A/N: Thanks to Mzzmarie for the review & follow.

Warnings – swearing (I should just give up that warning – assume it's a given!) and some scary psycho, creepy bits and fun stuff like that

Chapter 4. The End of the World

Chapter Title inspired by End of the World by R.E.M. from the album Document

Same Day Same Time

John just stared at Sherlock.

What the fuck? was the first coherent thought in his head. He looked down at his mobile and turned of the music.

"Sherlock, what the hell are you doing?" he asked a little leery.

Sherlock just continued grinning that wild, familiar grin that was definitely not the same as Sherlock's wild, familiar grin. "Oh dear, sweet Johnny, Sherlock's having a little nap right now. He's sleeping and you are alone with me. Just you and me." He leaned closer to John. John instinctively backed up.

Sherlock's grin got wider. The more John stared at him the less like Sherlock he looked. There was something…wrong.

"I think you need to sit down and get a hold of yourself. You are scaring me just a little."

"Just a little? Oh that's a shame. I'm hoping to scare you a whole lot." John backed up a little more. Sherlock took another step forward. Before he knew it, John had backed up all the way to the closed door. Sherlock raised a hand and placed it on John's chest.

He leaned his face towards John. John's eyes widened.

Sherlock chuckled, low. Normally his voice, that deep, would register through John's body in the most amazing way, but this was repulsive and his skin crawled, "Don't you remember me, John? Don't you remember how much fun we had? I'm soooo disappointed. Sherlock knows. I can read his thoughts. He hates me so much for what I did to you. Did you know?" He raised a hand and stroked John's cheek. He tried not to flinch. "He would have killed me with his bare hands if he could have. Imagine what it would do to him knowing I used him to hurt you," the eyes were glittering, but not with Sherlock's spark of intelligence and the warmth that was always there, reserved just for John. They were cold and alien and as they looked deep into John's, John knew that this was not Sherlock. Someone or something was sharing space with the detective. John was very much afraid he knew who it was.

"Who are you?" Anger radiated off of John. "Where is Sherlock?"

A smirked played on the detective's face; it wasn't Sherlock's smirk. He whispered in John's ear.

"You know who I am. I saw the look of recognition in your face just now. Is it just that you want me to tell you or are you really that stupid? Playing hard to get is such a turn on." He breathed deeply, inhaling John's sent, sniffing up his neck and into his hair. "Mmmm, you may be stupid, but you sure smell good. It is interesting sharing space with your lover. He has lots of memories of all the inventive and kinky stuff you two have been up to." He leaned back and looked at John again. "I really don't have the time today to explore and play. Shame. This was just put into place to deliver a message."

John's heart was beating rapidly. He would not let Moriarty see how scared he was, not for himself, but for Sherlock. He raised his hand and shoved Sherlock's body out of his space.

"Let go of him right now. Get out and go back to hell!"

"Oooo, someone's feisty today. Don't worry, pet, I'm not staying. Can't stay long. Too much goodness and light," he shuddered. "You have been a horrible influence on him, my dear. As I said this is just to deliver a message. I'm not really all here. Just some of the best bits. Tell him I am more than a little put out that he didn't jump. Disappointed to say the least," he pulled his head back a bit. "You know he didn't do you any favours, leaving you, leaving you all alone. You thought I was cruel! I would have taken much better care of you." He leaned forward again. "So much better." John just glared at him. "No? Oh well. Tell him he's running out of time. Two more deaths to open the door. He can't stop me. I have the power of the gods behind me. Or at least one in particular."

John's rage was growing. He clenched his fists. "Why are you doing this? Why are you tipping your hand and telling me this?"

Sherlock's body shrugged. His face pulled into a grimace. "Why not? It's a whole lot more fun with an audience. More fun with someone to work against. All part of the game, John. Everything is set in motion. Pretty soon it will be all over and you and Sherlock and some of your little friends will be dead. But then I do owe him for killing Seb. But don't be sad. It will be for a good cause. Your deaths will herald a new age. You should be proud, Johnny."

"What door Moriarty? What door are you opening?"

"Wouldn't you like to know? I'm not going to tell you everything. What would be the fun in that?"

He stepped back toward John. "I do want you to think about something John, something just for you. I want you to think about how I can walk into Sherlock's head at anytime, at anyplace. I want you to think about how you might be kissing Sherlock," and he leaned against the wall, placing a hand on either side of John's head, "or having sex," the word same out with a sibilant sound, "and I pop in. Wouldn't that simply be the most wonderful thing you have ever imagined? Oh look! How sweet. You are shaking and shivering just thinking about it." And he raised his hand and grabbed John's jaw and bent to force a kiss.

John was shaking, but it wasn't fear and as much as he wanted to close his eyes, he refused. So he let his body and instinct do the thinking for him. He raised his arm and punched Sherlock's face and then shoved the taller man's body backwards, hard. Sherlock fell to the floor and there was a whooshing sound as the air left him.

John stood over the detective's body. He watched warily as Sherlock opened his eyes with a groan and blinked up at John.

"John, why am I on the floor?"

John breathed a sigh of relief and allowed his eyes to close for a moment and then he offered his hand to Sherlock.

Sherlock took it, looking at John with a puzzled expression on his face as he climbed to his feet. "What happened? Your heart rate is elevated, you're sweating and pale and there are bruises on your knuckles. Did we have a fight?"

John grabbed Sherlock and pulled him into a hug with a choked off sob.

"John?" Sherlock was worried. He seemed to have blacked out and it appeared, from the way his jaw felt that his partner had punched him. He raised his arms, one to wrap around John's body and the other to stroke the bright blonde head. He could feel John trembling as he tried to get control over himself.

What happened?

John's shuddering stopped and he stepped back. He looked up at Sherlock and the detective could tell he was trying to pull himself together. He forced Sherlock to sit down.

"What do you remember?"

Sherlock blinked. "I remember talking about the song…"

"Don't mention the damn song!"

"And you playing it…"

"Not going to do that again any time soon!"

"And that's it."

John could feel his heart rate start to slow to normal. He took a deep breath and spoke in what he hoped was more or less calm voice,

"This one might be hard to believe," he said with a ghost of a smile, as if trying to reassure Sherlock that everything was okay, even if he wasn't feeling that way himself.

John took another deep breath. "Moriarty was just here.

Sherlock looked at John sideways. "Yes John, that is hard to believe."

John shook his head, "Not in the conventional sense."

"Perhaps you had better explain."

So John did. It was a measure of the regard that Sherlock held for the older man that he didn't laugh and sneer at him. It was also partly due to all they had been through. Sherlock at first had trouble accepting the story of John's curse until evidence in the form of a man speaking half a dozen languages he shouldn't know and the presence of a Goddess saving the man he loved, had effectively changed his mind. He held those thoughts in his head as he listened to John explain how Sherlock had changed with the playing of the song. He told Sherlock everything Moriarty had said and done. Sherlock felt a simmering rage flow through his veins and not because he'd been used by the supposedly dead consulting criminal. When John told him about 'popping' into Sherlock's head at anytime, including when they were making love he stood up and began to pace the apartment.

"He informed you he was only partly here as a warning. The song must have triggered something, but why and how? The indication would be that he is 'residing' somewhere else, presumably in someone. He indicated he was behind the ritual murders. He told you there would be two more deaths and then another four. He basically said some of our friends and the two of us would be included in that number. That the first four deaths would 'open the door' and the last four would what? He wouldn't say what the door was to or for. Have I missed anything?" He paused. He stopped and looked at John, "He also took great delight in tormenting you."

John flinched and Sherlock stepped closer to John. It took a great deal of will power for John not to retreat once again. It was because he knew it was Sherlock that he was able to stay still. Sherlock immediately knew what John was thinking and feeling.

Of course he does, thought John.

"John, I will not let him hurt you again."

"Yeah? Well that might be difficult if you have him roaming around in your head." John sat on the couch and looked up and into the eyes that once again belonged to Sherlock. The beautiful changeable almond shaped green blue gray eyes. The eyes he didn't want to see change again. Ever.

"John. I don't think he can do it again. I think the song was a trigger, and it seems to be out of my head. I can't hear it anymore. I don't think he can catch me unaware again. I think he was saying that to, what is the phrase? 'Mess with your head'."

John snorted. It was always interesting when Sherlock used slang and colloquialisms. Sherlock knelt on the floor in front of John and took his hands in his own.

"John. I won't let him hurt you. You are mine. He can't have you!" And he laid his head in John's lap. John reflexively stoked his hand through Sherlock's dark curls. Sherlock sighed. John relaxed.

"John?"

"Yes, Sherlock?"

"I am feeling no great love for the songs of Newfoundland at the moment."

John chuckled weakly.

"Me neither."

oOo

Early Evening

Lestrade bent over the third body.

"Christ, this is getting out of hand," he muttered to no one in particular.

"Sorry? What did you say?" asked Sally.

Lestrade shrugged, "Oh hell if I know. The press is going to have a field day now that there's three."

"Looks like the same MO. Gonna call Fre…Holmes?" Sally had been trying to give up calling Sherlock Freak, mostly because she had been dead wrong about him, partly because she felt guilty, but more importantly because Lestrade had told her if she did it again she'd be working nights for two months. She believed him. Look what happened to Anderson, after all.

Lestrade looked at her. His eyes narrowed. He knew she'd been trying, but he was too tired to be nice. "Watch it Donovan. And for God's sake Do Not say that in front of Watson. He has yet to forgive you."

Sally nodded.

Anderson looked up from his examination. He climbed to his feet with a groan, rubbing his forehead.

"You alright?" Lestrade asked, not really caring much.

"No. Damn headache. It's killing me."

"Well take something for it and get on with it." Lestrade snapped. He turned to Sally. "Contact Dimmock. Tell him to take his men and canvass the area. We need witnesses, information, whatever. We have blanket authority to get what ever we want for this and I want more men. We are not going to be able to cover everything on this and keep a lid on it." He pulled out his mobile and sent off a text.

There's another GL

He waited, longer than he thought he would have too.

Be there soon. There's been an interesting development SH

Oh? GL

Tell you there SH

He didn't have to wait long. It was once more within walking distance of Baker Street, but this time to the west.

That's all the press would need. Try to link this shite to Sherlock again. Greg ran his hand through his hair.

A taxi pulled up and the two men got out, the shorter stopping to pay the fair. Christ they both look as though Armageddon's happening. Of course with all the bloody sacrifices and shite it might not be far off.

Sherlock nodded to Lestrade and strode off to the body. He ignored Anderson who sneered mightily in Sherlock's direction but refrained from saying anything. John made his way over to where Lestrade was standing.

"Greg can I speak to you somewhere less public?"

Lestrade raised an eyebrow and nodded. He led the way to his car.

John climbed into the front beside the detective inspector. He then proceeded to fill him in on the morning's happenings at Baker Street. Greg's mouth fell open a little more with each revelation and he finally shook his head.

"You know no one else would believe this, right?"

John just looked at him.

"Yeah I guess you do. What the hell are we going to do now? You sure the madman's not creeping around the uh, other madman's head?"

John raised an eyebrow. "No, I am not and thanks for comparing Sherlock to Moriarty."

Greg had the decency to blush a little, "Yeah, but you got to admit…"

John rolled his eyes, "Anyway, Sherlock seems to think the song was a trigger. I'm…well…I'm just not sure. I have no frame of reference for this particular bit of weirdness. And believe me I have had a lot of experience with weird. And not just talking Sherlock."

"Nothing like this happen before?"

John frowned, "No. I don't think so, but the memories from some of the past lives aren't as clear any more. Not since I got shot the second time." He trailed off. Wasn't there something Sherlock was going to tell him? Before Moriarty's house call?

Greg shook his head, "What I wouldn't give for a nice normal murder."

John grinned a little, "Careful what you wish for."

Greg looked at him seriously, "You be careful John. If this is Moriarty and if he really is messing with sacrifices and Greek shite, it's not going to be good."

John didn't say anything.

They both watched Sherlock stand up, say something snide to Anderson and walk toward Lestrade's vehicle. Before he got there another car pulled up. DI Dimmock climbed up and strode over to Lestrade's car. John got out. He nodded to Dimmock and walked towards Sherlock. Anderson stormed past obviously on his way to complain about something Sherlock had done or said. Donovan walked over to join the others. John stopped in front of the detective.

"Well?"

"Exactly the same as the other two. Nothing new here. Almost dull, predictable."

"Sherlock!"

"Well really, John. You'd think there would be some variety with each murder. But no. They are almost identical. Except for two are women and one is a man." He turned to his partner. "How'd Lestrade take it?"

"About as well as expected. I think he believes me, us."

Suddenly there was a sharp yelling from the direction of where Lestrade and the others were talking. The two men turned quickly toward the cry. They saw people scrambling backwards. The ground appeared to be moving.

"What the hell?" said John. He started to move forward. Sherlock grabbed his arm.

"Wait."

"What is it?"

"Snakes."

"What?"

"Did I stutter? Snakes."

John glanced at Sherlock in disbelief. Could this get any weirder? He walked towards the commotion and saw what looked like hundreds of black snakes crawling all around the alleyway.

"For Christ's sakes! First all the fucking dogs and now snakes!" cried Lestrade.

"What do you mean dogs?" asked John as he approached.

Anderson sneered at him, "What? Haven't you heard all the damn dogs barking and howling for the last two days? Drive you mad."

John was thinking furiously. Sherlock had come up behind him and stared at the doctor. "What is it?"

John stared back at Sherlock, "I know what he's doing."

Sherlock didn't have to ask whom. He just waited for John to tell him.

"He's bringing Hecate on Earth."

Sherlock raised his eyebrows in puzzlement, "So? Didn't Eleri do that is when she cursed Acrisias?"

John shook his head, "No. That was just an apparition. A visit from the Goddess. The Gods can come to Earth in a semi-corporeal form and interact and touch you, but they are only partly here. If they came to Earth, on this plane of existence, as it were, that would be more than a bit not good."

"How much more?"

"Total end of the world a bit more."

A snake went crawling by, right over Sherlock's foot. He ignored it. John watched it go with a look of growing horror on his face. "This is why Eleri has been so upset. She recognized what was happening. I didn't. I'm too removed from the rituals, from the old knowledge."

Sherlock just nodded. 'That may be partly my fault."

"What are you talking about?"

"I believe I started to try and tell you, but that song interfered with everything and then I don't remember the next part."

John glared at Sherlock. "We need to sit own and talk about this with Greg and I think it may be time to inform your brother."

"Oh yes. By all means bring in the Government. You remember how well he accepted the last supernatural event. I believe he threatened you with harm if I were hurt and he was seriously thinking of sectioning the both of us."

"I know. I was there. But I think we need to convince him. He's going to want to know if London is going to end anytime soon. He's rather attached to it."

Sherlock flung his arms up in acceptance, "Fine! Let's collect Lestrade. Maybe with him on our side Mycroft will be more willing to listen. He's the only one out of the three of us that he likes."

While the two men had been talking it appeared that the snakes had disappeared. Lestrade ran over to them. "Okay this really is Armageddon isn't it?" John and Sherlock looked at him.

"You have no idea," said John.

"We need to talk and we need to talk with Mycroft about this as well. You will bring all the evidence from the crime scenes over to Baker Street. I will contact Mycroft and convince him to join us. Won't that be delightful?" exasperation coloured Sherlock's voice.

The three men were deep in conversation. John rubbed the back of his neck. It felt like someone was watching him. He felt the same sense of revulsion he had felt when Sherlock/Moriarty had spoken to him. He turned and scanned the crowd, but no one seemed to be watching them. Everyone was milling around talking and pointing at the snakes. He frowned and turned back to the conversation.