Chapter 6: Merry meet, merry part, and merry meet again.
"Alice had got so much into the way of expecting nothing but out-of-the-way things to happen, that it seemed quite dull and stupid for life to go on in the common way." –Lewis Carroll, Alice in Wonderland.
The sun was streaming through the curtains, warming his face. John shuffled away with a moan, reluctant to leave the calm nothingness of sleep. But it was too late; he was already awake. Grudgingly, he opened his eyes and stared up at the blank white of his ceiling (blank, dull, predictable).
John swung his legs over the side of his bed and rose, keeping his weight on one leg. He got dressed slowly, running over the last two days in his head. He'd been knocked out, drugged, taken out to dinner, questioned, and generally unharmed, all by Moriarty, consulting criminal. Who was supposed to be dead.
The entire series of events seemed rather unbelievable. But the memories were there, refusing to go away. The voice in the graveyard, the questions over dinner, the tears in the middle of the night. It had happened; but now what? Was that it? Was that the game? John knew inside himself that Moriarty wasn't finished with him, but there was a part of him hoping (fearing) that he was.
He wandered off into the kitchen, ate a tasteless bowl of cereal, and sat on the couch. Now what? Normally he would be content to let the day slip away, void of feeling or activity, like the blank walls around him (blank, dull, predictable). But the storm of emotions refused to settle, guilt and anger and nerves and hate, all centered around those dark eyes, that singsong voice. And the last question, still tormenting him. Why did you come here tonight, to meet with the man you hate more than anyone else?
He needed something to do, something that would require all his focus, and wouldn't let him look away, wouldn't let him remember. He tried to think about what could do that, and suddenly, memories of Sherlock were everywhere. Trying to get him to eat, running through the London alleys, staying up all night trying to solve dubious clues, and impossible puzzles. His eyes locked on John's, Moriarty's voice dancing around them, the bomb vest heavy on John's shoulders. John banished these thoughts entirely.
So, barring insane geniuses, which were exactly what he was trying to forget, what would distract him? Shooting things. Surgery. Running. Sex. Nothing immediately available, aside from sex, but John didn't like one-night stands, as a general rule, and besides, picking someone up took time, unless you had a higher income rate than John.
John pushed himself up, accepting the futility of his thoughts. He could walk, and fill his mind with shop names and license plates, and do his best to focus on the unimportant facts so that he could forget everything else. He headed for the door, grabbing his cane on the way, once again cursing his leg.
John came back through the door several hours later, shutting it behind him with a slam. He'd spent the day around town, walking, sitting in the park, visiting random stores, doing everything he could to forget about his nightmares, both waking and sleeping. It hadn't worked. Everything reminded him in some way of a case he'd had with Sherlock, and therefore Sherlock's death, and ending at Moriarty. Everything ended with Moriarty, to John's annoyance.
He'd stayed out as long as he could, ignoring the ever-present pain of his leg as it got worse and worse. He didn't want to come back to the (blank, dull, predictable) apartment, as empty and lonely as it was. But the limp had gotten so bad that he couldn't walk, and he'd had to take a rest in a café. He'd been so frustrated with himself that he'd almost lost his temper at the waitress when she brought him the wrong order. The anger was still heavy inside him, demanding some sort of release he could not give it.
He sat down heavily on the couch, and stared up at the ceiling, cursing his leg, his mind, his (blank, dull, predictable) life. He was seriously considering calling Greg, despite his remaining resentment of the man, just to have something to do. As he reached for the phone, he noticed a piece of paper on the table. It was folded in three panels, with nothing written on the outside. John snatched it up and unfolded it, smoothing it out.
Poor Johnny, are you bored? So am I.
I'll be there at 5:30.
Don't bother getting dressed up!
The letter was written in pink ink. John was ready to dismiss this as random but then he remembered their discussion about favorite colours. It was a second message, then, probably a hint about what the evening would hold. Pink; it would be slightly ridiculous, and certainly unconventional, at least by Moriarty's standards.
John set the letter aside, and glanced up at the clock. It was 5:27. He glanced at the piece of paper, then back up at the clock. Waiting. Just waiting. Three minutes left. Two minutes… A knock on the door. John stood and went to answer it, pausing for a moment before opening the door. Jim was standing in the hallway, leaning against one wall.
"John, it's good to see you again. How are you? Aren't you going to invite me inside?" For a moment, John simply stared at the man, and then he took a step backwards and made a gesture with his arm, allowing Jim to come inside.
"I thought you said not to get dressed up," he commented, as he took in Jim's outfit. He had only ever seen Moriarty in two getups; the Westwood suits that were the signature touch of his criminal mastermind personality, and the outfit he had used to play Molly's gay boyfriend. He wasn't quite sure what to make of the new clothing.
Jim was wearing dark jeans with black combat boots, and a T-shirt that was dyed with red, yellow, and orange, swirling in an abstract design reminiscent of fire. His hair, usually slicked back, was gelled into little spikes that made him look younger. Even the way he was standing was different, more relaxed. But his eyes had the familiar maniacal gleam, giving him away as the same man who had killed countless people for the sake of boredom.
"I didn't think you'd have anything that would qualify for 'getting dressed up.'" Jim replied easily. "So I brought you a present. Go get changed!" He tossed a bag at John, who caught it instinctively, and then looked up.
"No," John said, and held his breath, waiting to see how Moriarty would react.
The first response was predictable. Narrowed eyes, a single threatening step forwards, fists clenching. A hint of the Moriarty John knew. And then, the next second, Jim was giggling, the sound making John's stomach twist.
"Oh, Johnny boy, I was wondering when you'd try this. You're forgetting who I am…. And who you have left. Mrs. Hudson? Harry Watson? Greg Lestrade? You think that you're alone, but there are still people that you care about. I can still use them to hurt you."
It was a startling way to look at his friends, as weaknesses that Moriarty wouldn't pause to exploit. John's blue eyes met Jim's dark ones, and he realized that this must be how he saw all relationships; gaps in your defense, dangerous weaknesses. Suddenly, John remembered what Jim had said yesterday evening. "Dangerous thing, to see the world from my perspective." Yes, John could understand that now. How easy it would be to start seeing people like that, to fall into that way of thinking and never be able to get out.
He turned and went into his bedroom, locking the door behind him and beginning to get undressed. He wasn't worried about leaving Moriarty in his apartment. He'd obviously had a key made, to get the notes into the flat. He turned his thoughts to Moriarty's threats as he pulled on the clothes mechanically. His association with Moriarty was putting his loved ones at risk. He had to stop this, now. How? The situation was completely out of his control. Knowing that Moriarty was threatening his family and friends, he'd come running any time he was called. Anything to keep them safe. But even before the threats, he'd come, hadn't he?
He laced up his left boot, and turned to the mirror. The sight that met him made him clench his fists tightly, memories rushing back. His outfit matched Moriarty's, the dark jeans and the army boots. But instead of Jim's fiery short-sleeved T-shirt, his was long-sleeved and coloured with shades of green. It lacked the sharp edges of army camouflage, but the influence was obvious. Moriarty had chosen the outfit to make John look like a solider, and it worked. He closed his eyes, pushing away the memories, and headed back into the living room.
Moriarty had made himself at home on John's couch, and had his feet up on the coffee table. He turned as John came into the room, and smirked. "Nice outfit, it looks good on you." His voice was low, each word carefully emphasized.
"Thank you," John said ironically, and Moriarty's smirk grew wider. "Where are we going?"
"Crazy," the consulting criminal answered nonsensically, and swung himself up from the couch. "Keep up." And he walked out the door. John stood for a second, working through his thoughts, then dashed after him, unfamiliar boots heavy on the hardwood floor. He paused to shut the door, and then took the steps two at a time, trying to catch up to Jim, who was almost at the ground floor.
John reached the front door, where Jim was waiting, and then the realization kicked in. His cane. He'd forgotten it when he'd gotten up to answer the door. He'd just taken the steps two at a time on his bad leg. Blinking, he shifted his weight, and realized that it didn't hurt at all. He met Jim's eyes, and saw the Cheshire smile spread across the madman's face.
"Forgot the psychosomatic limp again? I tend to have that effect on people," Jim said, and opened the door for John. John held his chin up and walked through, savoring the freedom to walk unhindered. "You passed my car."
John turned and stared. Jim was leaning against a neon green sports car, twirling a key around his finger, his teeth bared in a predatory grin. The image burned itself into John's mind, full of paradoxes and bright colours. After a couple more speechless seconds, John opened his mouth and searched for something to say.
"Right…" he said. "Let's go, then." He walked around to the passenger side, and slid in next to Jim, who was already turning the key in the ignition.
"You may want your seat belt on," the criminal mastermind commented. And that was all the warning John got before they rocketed away from the curb in a screech of tires, the acceleration slamming both their heads back, Jim's laughter filling the car. John scrambled for his seat belt and fought the urge to close his eyes. Instead, he watched in horrified amazement as they broke every traffic law invented in the UK. Red lights were ignored, they drove on the wrong side of the road, somehow didn't hit any pedestrians, and swerved through traffic at alarming speeds. It didn't take long before the sound of sirens filled the air, and a cop on a motorcycle pulled up beside John's window.
"Pull over!" He yelled above the cacophony of horns around them. John looked to Jim, who kept his eyes on the road as he passed John a white business card.
"Give this to him," Moriarty instructed. John handed it through the window, and the policeman glanced at it. His eyes widened, and he handed it back to John with a nod. Then he pulled away, disappearing down a side street. John, curious, looked down at the card, and read the black embossed numbers. '0100101001101.' What did it mean? He turned to Moriarty, mouth open to ask, but he was cut off as Jim slammed the brake down, throwing him forwards violently. "We're here!" He sang, and threw the parking brake down.
John rubbed his chest, certain that he would have a bruise from the seatbelt. He took several deep breaths and glanced over at his companion, who was looking extremely smug.
"You're crazy," John said with conviction. Moriarty turned to him with an shocked expression.
"Really?" He gasped, and then laughed manically as he got out. John took another second to recover from his near-death experience, and then followed him. They were parked in a side alley, which was unremarkable. It was dark, dirty, and lined with stone walls. Jim led John over to a door set deep in one of the walls. John shifted uncomfortably as Moriarty knocked out a pattern on the wood. The door opened, and Jim pushed John in ahead of him. Music hit them like a wave, loud and pulsing. The man who had opened the door smiled at them, and handed Moriarty a card.
"Mr. Scott, good to see you again," the doorman said, and gave John a simple nod, which he returned. Jim grabbed his wrist without warning and pulled him into the crowd that took up most of the club. John did his best to keep up, sliding between the dancing bodies and apologizing to the people that Jim simply shoved out of their way. They reached the bar at the side, and sat down beside each other.
"What are we doing here?" John asked, raising his voice above the music. Jim smiled at him and raised a hand, calling the bartender.
"Fighting our mutual boredom," Jim shouted back. "Let's start with some drinks and some questions. We'll see where it goes from there." John didn't feel very happy with this answer, but the bartender came over before he could press farther. "We'll start with two shots of tequila, one gin and tonic, and a sidecar," Moriarty ordered, and handed over his card, which the bartender took one look at, and hurried off to make the drinks.
Jim leaned back, rolling out his neck. John shifted on his stool, slightly uncomfortable. Clubs had never been his scene, and he certainly felt too old to be here now. As though sensing his discomfort, Jim's eyes opened, and he looked at John intently.
"Don't worry, you'll feel better after a few shots," he said. John's eyes widened. A few shots? This was looking to be an interesting evening. He was already feeling completely over his head… And it had only just begun.
A/N: I think I'll be posting again soon, but I'm sooo changeable. I'm starting another story for my friend, who was upset to learn that this story was never going to be Johnlock. (It's not. Just a heads-up.) So I might be a bit busy with Johnlock fluff for a while. We'll see. Either way, I'll see you around. Don't forget to review, it means a lot to me!