AN: It was actually Katie Lee's review that got me into gear with this chapter. I'm sorry this took so long. I'm back at College, I've got two assignments to work on, updating this story will take a while, as most of my free time is taken up by doing my assignments. And this was an extremely hard chapter to write.
He smiles maliciously at the screen. He just loves seeing Sherlock at his most vulnerable! Watching the Consulting Detective as the emotions run through him – fear, panic, pain. All before they are pushed away and Sherlock was back to his usual, sociopathic self. It is so easy to hack into Mycroft's cameras, it's almost disappointing. Almost. Seeing Sherlock completely vulnerable made up for most of the disappointment. But watching the detective work made him feel ecstatic, watching him fire through his deductions, chase down criminals.
He winces slightly as he watches the bullet tear through Sherlock's shoulder; he won't be using that arm for a while. Oh, and it is Sherlock's right shoulder! That is going to make Sherlock far more interesting to watch on the cameras, considering the man is right-handed. He watches Sherlock squirm (he loves it when Sherlock squirms!), raise his left hand to press down on his bullet wound and push himself up. His grin grows wider, Sherlock is fighting back! What did he do to deserve this? It is almost like Christmas had come early. Almost. It would be better if Sherlock had a weapon, or is showing his pain instead of keeping that impassive mask on or a number of reasons.
Sherlock is going to be so fun to play with. So much fun. He can't wait until it's time! It's too soon though, he hasn't finished his plans yet, he needs to finish his plans before he decides to get the Consulting Detective's attention.
His smile falters slightly when he came away from his thoughts. A gun is currently pointing at Sherlock's head. No, no, no! Sherlock can't die there! He needs Sherlock to live so that he can play the game! It won't be fun without Sherlock. Sherlock's the reason he's even creating the game. He needs someone to match his intelligence. Normal people are so boring! He groans in frustration and continues watching the screen. Sherlock really should have waited for his pet Inspector to arrive first. He turns the screen off, knowing the outcome of this already. Sherlock won't die, he never does, his pet Inspector will come running in at the last minute and save Sherlock.
Not only does he watch Sherlock through the cameras, but he also follows his website – The Science of Deduction. He just loves reading about how Sherlock works, his experiments, and how his deductions are made. He especially loves the experiment about the evaporation rate of the fluids in a glow stick! The mental image it gives him amuses him for hours! It is because of Sherlock's deductions that he met his Tiger. The website has a case uploaded; the case is about a sniper murdering four bank accountants and the CEO of the bank. Sherlock mentions how to recognise a well-trained, extremely loyal sniper. This is how he recognises Sebastian Moran, his Tiger, as a well-trained and extremely loyal sniper.
He remains like this, watching Sherlock through Mycroft's cameras and following his website. Waiting for his plans to finally be complete, watching every move Sherlock makes (When he wasn't busy with his web, of course). He is pretty certain he knows Sherlock very well now. Knows what makes him tick, knows where he's been hurt, what he does, how he acts. He is also certain that he knows Sherlock's migraine triggers better than the man himself.
He is experiencing one right now. But he isn't sitting in front of a computer, no. He is currently inside Sherlock's flat, the one along Montague Street. Sherlock's stupid landlord clearly doesn't understand how postmen work; otherwise he wouldn't be inside Sherlock's flat right now. Right now he's James from the post office, he's holding a small square box, there's a clock inside the box. To let Sherlock know that time is ticking, that it won't be long until the game starts. But Sherlock won't realise this. He knows what Sherlock will do, he'll keep the clock and try to make sense of why it's there, but once he declares it tedious then he'll be rid of it or he might experiment on it first. He puts the box down on the empty table and slowly walks towards the half conscious figure curled up on the couch. There's an acrid smell of vomit, but he knows that's because of the bucket placed in front of the couch. He stops right in front of Sherlock, pushing the bucket away with his right foot, he leans in.
"Oh, Sherlock." He murmurs softly, ridding himself of his Irish accent. He can see that Sherlock hears him, if the flinch in his pained features is anything to go by. "Just look at you." He reaches a hand out, but stops halfway through. He shouldn't do that. Sherlock may only be half conscious, but if he were to touch him, and if Sherlock were to open his eyes, then that would ruin his plans. Sherlock would then be able to recognise when they meet. He can't risk that happening.
Sherlock releases a groan. He smiles when he hears it, Sherlock is vulnerable right now, he could do anything to him. But he can't. So he chooses to stand there and watch. Sherlock squirms slightly, sweat trickles across Sherlock's forehead falling down sideways, the pained look on his face grows clearer. He can do anything to Sherlock right now and Sherlock wouldn't be able to stop him.
"Not much longer now, Sherlock." He whispers. Sherlock flinches once more at his voice and he continues, "I can do anything to you, Sherlock." His voice sounds slightly threatening, "You're so vulnerable right now. I can do anything." He repeats, "But I won't. Not today though, but soon, Sherlock." He finishes. Even though he kept his voice quiet, Sherlock still flinches and whimpers in pain. He looks down at Sherlock, looking at the agonised face, listening to that tiny whimper of pain, before pulling back; he places the bucket back to its previous position, and turns to leave.
He watches it many times. Watches as Sherlock tries to ignore the pain, tries to reason himself that it doesn't matter, tries to deduce crime scenes, catch criminals, finish experiments, even get himself out of a hostage situation, all with a migraine. Watches him fail miserably time and time again. Of course, it is fairly interesting; Sherlock seems to react differently nearly every time. His pet Inspector struggling multiple times to get Sherlock to rest, but now he has a pet Army Doctor, which is just as, if not, more fun than watching the Inspector struggle. Sherlock's stubbornness definitely knows how to rile the Army Doctor up. But it gets boring when he succeeds, when Sherlock actually listens and climbs into bed to rest, it is boring and ordinary! He doesn't like that Sherlock.
It is getting closer now; he knows it won't be long. He's working in an IT room at St. Bart's now, so it certainly won't be much longer. It is painfully boring, and he wants to harm those who ask the stupid questions and annoy him, but he convinces himself it is worth it. Worth it so that he can get Sherlock to play his game. He needs to pick up Molly now, take her to the Great Queen Street Restaurant, act like a caring boyfriend, pretending that he really wants to know her, and wants to pursue a romantic relationship with her. He much rather wants to stay watching the screen. He can see the tremble in Sherlock's hand, the slight grimace on his face, the tiniest tilt of his head, he's having another migraine, and as he's on a stake-out trying to catch a criminal, it will be a very interesting thing to watch. But he needs to go through with his plan. He needs to take Molly out in order for his plan to work. It will all go wrong if he doesn't show up.
He actually met Sherlock yesterday, but not as himself, as Jim from IT. Sherlock failed to look through his disguise, he noticed that the disguise made him look gay, but he didn't look past the disguise. He didn't recognise his voice either. This was moving along perfectly! Molly didn't meet him later that day like she said she would, it doesn't matter, he doesn't need her anymore. He's got what he wants, now all he needs is for Sherlock to solve the final puzzle, then they can actually meet. Not as James the postman. Not as Jim from IT. As James Moriarty, the world's only Consulting Criminal. He just couldn't wait! It is going to happen soon! He could feel it. Sherlock only needs to solve the final puzzle, then they can meet. Properly. But this time, only one will survive, and he certainly wasn't going to die anytime soon.
After watching Sherlock for so long, he knows the other man's migraine triggers. And one of them is smells. He's absolutely convinced one of Sherlock's migraine triggers is smells. The hostage situation, Sherlock said it himself, the man holding him hostage had smelt of strong, skunk like cologne, mould, and… He couldn't remember what else, but Sherlock had said to his pet Inspector that certain smells are guaranteed to give him a migraine. So when Sherlock updates his blog, stating that he wishes to meet at the pool. He nearly weeps for joy. Pools always smell strongly of chlorine when it's late at night, it's how they help get them clean and ready for the next day. Not only will he be meeting Sherlock as himself, but there's also a chance Sherlock will be experiencing a migraine because of the smell! This is going to be extremely interesting and very fun!
"I gave you my number." He says, his tone a mocking whine, "I thought you might call."
Sherlock turns towards his voice, but he can't see him. Not yet.
He steps out, looking down and slowly walks towards them. "Is that a British Army Browning L9A1 in your pocket, or are you just pleased to see me?"
"Both." Sherlock replies pointing the gun at him.
"Jim Moriarty." He says, and it feels so good to actually tell Sherlock his name, "Hi!" He says pulling a childlike tone to his voice. He sees Sherlock turn his head to the side. "Jim? Jim from the hospital?" He feels disappointment that Sherlock doesn't recognise him.
Sherlock places his left hand on the gun. He knows that Sherlock only ever uses one hand when holding a gun. He wonders if it's the start of a migraine.
"Oh, did I really make such a fleeting impression?" He says as he walks closer towards the pair, "But then, I suppose, that was rather the point."
He sees Sherlock look towards his pet, no doubt wondering where the red dot is coming from.
"Don't be silly. Someone else is holding the rifle. I don't like getting my hands dirty." He stops in front of a door and directly opposite Sherlock. "I've given you a glimpse, Sherlock, just a teensy glimpse of what I've got going on out there in the big bad world."
The smell of chlorine is strong, stronger than he expected. He's slightly disappointed that Sherlock still hasn't said anything, but he thinks part of the reason coincides with two hands being on the gun.
"I'm a specialist, you see." He informs Sherlock, "Like you."
"Dear Jim, please will you fix it for me to get rid of my lover's nasty sister?" Sherlock says quietly, finally speaking.
He smiles and walks towards them. Sherlock is finally beginning to understand what happened.
"Dear Jim, please will you fix it for me to disappear to South America?"
"Just so." He says, stopping before them.
"Consulting Criminal. Brilliant."
He sees the gun tremble slightly and a smile tugs at him.
"Isn't it?" He says fondly. "No one ever gets to me. And no one ever will."
"I did." Sherlock says quickly, cocking the gun, a slight grimace pulling at his face.
He ignores that happy feeling bubbling up in him as he realises Sherlock is starting to feel the migraine.
"You've come the closest. Now you're in my way."
"Thank you." Sherlock replies quickly.
"I didn't mean it as a compliment." He says with the same speed.
"Yes, you did." Sherlock responds as quickly as before.
He shrugs his shoulders together almost hunching over, "Yeah, okay, I did. But the flirting's over, Sherlock." And in a singsong voice he says, "Daddy's had enough now." He sees Sherlock fail to hold back the wince of pain at his high pitched voice. Returning his voice back to normal he speaks some more, "I've shown you what I can do. I cut loose all those people, all those little problems, even thirty million quid, just to get you to come out and play. So take this as a friendly warning, my dear. Back off." He threatens. "Although, I have loved this, this little game of ours." He says fondly, "Playing Jim from IT. Playing gay. Did you like the little touch with the underwear? Playing James the postman."
He sees Sherlock frown slightly as he slowly realises.
He confirms Sherlock's thoughts, "That was me at your flat when you had that migraine. I could have done anything to you."
He sees Sherlock look down and then back up. "People have died." He says quickly, changing the subject. He knows Sherlock hates discussing his migraines. Always making him appear weak. He can see Sherlock has paled slightly since he made his entrance, and he knows exactly why.
"That's what people do!" He shouts, watching Sherlock flinch and bite back a small moan. This is getting better.
"I will stop you." Sherlock threatens quietly.
"No, you won't." He says quickly, dismissively. Not with that migraine coming. Silly Sherlock clearly didn't realise this when he told him to meet there.
"Are you all right?" Sherlock asks, looking at his pet. He sees sweat starting to form on Sherlock's forehead.
He walks towards them and leans in. "You can talk, Johnny boy. Go ahead." He encourages, stepping away.
Sherlock holds his left hand towards him. He can see the small tremble in it, and it isn't from any emotion or adrenaline. "Take it."
"Mm?" He hums, moving away from John to see Sherlock holding a small USB stick. "Oh, that? The missile plans." He says reaching out a hand to take it from Sherlock's trembling one, "Boring! I could have got them anywhere." He says throwing it into the pool.
"Sherlock, run!" He hears as John grabs him from behind.
He laughs, "Good! Very good." He says amused.
"If your sniper pulls that trigger, Mr. Moriarty, then we both go up." John whispers in his ear. He must also be aware of Sherlock's upcoming migraine.
His snipers are better than that. They won't kill him. He writhes around under Sherlock's pet's grip.
"Isn't he sweet?" He informs Sherlock, noticing the small trickle of sweat sliding down his face, "I can see why you like having him around. But then, people do get so sentimental about their pets. They're so touchingly loyal. But, oops!" He says loudly, this time Sherlock didn't flinch. "You've rather shown your hand there, Doctor Watson." He sees the red dot now pointing at Sherlock's head and John reluctantly lets go. "Gotcha!"
He straightens his jacket and slides his hands down it. "Westwood." He says annoyed. "Do you know what happens if you don't leave me alone, Sherlock? To you?"
"Oh, let me guess. I get killed." Sherlock replies bored, but his voice tight slightly.
He grimaces slightly at Sherlock's response, "Kill you? No, don't be obvious. I mean, I'm going to kill you anyway, some day. I don't want to rush it, though. I'm saving it up for something special. No, no, no, no, no. If you don't stop prying, I'll burn you. I'll burn the heart out of you." He threatens.
"I have been reliably informed that I don't have one."
"But we both know that's not quite true." He says shaking his head. He sees Sherlock's left hand gripping his right one tightly to stop the trembling that has slowly increased. "Well, I'd better be off." He says, his tone now light as he looked around. "Well, so nice to have had a proper chat."
"What if I was to shoot you now?" Sherlock asks. "Right now?"
"Then you could cherish the look of surprise on my face." He finishes by pulling a fake look of surprise. "Cos I'd be surprised, Sherlock. Really, I would." There isn't much chance Sherlock would do that with his migraine. "And just a teensy bit… disappointed. And of course, you wouldn't be able to cherish it for very long. Ciao, Sherlock Holmes." He finishes walking away.
"Catch you… later." He hears Sherlock say.
"No, you won't!" He says in a high pitched tone wishing he could see Sherlock grimace in pain again.
He stands behind the door. He hears Sherlock talking, the semtex being thrown across the floor, Sherlock's pet voicing his concerns for the Detective. He rolls his eyes and walks away, down the dark corridor, signalling for his snipers to return.
"Sorry, boys. I'm so changeable!" He announces stepping through the door and back into the pool room. "It is a weakness with me, but to be fair to myself, it is my only weakness. You can't be allowed to continue. You just can't." He says seriously, "I would try to convince you, but everything I have to say has already crossed your mind."
He sees Sherlock with his back to him, hunched over slightly, must be resisting the urge to vomit. His left hand is trembling and his right one is straining to remain still.
"Probably my answer has crossed yours." Sherlock says, straightening up, turning around and pointing the gun at him before slowly lowering it to point at the semtex.
He can see Sherlock's forehead is dry, he's wiped off the sweat, but more is beginning to form. Their eyes meet. Though Sherlock's face may remain impassive, his eyes are showing determination and pain. They remain like this for a short time. Then he feels it. Staying Alive starts playing and his pocket is now vibrating. He attempts to ignore it and sees Sherlock look around in confusion.
"Do you mind if I get that?" He asks feeling annoyed.
"On no, please. You've got the rest of your life." Sherlock replies.
He pulls out his phone, feeling annoyed that whoever is calling is interrupting something very important.
"Hello?" He says as he waits for a reply. "Yes, of course it is. What do you want?" He turns mouthing an apology to Sherlock as he listens to the voice on the phone. "Say that again!" He shouts, taking some pleasure in surprising Sherlock and making him wince in pain. "Say that again and know that if you're lying to me, I will find you and I will skin you. Wait." He says and he lowers the phone in his hand. He looks at Sherlock's pale face and walks towards him, stopping by the bomb and apologises, "Sorry, wrong day to die."
Sherlock looks down at the bomb. "Did you get a better offer?" He asks, his voice sounds strained and another bead of sweat trickles down his face once more.
He ignores him. "You'll be hearing from me, Sherlock." He says as he turns to walk away. Sherlock will definitely be hearing from him soon, they need to make up for the interruption. They need to continue this soon. "So if you have what you say you have, I will make you rich. If you don't, I'll make you into shoes." He threatens, he hopes that they do, they need to make up for this interruption. He snaps his fingers, ordering for his snipers to leave as he opens the door and walks away continuing the phone call.
He isn't happy right now. He pushes back the anger inside him. That was his one chance to face Sherlock until the rest of the game continues, why did they have to ring now? He says on final thing before hanging up on the phone and walking away and out of the building. He has other plans to complete first, before he can continue the game with Sherlock.
AN: If anyone is interested, I have a new story idea that I am willing to give away. It's a multi-personality disorder fic; it can go to whatever fandom you wish, and whichever character you wish. If you want this idea, just send me a message and I will tell you more about it.
So, if this chapter sucks or the pool scene sucks, apart from the reason being because I'm rubbish at writing, the main reason is because it was almost impossible to write the pool scene! I re-watched that scene countless times, and so much happens in a short space of time I found it hard to try and fit in Sherlock's migraine signs. Sorry if it does suck. I seriously believe the pool scene would have been easier from Sherlock's perspective, but I needed it to be from Moriarty's.
I hope you enjoyed this. Have a nice day :)
~Steffii