Title: Reichenbach Falls- A Different Take (Part 3 Of A Different Take Series/Universe)
Disclaimer: I do not own any of the characters that are part of the BBCverse of Sherlock.
Characters: Sherlock Holmes, John Watson, Moriarty, Moran, DI Lestrade, Sally Donovan, Molly Hooper, Mrs Hudson with Mycroft Holmes appearance a couple times.
Genre: Suspense, Drama, Angst, General, Friendship, Humor (as much one can be with this story), Hurt/Comfort
Warnings: Death, Murder, Violence, Language, Threats to Violence
Spoilers: Reichenbach Falls is the title of the third episode/season finale (or episode 6) of Season 2.
Summary: It's February. John and Sherlock have known each other for a year now, their friendship strong, the bond that is between them is understood by them, but not by everyone else. Moriarty's plans for the two of them have been coming to fruition since January. Everyone they know, have helped and are close to them (as close one can get to Sherlock that is) are in danger.
To Queen morgan la fay- In regards to Mummy, I plan on writing that case where John and Mother Holmes do meet. :)
To coconut dreamer- Thank you. I'm glad you're enjoying it.
Everyone else as well, thank you from commenting and reading.
Chapter 7
A Vow
Date: February 10th, 2011
Time: 3:01 pm
Location: Aeroplane
They have almost touched down.
John stares straight ahead, trying to keep his mind off what is going to happen when the plane lands. When they disembark.
He debates if he should ring Harry when they get off the plane.
No. Not a good idea. It would only make it worse.
Same with ringing Sarah.
Best just not to think about them.
What should he think about then for the next few minutes then?
God knows.
"This is an old friend of mine, John Watson."
Mike Stamford's introduction pops back up in his head.
Then Sherlock's first words to him, after thanking him for letting him use his mobile to send a text.
"Afghanistan or Iraq?"
Three simple words.
"How do you feel about the violin?"
At that time, he had no thoughts about it.
Now, if someone asked him, his answer would be;
"Depends. Is Sherlock in a good mood when he's playing it, or in a bad mood?"
Date: January 31st, 2011
Time: 5 pm
Location: 221B Baker St
John braces himself for whatever may come over at the other end. He stays sitting on his bed, the sounds of Sherlock pacing down below, the only sign telling John that Sherlock is still here.
He hears a ring three times.
"Watson," John hears his sister answer. Her voice isn't slurred. Good.
"It's me."
Silence for a minute.
"Is everything okay John?"
No. No, it's not. But I can't tell you that.
John takes a deep breath. "Sort of. Just wanted to ring you."
"Lot of shite going down in London I see. Guess it's a good thing I stayed in Birmingham instead of visiting."
Yes, undoubtedly a good thing. Stay there. Please, just stay there Harry.
"What's wrong John?"
"Nothing," he clears his throat. "Nothing. As I said, just wanted to ring you."
"Right." She sounds suspicious. He doesn't blame her. It's usually her ringing him. He only answers when he's tired of avoiding her calls.
"His Royal Highness causing you any problems?"
"No. What are you doing right now?"
"Getting ready for a date."
John raises an eyebrow. "Oh?"
"Yeah," now she sounds nervous. "She's picking me up in an hour."
"Have fun."
"I'm going to try."
"I should let you go then."
"All right. Call me tomorrow if you want. I still want to come by, visit again. Maybe it'll go over better than the last time."
"Right. Sure."
"Tell His Highness I said hello," she says with a trace of glee, then hangs up the line.
John exhales. He should have told her something. But he took a risk ringing her, so he couldn't tell her what he wanted.
Now he's about to take another risk.
Ringing up Sarah.
He goes through his contacts, presses Sarah's name.
Hits dial.
It rings about five times before she picks up.
"Hello?"
"It's me, Sarah. Busy?"
"John," she says warmly. He can see that lovely smile of hers. He can also hear the background noise of the surgery. "A little busy, yeah. A lot of colds and such spreading. I have a couple minutes though."
"Need me to come down, help out a bit?"
"No, we're covered. Besides, I think you and Sherlock are quite busy."
"What do you mean?"
"I watch the news, John," she says in her 'duh' voice.
John chuckles, although there's not much in him to do so. "Right."
"Listen, perhaps when that is done with, the two of us get together for a dinner? I would say three, but I know Sherlock doesn't eat much."
"I can get him to be social for a couple of hours."
"You're probably the only one." John hears her name being called in the background. "I'm sorry John, I have to go. Dinner, all right? Ring me later and we'll set it up."
"Sure."
John listens to the dial tone and ends the connection.
Five Hours Later
"You should go to bed."
John doesn't move from his chair.
"John."
"I heard you Sherlock."
"You look exhausted."
John doesn't look away from the telly, even though he's not quite paying attention to what is on right now. He's simply trying to distract himself while they waited for another phone call from Moran, Moriarty, or Lestrade with news of another death.
So far, nothing.
John didn't know whether the silence was good or bad. No news of people dying, that was a good thing. The bad thing is because Moriarty and Moran have something planned out, and are just biding their time right now.
It's the calm before the storm. One of the few that keep popping up. It's quite familiar.
"I could never sleep during times like this," John states then, the urge to talk, just a little, about some of his time spent in Afghanistan.
He notices Sherlock stops moving. Seconds later, the lanky younger man sits down in the chair opposite him, speculating pale blue eyes seeing into him like they usually do.
"Like this?"
"The calms before the storms. After the first few months in Afghanistan, I would get a gut feeling when all hell would break loose, and the field hospital would be busy for days on end." John turns off the telly. "I excelled in that, during the chaos when the injured were brought in. Even when I was part of a MERT. It was the calms in between I couldn't stand."
"Because you knew they wouldn't last long," Sherlock comments.
"Nice deduction." No sarcasm.
"Also because you knew that in between the calms the enemy was plotting something bigger. Thus, more of your countrymen would be injured when their plots came to pass. If no one became injured or wound up sick, you would not have much to do. Boredom would set in."
John nods.
"Then when there were injuries or sickness, you were busy, the boredom would no longer there. "
Put like that, it's almost shameful. It puts into light what Sherlock does. The criminals keep Sherlock busy, challenged most of the time. When they weren't committing crimes, boredom would set in for Sherlock, once the rest of his distractions no longer worked.
"I was useful, needed. Like the other doctors, nurses, medics..."
"Double edged sword," Sherlock murmurs.
"Yes. Each side threatening to bury you with guilt," John admits. "Mycroft was right. I do miss it.. not as much now, but there are still times when I do."
"One should not feel guilty for wanting to do the job they excell in. You became a doctor, then an army doctor, to help those on the battlefield. You were trained to do just that, to treat battlefield injuries, Doctor Watson," John finds himself smiling at the emphasis Sherlock puts on his title. "Never feel guilty for that."
"Do you ever feel guilt, Sherlock?"
Those pale blue eyes, almost preternatural sometimes, lock with his.
"If I do, I ensure myself I have no reason to. There is no place to feel guilt, when the criminal classes out there are determined to do the worst to the innocents of society."
"Is it easy to do sometimes? To ensure that you should not feel guilty?" John waits for Sherlock to say yes. John knows that himself, Sherlock should not feel guilt, yet others want him to. It is not this man's fault that he excels so well in trapping the criminal.
He wonders if Sherlock will try to lie, but he's gotten good at catching Sherlock's lies. Sherlock knows it too.
"Some days are easier than others. Same with the nights," Sherlock says in a whisper. John hears the honesty in the words.
Honesty that only John would get.
Date: February 3rd, 2011
Time: 7 am
Location: 221B Baker Street
John was up because he couldn't bloody sleep.
Sherlock's violin was not to blame for it, nor was a late night.
He just couldn't sleep. Not with everything going on.
He had a feeling until this thing with Moriarty ended, he wouldn't have a decent night's sleep for a while.
So far, Moriarty hadn't even made any sort of reaching out gesture. Only person that's been visible was Moran.
And the person following Molly Hooper.
She wasn't being paranoid. She was being followed.
Either by one of Moriarty's people, or one of Mycroft's people. No one Sherlock knew.
He truly hoped it was one of Mycroft's.
It's been quiet since the end of January. Three days into February now, and nothing.
No one died.
No one had to escape any attempts.
It could be possible that Moran was sulking.
She did not succeed with Tilly Briggs... perhaps she was determined to kill her now, so was concentrating on finding her.
Mycroft would make sure she could not be found. Since no word has reached them on her death the past couple days, then she is most likely quite secure.
John stares at the tea kettle, urging to finish making the bloody tea.
Sherlock was currently downstairs with Mrs Hudson, occupied by.. something.
"Oh hurry up," John mutters blearily.
Instead of the tea kettle finishing as a response, his mobile rings.
John picks it up. A blocked number.
Fantastic. So a call from Moran is to start his day?
"Watson."
"Did I wake you Johnny boy?" Moran's voice purrs in his ear.
"Not really, no."
"Haven't been able to sleep? Poor John Watson. Have I brought you nightmares to go along with the ones from Afghanistan?"
"Out of the two of us, I think your nightmares would be far more worse," John says flatly, not caring to get into this.
She goes silent, and John feels a pang of guilt. Her time as a prisoner of war clearly did nothing for her mental facilities. Despite who she is, no one should be remembered of that.
"Have you worked on any prisoners of war, Doctor?"
"No."
"I tracked down the doctor that worked on me. He saved my life." She pauses. "I took his."
"Why?"
"I wanted to die. He made sure I lived."
John did not want to think about what Moran may have went through as POW. He knows it most likely a lot worse than what a man would have. She survived it though.
Look how she came back though. Working for a psychopath, willing to take lives of innocents, including children.
"You're judging me, John Watson. Again."
John sighs. "What do you want?"
"It appears I won't be the one to kill you, John," she says in a mournful tone. "I'll just be the one that makes sure it happens."
"So who is it going to be then?"
"Who do you think?"
John stills. "Moriarty doesn't like getting his hands dirty."
"But for you, he will," she promises in a low tone. "He wants Sherlock to witness your death at his hands, and to be unable to do anything about it. He did say he would burn his heart."
John swallows. He remembers. The viciousness of the statement.
"I remember when he was fretting over your inclusion in Sherlock's life. He wasn't sure what to make of you. Then he found out you were the one that shot Jefferson Hope and he became quite curious. He was worried for a minute that you'd ruin Sherlock for him. In a way I think you have, but it makes this so much more fun for him."
"How have I ruined Sherlock?"
"By being his moral compass," she says softly. "You've found a way behind those walls of his, walls that my boss wasn't sure could be penetrated. Boss knows that Sherlock Holmes can be hurt now. With your death, Sherlock Holmes will be lost. He'll suffer. He'll go back to the cocaine."
John's heart nearly stops at that. He doesn't want to believe it.
"He will. He'll slowly start killing himself, then boss will come to finally put him out of his misery. Boss found a way to finally kill Sherlock Holmes, all thanks to you."
If she intended to make him feel aghast at those words, to make him feel guilty for being the conscience that Sherlock needs, then she chose the wrong fucking words.
Anger boils through John. He's no longer tired, no longer exhausted or weary.
He's fucking had enough of Moran and Moriarty thinking that he makes Sherlock weak, because he brings a conscience to Sherlock Holmes.
He's beyond angry that they would threaten to kill him, to use his death to hurt Sherlock.
It's fury what he's feeling right now.
"Johnny boy? Are you there? I'm sorry, did I make you feel bad about being the whole reason behind the great consulting detectives impending death?"
John sits up in his chair.
"I may have not been trained to kill as expertly as you," John says, hearing the dark tone in his voice but not caring, "but I'm going to promise you something, Sébastienne Moran. Think of it as a vow."
For once there's silence at the other end.
"What would that be?" He hears her ask, her own voice still calm and unruffled as it can be.
"I'm going to fucking kill you."