Richard shoved his way past Mrs Hudson, who was coming in with shopping, and raced up the stairs, throwing the door open.
"John, I need to talk to you!"
John was standing at the window, and he turned to see Richard, not looking at all taken aback at the hard determination in Richard's voice.
"Ok, we'll talk."
"I'm not taking no for an answer. If you care for me even the slightest bit, you'll tell me who I was, who you were, what there was between us, before the accident."
"I've told you what I-"
"No, you're not listening to me, John. I need to know. This is my life we're talking about, not yours, it belongs to me. It isn't your responsibility to decide what I need to know because you think I can't handle it. I'm finding out the truth one way or another. I will dedicate every second of my time to stripping away all the lies you've been feeding to me, until I know who I am and how I came to be here. I'm going to hear the truth, John. But I'd like to hear it from you."
"I…" John faltered, and turned away. He didn't say anything for a while. When he finally spoke, it was with his back to Richard, speaking quietly to the closed curtain in front of him. "I guess I have no choice. We were together, Richard. We were in love. But then I met Sherlock. He and you had this kind of rivalry going on. Both fighting for me, I suppose. And I- I liked it. So much, that I started neglecting you, to spend more time with Sherlock. You had enough and you left, but that just made me want you more. I couldn't have you anymore, so you were all I could think about. I left Sherlock, and went after you. Toyed with you, messed with your heart and head for ages. Threatened you. I was possessive, I was sick."
"And what about Moriarty?"
"He doesn't exist. It was a lie to make you want to stay with me. You'd feel sorry for me, being tormented by this evil villain. I mean, seriously, an evil madman pursuing me and Sherlock? God, you're dense, we're not living in a James Bond book. The only monster you'll see is me. I said all sorts of things to get you to stay with me. The pool? I faked a kidnapping, I made a friend call you and say Moriarty was holding me hostage, so you'd come and rescue me. And when you got there, I grabbed you and told you I'd sooner we both die than not be together." John's voice was low and determined, but he didn't move from his position by the curtains, and the way he wiped his face made Richard wonder if he was crying.
"Thank you for telling me, John."
"You need to leave. Get out of London, go far away, some place where people have never heard of Sherlock Holmes or John Watson. I'm not good for you, Rich, you know that."
The fact that John was rejecting him, bluntly telling him to leave shocked Richard, made the breath freeze in his throat. He swallowed, determined to claw back some control, and said "Ok, I will. You won't hear from me again, John."
John sighed heavily and turned to face Richard. As Richard suspected, his eyes were wet. "I'm going to go out, give you time to pack." he said, slipping quietly out.
Richard watched him go. He felt drained. He'd thought he'd feel relieved when he discovered the truth, but now, he was wishing he could forget all over again.
He was startled by the ringtone of his mobile phone, the one Sebastian had appointed to him. It was a blocked number. He answered.
"You stuck-up little whore…"
"Who is this?"
"You think you're so fucking hot? You're nothing, not anymore; everything that was in you that made you special…it's gone. You think I wanna fuck you? You're a shell. There's nothing left to touch."
"Sebastian?"
"Who else would be calling you? Who else cares?"
"You've been drinking."
"What, 'cause I must have been drinking to dare speak like this to you? You're pathetic."
"No, I mean- you sound drunk. And if you continue talking to me like that, I'm calling the police."
"You never could get your hands dirty. You think I'm doing this for the good of my health? Even now, even after you rejected me, I still care. I'm still trying to help you."
"I don't want your help."
"Oh, but you do…if you wanna solve the mystery of Sherlock, John, Moriarty and where you fall in all that crap."
"John told me everything. He and me were lovers, but he was jealous and cheated on me. Moriarty doesn't exist, John made him up to make me get back together with him."
There was a raspy chuckle on the other end of the line. "Is that what old Watson came out with? Didn't know he had the imagination. Maybe I should give his blog another read. That's not what happened, love. I can tell you the whole story, but I think you should find out for yourself."
"How?"
"Go on Watson's laptop. I put key logging software on his computers ages ago, his current password is baskerville1. Are you on there yet?"
Richard didn't know why he obeyed Sebastian's orders, he certainly didn't trust him. But by now, he was desperate for the truth. John's story answered a lot but there were still gaps. He found the computer and logged on. John's screensaver, a photo of him and Richard taken in the kitchen made his heart pang, but he squashed the feeling down.
"Go on the internet." Sebastian instructed, sounding bored. Richard complied.
"And what now?"
"I want you to search for Jim Moriarty."
Richard trembled, even though he knew the sick-minded villain was a figment of John's own twisted imagination, the name still brought with it a twinge of fear. He typed in Jim Moriarty, the search engine brought up several suggestions- 'Jim Moriarty bombs', 'Jim Moriarty dead', Jim Moriarty Sherlock Holmes…why would people be searching for this if Jim Moriarty had never existed?
He pressed 'Search'.
Items appeared on the screen, links to news articles by The Daily Mail, The Guardian, The Sun. Words leaped out at him
MURDER JOHN BOMBS
SHERLOCK KILLER
"Sebastian?"
Sebastian laughed darkly. "Are you on it yet? Press 'Images' it should be at the top of the screen."
And he did. Photographs, so many photographs, of a man in a suit, walking, scowling, being harassed by reporters, manipulated photos of his face imposed over photographs of Sherlock and John. But…
"It's me." Richard whispered, dropping the phone. He clicked on one image, a slick picture of himself, smiling widely into the camera. It directed him to a news article, the caption was 'Jim Moriarty after trial."
He didn't read the article, he pressed 'back'. Sebastian was talking, his proud voice flat and tinny, pouring out of the phone on the floor.
"I'm on the web right now, as well. Here you are- 'the scourge of London' they're calling you in this one, how archaic!"
"You did this! Richard cried. "You've faked these articles or something- I'm not- I'M NOT MORIARTY!" He clicked on another article, this one jubilantly announcing that Moriarty had committed suicide. The reporter, a Kitty Riley, had asked several Londoners what they thought. Everyone was pleased this evil man had gone. One of them said they'd thrown a party when they first heard the news. A memory shot through his brain- he was pointing a gun- at John- and John was being forced into a duffel coat by Sebastian. John looked place and scared. Sebastian smacked him in the face and suddenly, Richard was hearing his own laughter.
"No…" he whispered. His, no, Moriarty's face glared back at him from another photo, and he shut the laptop but he could still hear those hateful words rattling around his brain and he threw the laptop at the wall. It smashed and fell.
"How could I…how…" he sank down to the floor, hugging his knees to his chest. In a way, he was surprised it had taken him this long to find out. Since the moment he'd heard the name Moriarty, something had changed in his brain. There had always been something so familiar about that word. Tears fell and he let them. After all the atrocities he'd done, committing arson, terrorism and murder in the name of fun, he deserved the misery.
"You will always be Moriarty." A voice said and he jumped, but then he saw the light on his mobile phone and he realised Sebastian hadn't hung up. "You'll always be that man, Jim. Oh god, it feels so good to call you by your name. Your true name. You see why you need me now? You're bad, Jim. And beautiful. You need someone who will follow your orders and worship you. Not try to tame you like Watson did."
"So everything John said at the beginning, when he was first telling me about the cases he and Sherlock solved, everything was true? He was trying to bring down Moriarty. Me. He was trying to lock me up so I couldn't hurt anyone again."
"That's right. Trying to come blundering in and ruin everything. You forced Sherlock to sacrifice himself to save his stupid friends, but you shot yourself first. What were they trying to do, Jim? They wanted you in a cell, they wanted to lock you up like an animal. But you're not meant to caged, you're brutal and merciless. You leave death wherever you go. I love it."
"A man like me is supposed to be as far away from human life as possible, don't you see?. Jim's gone for now, but he could come back. I can't let him."
"What? Jim. You're not making sense, what do you mean? Boss, what are you going to do?"
"I'm going to finish what Sherlock started." Richard said. Sebastian's desperate pleas and wild threats were cut off as Richard stamped on the phone. He left 221B Baker Street for the last time.
