global news, social media, and government archives.
Sebastian Moran sits in Interrogation room B, eagerly awaiting his lover. Joust on cue, Moriarty steps in, dangling a pair of handcuffs, 'honey, I'm home.' Sebastian rises from the metal chair, wrapping his arms around Jim.
'You smell like cheap liquor and body glitter,' he whispers to his lover, 'have you been cheating on me again?'
'You caught me,' Jim whispers back.
'Was he cute?'
'Delectable.'
Sebastian presses his lips to Jim's. They kiss, softly as first, but getting progressively more passionate. Jim presses Sebastian down in to the chair, sitting on his lap. They snog for a while more before Moriarty handcuffs the other man to the chair. He loosens Sebastian's tie, but keeps it on as he unbuttons his shirt. Jim uses the tie to pull his lover in for another kiss. He steps off of Sebastian's lap, his lips trailing down the other man's chest until he reaches the band of his trousers. His fingers linger on the closure, tempting to unbutton it.
Suddenly, the door bursts open. Cyntax's goggle flashes, 'see, this is why books need pictures.'
Jim turns around to face the robot, smoothing out his suit and trying his best to overcome the half-naked man behind him. Her gun is locked and loaded, trained directly at his heart.
'You're quite clever, aren't you?' says Moriarty, 'you're worth more credit than Sherlock ever gave you.'
'Don't you dare talk to me about Sherlock!'
'Not coping very well, are we? I see you got a new outfit. You look nice in black.'
In the blink of an eyes, Cyntax+ switches targets, shooting a bullet though Sebastian's skull, 'let's see how you cope, you bloody sod!'
'Shame,' utters Jim, wiping the blood off of his face, 'I liked that one. Very good with his mouth.'
'If I had more restraint, I would make you suffer. Lucky for you, I don't, so I'm gonna makes this quick,' Cyntax+ pulls her trigger again, hitting Moriarty in the chest. It goes directly in to his heart, killing him almost instantly. His body falls limp on the concrete. Still full of rage and lust for vengeance, Cyntax+ empties her gun, shooting three more bullets in to his already limp body. Two in the chest and one in the head. Jim Moriarty lay on the floor, his blood pooling with that of his lover; their eyes glazed over and staring to the ceiling.
Cyntax+ stares at the scene, in taking every detail, making every deduction, envisioning how quickly it would take Sherlock to figure out it was her. Considering the massive overkill on Jim, not long. It's funny how stories take to long to write, but end so abruptly. Death's like that. It just kind of happens. There isn't this huge dramatic thing. It's just death. This sort of thing used to make her happy. Now she realizes how empty her happiness has been. There is no fulfillment in death. There is a temporary feeling of satisfaction, but that eventually wares off and all you're left with is a bunch of bodies.
Feeling hollow, Cyntax+ holsters her weapon. She takes care in shutting down all the monitors, computers, and scheduled broadcasts.
'You can check yourself for anything I may have missed,' says Cxyntax to Mycroft, 'I'm pretty sure I saw some filing cabinets that might interest you.'
'Speaking of files,' says Mycroft, setting down an over-stuffed folder, 'I found yours. Quite impressive. You've got crimes of every kind dating back to the beginning of law enforcement.'
Cyntax grins, 'yes, sir, I do.'
'This will go on record, but since you've done this country a better service than crime, I suppose I can overlook the arrest. I recommend you leave as soon as possible and as far away as possible. May that be time or space.'
Cyntax nods, 'I will do… Can I speak to John first? I'd hate to leave on bad terms.'
'Do what you need to do,' says Mycroft, dismissively.
'He's got followers, Moriarty. They'll try and pick up where he let off, so you… You be careful.'
The man smiles, 'you have my word.'
'Goodbye Mycroft.'
'Goodbye Ms. Cyntax.'
'Thank you,' she says, beginning to exit the room, 'for everything.'
'Anything for a friend of Sherlock,' says Mycroft, closing the door behind her.
Their relationship was never healthy, Sherlock and Mycroft, but they loved each other. At least that's what Mycroft hoped. Sherlock was always very independent; constantly shrugging off his over-protective older brother. And was he when Sherlock died? In his office eating cake. Even if it wasn't his fault, Mycroft will always blame himself for the death of his younger brother.
March. 29. 2012
Two armed guards stand outside 221B when Cyntax arrives, 'relax boys,' says the robot to the bobbies when they tense up at her incoming stride, 'I live here.'
They let her pass and she makes her way inside. John is sitting on the couch with a mug of tea when Cyntax finds him. His eyes flicker to her briefly before refocusing out the window.
'They told me what you did,' says John, still not making eye contact, 'you faked evidence to keep me safe,' he takes a drink of tea, 'you could have at least told me first.'
'No,' Plus argues, 'it would have been too risky. I couldn't tell anyone until I knew it was safe for you to leave.'
'Thank you,' John's eyes fall to his tea.
'I have to go,' says Cyntax.
'Okay. When will you be back?'
The robot sighs, taking a seat next to John.
'You're not coming back,' his eyes finally look up to meet hers, 'are you?'
'No,' now Cyntax is the one who can't bare to make eye contact.
'I always knew the day would come,' says John, taking her hand in his, 'but you sure picked a crap time.'
The robot smiles, 'Yeah. I was never any good at that.'
'I wasn't sure about you at first,' John confesses, 'but I've grown quite fond of you.'
'You could always come with me,' she offers.
John contemplates this for a moment before answering, 'I belong here, on Earth, not out exploring the unknown. Thank you for the offer, but this doctor's seen all the adventure he needs.'
Cyntax leans in so they can kiss on last time. There lips lingers, John eyes too afraid to open again. When they finally do, he is alone. He watched her walk away, knowing she would never return. Yet every night, he looks to the sky, wishing she would.
