Alrighty then,
I'm still taking votes on Reverse Reichenbach and Moriarty having powers.
So far there are 18 votes for a RR and 5 votes against it
There are 12 votes for Moriarty having powers and 5 votes against it, however, Power0girl stated in one of her reviews that I've laid more groundwork for Moriarty having powers and I have to agree, that's why I decided to give Moriarty some semblance of powers, it's up to your votes on how much power he gets.
I've also decided that John is going to get kidnapped by Moriarty and that how the finale will go, I went back in reviews and found people who commented about it and it was like 6 to 4, so and plus I've already started writing it.
Review, vote, love.
Peace&Love
Sophie
A case, it's always a case. The thrill and the chase, it pumps adrenaline into John, coursing through his blood like rapids stirring a placid river.
The ex-soldier is following Sherlock diligently, jumping the gaps between rooftops of unassuming buildings, in hot pursuit of the latest serial rapist. John is two steps behind the detective, who just leaped a significant gap.
The doctor stops suddenly, skidding to a stop just meters away from the opening, an irrational fear holding gripping at him and holding him anchored to the wrong side of the gap. John hasn't felt this hesitant since the first night, chasing after the cab, Sherlock taking John on his first 'rooftop pursuit'.
John shakes his head, dispelling his qualms, he steps back a couple paces and then with a running leap launches himself across the crevice. John lands on the other side without problem, instantly sprinting to catch up with the determined sleuth, who is already onto the next building, quickly catching up to the criminal.
John runs faster than before, trying to catch up. He keeps his eyes open with force and watches as Sherlock catches up to the criminal, only a leap away.
John jumps the last gap, coming to a halt.
"John."
John stills in confusion, he only looked down for a second when jumping and in that time, the criminal had grabbed Sherlock and is now pointing a knife to the detective's pale neck. The man, Ian Jeremiah, is surprisingly taller than the genius, his form towering at least 30 centimeters above Sherlock's form, the right height to hold onto the detective with brute force.
"Stop where you are." The man demands, digging the knife into Sherlock's neck with more force. John stares in shock, Ian Jeremiah is just a kid, maybe 18. The doctor's mind reels, how can someone so young be so brutal to woman? John straightens up, trying to be less threatening to the boy in front of him.
John sends emotions into the already open connection between the detective and himself. The first feeling is a rush of confusing contentment. "Are you okay?"
"Yes, John. I'm fine."
The doctor sighs and steps forward, trying to think of a plan.
Jeremiah panics and steps back, his feet centimeters from the ledge.
"Okay." John states, holding his hands up in surrender. The criminal glances behind and then down to the ground below. "That's a long ways down." The doctor adds with a soothing tone.
"Stay back," The criminals voice is panicked and scared, his eyes darting back and forth. "If I fall, he falls." Jeremiah says, digging the knife into Sherlock's neck further.
"Okay, what do you want?" John asks, hoping he can be diplomatic and he won't have to count on his ability to get them out of the situation.
"I don't want to go to prison." The boy states, moving more towards the edge, forcing Sherlock to move with him. John is starting to lose his calm demeanor. The building is high, too high to survive and Sherlock is not going to be dragged down by some lunatic.
"Unfortunately, that isn't an option, Jeremiah." Sherlock remarks and the criminal snarls, dragging the knife across Sherlock's throat, deep enough to draw blood but not life threatening.
John steps forward instinctively at the sight of blood. He sends an irritated wave of consternation and unhappiness. "Shut up, Sherlock."
"You are just a kid, Ian. Think about it, if you cooperate now, maybe the law will take it easy on you." John states quickly trying to dispel the knife sliding any deeper into the detective's neck.
"I can't go to jail." Jeremiah states again, more firmly, glancing behind him once more. John takes another step forward.
The panicked boy reacts badly to John's advancing steps and grows even closer to the edge.
"John." Sherlock's thought is faintly panicked.
John makes a decision. He branches out, finding Ian's link and sends calming effects into his mind.
Jeremiah stays firm, his stance unrelenting. The calming effects aren't working. John internally panics and transmits confusion, distress and helplessness into Sherlock. "It's not working."
"It isn't working?" Sherlock's thoughts are confused slightly and John sends a confirmation wave of happiness.
"Try something else."
What could he try? If the calming effect isn't working for some reason, John couldn't send him into a coma and the situation could become even more dangerous.
He could send a paralysing grief but that goes against Rule 12 and John's own conscience. (Rule#12, pushing negative emotions upon someone is strictly prohibited)
Jeremiah inches closer to the edge, glancing down nervously but with a determined confidence.
"John!" Sherlock shouts and John makes a decision, in a split second John sends overwhelming grief and despair into Ian's mind.
Ian Jeremiah's eyes grow wide and dilate, he shakes his head in confusion, the grip on the knife tightens but his grip on Sherlock loosens. In one quick movement, Sherlock tears himself out of the criminal's grasp and launches himself away from the edge, standing beside John.
The doctor sighs in relief and glances over at the detective.
"Fine. I'm fine." Sherlock waves a hand dismissively and both men turn their attention back to Jeremiah.
The hasn't moved, his thoughts confusing him and the grief making him weaker. Tears fall from the boy's face at the overwhelming feeling of despair.
John slowly advances, now that Sherlock is out of the way.
"Ian, it's okay." John states with comfort, merely centimeters away from the boy.
Jeremiah shakes his head and puts his hands against his temples. John pulls out immediately, the boy's mind is fragile, weak even and the emotions are too much for him.
Just as John is about to grab for Jeremiah, Ian's eyes roll back and his knees give out. John reaches out but it's too late, Jeremiah lists back uncontrollably.
"No." John screams launching himself towards the edge, desperately trying to grab out for the boy.
He feels a hand on his jumper, preventing John from careening over the side of the building.
John's upper body lays in midair, Sherlock's hand on his back preventing the doctor from falling, but John's hands are empty and he watches gravity push the boy towards the ground. Ian Jeremiah lands with a sickening thud.
John stares for a long minute, his thoughts in shock.
In a sudden movement John uses both of his hands to push himself up off the ledge. Sherlock helps by pulling on the back of John's jumper. The doctor is up and running to the adjacent edge of the rooftop.
"John." The soldier can here Sherlock's thoughts call out to him in confusion but John doesn't stop. The soldier finds the fire escape and climbs down it at a record place. Once he gets his feet firmly on the stairs of the fire escape he flies down the steps, the metal clanging at his eager running.
All the while, John can only think. "Maybe he's alive, maybe I can help him." The doctor holds onto that thought, a better alternative to his other thoughts. "I killed him. This is my fault."
Down the stairs, John lost count of how many floors in the building after the fifth zigzagging metal staircase. Finally, John makes it to the last staircase and climbs down the ladder to the ground, jumping off of the last rung and falling to the ground below, about a two and a half meters distance.
The fall ricochets painfully up John's legs but the doctor is up, ignoring the shooting pain, and sprinting towards Jeremiah, rounding the corner into the alleyway.
He sees the form of Ian and kneels beside it instantly. John checks for a pulse rapidly but doesn't find one. Blood seeps from Jeremiah's head, pooling below the criminal.
"No." John whispers, punching a fist directly onto Jeremiah's chest, right over his heart, attempting a strong CPR.
Hands are around John and the doctor tries to fight them, desperate to continue saving the young boy's life.
The doctor didn't even register that Sherlock had followed him, John's mind solely focused on getting to Jeremiah. The detective had sprinted after John and it is not that surprising really. The soldier tried to save someone from falling off the ledge and in the process almost falls off himself and then immediately bolts from the rooftop like it's on fire. "I would follow myself down multiple stories of fire escapes too." The doctor thinks to himself.
Sherlock tears the doctor away from the body, dragging John against the dirty alleyway and holding the older man to his chest. John struggles to get away, writhes and arches his back to bring the boy back to life.
"He's dead, John." The detective deadpans out loud.
The doctor stares at the body, his eyes closed and his limbs bent at awkward angles. John stops fighting and lays limp in Sherlock's arms, his breathing heavy and shallow.
"I killed him." John whispers, despair and guilt lacing his voice.
"He was a serial rapists." Sherlock's baritone responds, gripping John tighter.
"He was just a boy." John bites back, staring at the boy, his lifeless body burning into John's brain, ammunition for future nightmares.
Even though the April air is surprisingly warm and Sherlock's body heat is encompassing, John can't help shiver as a feeling of cold guilt settles deep within him.
John pushes himself away from Sherlock, standing up abruptly just as Lestrade and company sprints around the corner.
The doctor leans against a wall, as far as possible from Jeremiah's corpse, all the while staring at the dead boy in front of him.
"What the hell happened?" Lestrade asks looking between John, Sherlock and the rapist lying on the ground.
"He jumped." Sherlock says with disinterest, moving closer to John, planting himself in between the dead body and John's shocked stare.
"How?" Sally asks, moving to the body, kneeling down and checking for a pulse.
"It's all my fault." John voice is quiet and hoarse. All eyes look to the doctor, his stance is small and timid. Sherlock's eyes move swiftly to John's blank expression. The genius walks over to John while the rest of the Yarders stare quizzically.
"John, you tried to save him. It's not your fault." The younger man grips John's shoulders and pulls him into a hug, embracing the man with warmth and love.
John sends a wave of guilt, unhappiness, pain, regret, irritation, grief and despair. "I did it, I made him lose his balance."
Sherlock shakes his head, his chin brushing slowly across John's blond locks. The detective pulls out of the embrace and crouches down slightly to look John in the eye.
"No you didn't. He fell off and you tried to save him."
"What is going on?" Lestrade questions, watching the scene unfold but not questioning it, he's known for years how good Sherlock is at reading expressions and ignores the exchange.
Sherlock turns slightly towards the DI with a neutral gaze. "He had some sort of fit and then fell off the roof. John reached out and tried to save him, almost falling off the roof himself."
Lestrade's face softens and looks at the doctor who gaze is directed at the former Jeremiah.
"John, you did the best you could." Lestrade states, moving towards John, the DI's voice is low and soothing.
John doesn't look at the advancing Lestrade and instead gazes away from the scene. "I know." The doctor says sadly, moving out of the alleyway, away from the death and the memories.
As he gets to the street, blue flashing lights illuminate the road and John leans against a brick wall, waiting patiently for Sherlock to be done or someone to take his statement, whichever comes first.
The doctor can vaguely hear the detective giving his statement to Lestrade in the alleyway and closes his eyes, breaking the connection so he doesn't have to see the boy in Sherlock's mind.
John notices a presence and opens his eyes hoping that it's Sherlock so they can go home. The doctor is slightly disappointed when he realises it's Sally standing in front of him. The doctor sighs and straightens up, his back no longer leaning against the brick, his stance purely military and confident.
"Let's get this over with shall we?" John asks impatiently nodding towards Sally's pad and pen. He just wants to get away from this horrible day.
"John, I'm sorry." Donovan says quietly, her voice hushed as if she is admitting a great weakness. The soldier softens and gazes into the policewoman's eyes.
"So am I." John remarks, shaking his head sadly.
"He was a bad guy." She whispers, trying to cheer the doctor up.
"Should that really justify his death?" John asks, cursing himself for his pretentious morals and their ability to instill guilt.
"I guess not." Donovan remarks, fiddling with her pen and paper absentmindedly.
"Right, lets get this over with." John states and proceeds to tell his story. With John's gift, it becomes tricky to give an accurate depiction of how certain things happen, especially to the police. Mostly, John just tells the truth, the doctor and his detective chased Jeremiah on the roof, he grabbed a hold of Sherlock, had some sort of fit and feel off the roof.
All in all, it is a relatively honest account, only leaving out his gift being the reason the criminal had a fit.
"Thank you, John." Sally says once they are finished, "And again, I'm sorry."
"Thanks Sally." John remarks and the policewoman walks away towards the crime scene tape.
Once his statement has been taken, John feels the sudden urge to be somewhere else, anywhere but this area. His feet are moving before John even commands them. The lights and the sirens and the bustle of a crime scene are fading into the distance and John walks towards the darker streets.
It doesn't take long for John to realise that he just killed a man, a boy. It also doesn't take long for the soldier to find himself in a pub, not far from the crime scene.
The pub is dark and quiet and no one bothers John as he saddles up to the bar. His fingers twitching and his mind reeling. He orders a pint without a conscious effort and chugs it down.
He closes off his mental barriers, not wanting to hear any unwanted thoughts push at him. Especially from the detective, who no doubt will deduce his location soon enough.
The doctor silently curses the genius's accurate deductions as John orders another drink.
"You killed the cabby in cold blood, how is this different?" John asks himself as he drinks the next pint, this time a little slower. It is different, John killed the cabby with a gun, a physical weapon and it was a conscious choice to protect Sherlock.
"This was a conscious choice." John presents to himself, the pint going down with a bitter taste.
"I killed that boy with mind, not my gun. It's different, more personal, more terrifying." John argues with himself. It's true, the doctor did kill the cabby with the gun which is on a different weapon level than John's mind.
"Then, how is it any different than the home intruder?" John question himself, downing the rest of the pint and ordering another, realising that drinking away his sorrows is an extremely bad idea and it makes John no different than his father or his sister. Yet, somewhere in his logical decision making process, the doctor decides he doesn't care, images of the boy's shattered body dance across his mind only encourage his decision.
It is still different, John hasn't killed like this before. The home intruder was an accident, his rage and desperation in control and killing that man was out of the control of John's conscience. The doctor still doesn't know how he did it and the fact that John is powerful enough to do something like that is extremely terrifying.
"I should add that to the rules. No killing with my mind." John thinks to himself bitterly, snorting and hiccuping slightly. Perhaps the drinks are getting to the doctor, he always was a lightweight.
No matter how the doctor spins it, this death is eating at him, and it all boils down to it being a conscious decision, the fact that John actually decided to send paralysing waves of grief into Jeremiah. "The boy would still be alive if I hadn't broken my rule. There wouldn't be blood splattered on that alleyway if I hadn't used my gift for evil." John thinks with regret, twirling the handle of his pint with a lazily rhythm.
John sits at the bar, ordering pints, trying to make his memories go away, something he hasn't done since coming back from war.
"I've been calling you." The detective whispers into John's ear, causing the doctor to almost fall of his stool. The appearance of Sherlock is sudden and surprising.
"J'sus Sherloock." The doctor slurs, apparently five pints is too much in a short setting.
"Come along, John." Sherlock says, gripping the man across the waist and pulling him to the door.
"Why didn't you answer me?" Sherlock's thought is timid and unassuming, John's mental barriers have broken due to the copious amounts of alcohol in his system. However, the doctor feels a headache coming on, not unusual when the doctor drinks and has a mental conversation.
"Because I didn't want to." John responds, letting Sherlock guide him into a cab that appeared out of nowhere. "I silenced incoming thoughts." The doctor says glumly, letting his head rest against the cool window as the cab makes it's way to Baker Street, his body tense and unwelcoming.
"You can do that?" The detective is surprised.
"Well, I did it." John remarks with a snap, finding it hard to stay focused on the conversation, mostly because he is indifferent to the new information.
"That's different, John." Sherlock says out loud, shuffling closer to John's body. The doctor doesn't move when Sherlock wraps an arm around the John's shoulders.
"John, Jeremiah's death isn't your fault." The younger man states confidently, tugging the doctor away from the window. John let's the genius guide him to rest on Sherlock's chest.
"He didn't react to the calm. You had to use other tactics. You got us out of there alive."
John just nods, it may be true, it was their last hope, at least Sherlock's anyway.
The soldier thinks back to all of the other times the detective has been in danger and the doctor recalls the only thing that links each situation together.
John always promises himself, anything to keep the detective safe.
It's a reasoning and maybe a weak one at that but it's something, something better than just killing in cold blood. John was protecting Sherlock. John will always protect Sherlock.
Slowly, with the realisation, John starts to accepts the thought, Sherlock would have died if John hadn't acted the way he did. Maybe John could have gone about it differently and maybe Jeremiah would still be alive but the fact of the matter is, John made the quick decision and they are both still alive.
"How do y' do that?" John's voice is all over the place, slurring and hiccuping.
"Do what?"
"Make ev'rything so simple and strai-straigh-straight..forward." The doctor stutters out. "In one sen'ence you were able to twist wha' five pints of beer support'd."
"You already know."
John tilts his head up, looking at the detective with raised eyebrows.
"I'm brilliant."
The drunken doctor giggles and rest his head against his boyfriend's shoulder, suddenly sleepy and a little bit calmer.
"I 'ove yo'." The doctor slurs sleepily.
"I love you, Dr. Watson."