Part 6
Twist of Fate
…
They played their game of 'chess', neither knowing they were out of options; neither knowing this would be their final confrontation. Holmes hid his mild worry (not for him, but for Watson, who was down in the party below, trying to find an assassin—he really shouldn't have left him behind but that was the way it had to be) under a mask of nonchalance, because that was how Moriarty got his power—from manipulating others. It was a test, of course. He knew that. It had been a test from the very beginning. Moriarty was testing him, seeing if he was a worthy adversary. Moriarty thought this was only the beginning, but Holmes didn't like being played with, and no matter how much he might say otherwise, he was not enamored with the idea of having an archenemy. Not when that man could hurt the only people he cared about. No, he was fine without Moriarty, Moriarty just wasn't fine without him. He seemed to think that Holmes liked this sort of thing, that he would ignore the danger just so he could play a game with someone of his own intelligence. Yes, Moriarty was a cat, and he was a mouse. Perhaps he did give the idea that he would do anything to stop being bored, but that…that was his problem, that was the darkness he fell into when there was nothing to occupy his mind, that was something Moriarty could stave off, but so could a hundred other cases that didn't threaten Watson, that didn't kill Irene.
Yes. In the privacy of his own mind Holmes could admit there was something wrong with him that he'd never been able to fix. But Watson was good, and shining, and perfect. He was the heart to Holmes' brain. And Irene…she was special. And Moriarty had killed her. Did he think he didn't know who would be next?
No, Holmes would play the game, but he would play by his own rules.
–In other words, he would cheat.
He was good at cheating, he had made a living of cheating, and Death was his favourite opponent to slip away from, smiling as he slipped through its eager fingers once again. He and Death were old enemies, and Death was a better enemy than Moriarty could ever be.
Death played by the rules.
Moriarty didn't know, yet, that this was the end for him. And perhaps he was more right than Holmes would admit, for he couldn't resist taunting the man with the knowledge that he had no options left. Look in your book. Don't you see? Mary helped in the end. You are ruined.
And now, it wasn't a game anymore. He put his hand in his pocket for reassurance—but it wasn't there. The 'personal oxygen supply' he had filched from Mycroft was simply not there. Well, that went that plan. And for the first time in his life, Sherlock Holmes was direly in need of a Plan B.
The problem was, Plan B was something he'd really rather not consider.
He started to play out the resulting confrontation. He had his wound of course, which he'd almost died from (would have died from, if it wasn't for Watson and a joke gift) but Moriarty was more the thinking type, he might have a chance…
Ah. So he'd finally met his match. Yes, they could both see the future, it unfolded in their heads, as real as if it were happening now, in slow motion and extra-sharp clarity. And they watched as Moriarty got the better of him, and pushed him off the falls.
"Unless…"
Unless. Yes, that was it, wasn't it? This was the end. And he'd just been thinking about cheating Death, hadn't he?
He supposed it made sense. If you gambled, someday you were going to lose.
And the only reason it would work was that Moriarty would not be expecting it, because they both loved themselves too much to die, didn't they? And hadn't he been planning on giving a cheery wave as he slipped by Death's door? Only now it was for real. And perhaps, if he somehow made it into heaven, Irene would be there, because she didn't deserve hell, no matter what she'd done. She was too young, too innocent, to die. Alone.
He pulled Moriarty to him, and the man didn't resist, because this didn't make sense, it went against the fundamental rules of the world, and he knew he had only that split second of uncertainty in which to act.
He was afraid.
And then Watson came…
Too late. But it wasn't Watson's fault, and he hoped he wouldn't blame himself. No, it was his fault, him and the game he played with fate.
And their eyes met.
Of course Watson knew what was happening at once. He had always been able to read him the way no one else in the world could, and he saw the whole story in his eyes.
Strangely, that was what gave him the courage to do it, seeing Watson's eyes.
There was no time for goodbyes.
He let himself fall.
.
-finis-
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