Together

I had received that text around half an hour ago and in that time, I had made three cups of tea and eaten half a jar of strawberry jam. I was stressed. I had already slipped my gun into my back pocket. Sherlock sat in his armchair, fully suited, watching as I paced around the flat and trying to keep myself busy.

I couldn't seem to settle my nerves and as usual, my hand remained perfectly steady due to the adrenaline that pumped round my body. I couldn't decide what to do. I couldn't tell Sherlock, because quite frankly, I was scared of his reaction and the consequences that followed if I did. On the other hand, if I did tell him about all this, he may be able to soothe me and get to the bottom of this. I craved for him to use his deductive powers. Yearned for it even.

I had to go to the London Dungeons. That was fact. If I didn't, the outcomes would be severe and if this really was Moriarty, anyone I cared about would suffer the consequences. I just couldn't risk that. I had to go and Sherlock would be at his strongest if I confessed. Oh god. I stopped pacing and turned to look towards him. He looked up at me, looking thoroughly uninterested and montonous.

"Sherlock, I had a dream about someone and then they texted me, as if they knew about it.. and I keep getting texts and I'm worried, really worried. They want me to meet them at London Dungeons.." I said it fast and continued to pace as I said it. I licked my lips and paused, turning to face him again.

"Tell me who it is, John." He said, seriousness evident in his tone. He looked at me, his mouth forced into a line and his eyes blank.

"Oh it's, it's just this person.. I mean it's probably nothing to w-"

"Tell me." He looked at me, his eyes ice cold and I could feel my heart pounding against my chest.

"Moriarty."

His face was stern and shoulders tense. He didn't move from the chair, but stared into space, thinking intently. The sight of him this way made the hairs on the back of my neck stand up. I realised then that I need to compose myself for his sake. The soldier within me took authority and I was determined to protect the people I love from danger, especially him.

In a swift motion I retrieved my coat and phone, which were laid across the sofa. I slipped it on quickly and checked my phone. No new messages. Good.

Sherlock was looking at me again, his eyes menacing with what seemed like a mixture of excitement and anger. He stood up too, grabbing his coat. He tugged it on and wrapped his scarf around his neck. As he moved forward I put my hand against his chest, preventing him from going any further. He scowled at me.

"You're not bloody coming with me!" I protested, looking at him seriously.

He scowled again.

"Do not be so injudicious, John. You know how dangerous he is and you don't know the identity of this person for certain. You've been attacked twice, injected with drugs and you have someone who seeks to use you to their disposal. Whoever you're meeting could do anything to you and you could not possibly survive on your own. Do not act out of foolishness. Use your intelligence, I know you have some in that ordinary brain of yours."

I stepped back. Feeling a little hurt.

"My head is fine. I'm alert. The drugs haven't had as much an impact this time round. I'm a soldier, Sherlock. I can deal with this. I know how to defend myself and if it really is him, I need to find out what he wants. He's not going to tell me if I turn up with his enemy. Get in touch with Lestrade and Mycroft and warn them, but keep it between us four."

His face was still ice-cold. He didn't care that he had insulted me and he seemed to disregard what I had said, treating me like a small child. He sighed impatiently and thundered at his phone, sending vicious and abrupt texts to the assumed recipients. He slid it back into his coat pocket.

"John."

He still seemed bitter and stern but he extended his hand and I took it. I squeezed it hard, almost reassuringly, though I know this act of emotion was one Sherlock did not applaud. He let go and then we left Baker Street.

I was stood in the busy queue of the Dungeons, fiddling with the miniscule bug device that was clipped to the breast pocket inside my jacket (Lestrade had insisted). Sherlock, Mycroft and Lestrade were positioned in a perimeter around the busy tourist attraction, they were accompanied by police officers and Mycroft's guards and I felt at ease knowing they were all protected. My safety was not important. Afterall, it seemed impossible that Moriarty could have survived. He was undeniably dead but I knew that anything was possible, as Sherlock had demonstrated with his own "death".

I was grateful for my friend's belief in my claims, for all three of them trusted me with the vague information I had given. I had based my conclusion on dreams and texts, which weren't considerably reliable but the three men all listened and acted precisely. Though one was always more difficult than the others.

"Bloody Sherlock." I muttered to myself, still feeling a little hurt from his words earlier.

Someone knocked my arm abruptly and I looked up to enunciate a comment but stopped as I saw who stood next to me..

Jim Moriarty stood beside me with a mad smile plastered upon his face as his bright eyes gleamed, looking into mine. I must've made a small noise in my suprise as he laughed a little, but not loud enough to draw attention to himself.

"You won't be needing that gun John, but knowing you still think I'm dangerous. Ooooh, now that is adooorable." He said softly but strongly.

The queue moved a few paces forward so we both moved in unison. I was maintaining composure and I acted normally.

"Well, you did strike me in the head and inject me with Meth." I didn't know if he was behind all this, or he was an added drama, but my voice invited him to speak and so I would perhaps, help with the other curious case.

He smiled again, it seemed genuine and lacked his usual sadistic element. Curious.

"Oh Jawwwn. I wouldn't do that to you."

"You wouldn't do that, but you would strap bombs to my chest and threaten my bo- my bestfriend." I stopped myself from labelling Sherlock, as 1) I didn't know what exactly we were and 2) admitting the nature of mine and Sherlock's relationship could cause a lot of damage. I needed to act with some precaution- though he didn't seem to notice.

The queue shuffled again. We passed a few fake lanterns that were mounted high on the walls. We were getting nearer to the entrance.

"Ordinary Sherlock." He frowned a little and then appeared to shake himself. Turning his attention back to me. "I owed him. You have nothing to fear anymore John, I don't want to burn you. I want.. different things."

I went to speak again but the queue moved rapidly and we were being ushered inside. The lights turned dark and the smell of sweat, fear and excitement permeated the air. We were crowded into such a small space, our bodys pressed awkwardly against one another. Even in the darkness I could see a slight glow from his smile. He did infact, seem different and I found myself more at ease than I thought i'd be.

After moving further into the building, he purchased ticket properly, charming the ticket lady so that she charged less for us. He returned to me and put the tickets into his trench coat's pocket. We reached the beginning of the strange attraction and plunged into the darkness... together.