Alrighty then, I've decided on Moriarty having powers, however, a lot of people suggested that his powers would be minimal and I think that idea. I don't think Moriarty would be as 'tame' if he had the same level of powers that John has.
Reviews have been super helpful and as we near the end I just feel so grateful that y'all spent time to write a little something for me, not to mention the fact that all the help and decision making you guys helped me with. UGH, forever in your debt.
Bit of a short one but I couldn't add anything, the next chapter is basically written so it won't be long my lovelies.
Another thing is that a lot of people have commented about my spelling and my grammar and my misuse of words. I really appreciate it because then I can go back and fix it. Joon Creiff pointed out my meter to feet conversion, that's for that. I fixed that in the last chapter. I know nothing about the metric system, but I try.
Also, this is unbeta'd but I go through each posting before it becomes a official so I catch most of the mistakes but not all, thanks to everyone who is pointing them out and helping me become a better editor and writer.
Peace&Love
Sophie
It's nine o'clock in the evening and John trudges up the stairs with a slow and languid shuffle. His shift at the surgery was brutal, the patients rude and demanding. The doctor is pretty sure half of them were faking it and the other half too sick to care how tetchy they had become.
John prides himself in being a friendly people person, a very tolerant one too, but by the end of the day he was snapping at everyone.
It was the best feeling walking into the London air, eager to get home for multiple reasons.
The most important being, it's their one year anniversary.
John had opened Sherlock's connection immediately after his shift was over but the detective had been been quiet, so John had to commute home in silence.
Now he makes it up the stairs, finally, and his mood has only worsened, the tube was backed up and the people were rude and angry.
When John enters the sitting room, wanting to just bask in Sherlock's company, he finds himself disappointed that the detective is no where to be seen.
"Sherlock!" John calls out into the flat but only silence answers. The doctor sighs with resignation and plops onto the couch, not bothering to take his coat off, not even bothering to make tea, that's how bad John's day had been.
John pushes confusion and wonder into the link. "Where are you?"
Sherlock's connection is quiet and John whips out his phone to type a message.
Where are you? -JW
He waits seconds before there is a reply.
It's a surprise - SH
The doctor stares at the message in confusion. Two things seem weird about the SMS. The first being the fact that Sherlock is actually texting John. The detective hasn't texted the doctor in over a year, there is no need.
"Maybe he doesn't want to take the chance of ruining the surprise." John thinks to himself.
Another thing that seems strange about the text message is the fact that Sherlock is going out of his way to surprise John, and the makes the doctor's heart swell with love.
When will I know what the surprise is? - JW
Soon
John stares at the text message again, the lack of signature is disturbing, something feels off for the doctor. He sends panic and fear into the connection but nothing comes back. Sherlock would always respond to the emotional code, and yet he didn't.
Who is this? - JW
Ah, the game is up I'm afraid. Bit too obvious was I - M
John freezes. Moriarty.
Why does the man have Sherlock's mobile?
Where is Sherlock? - JW
I'm afraid he is taking a little nap. - M
I swear to god, if you hurt him, I will kill you - JW
Your threats are dull - M
I'm going to find you - JW
I'll make it easy, I heard the pool is being remodeled. We all have such fine memories of the pool, don't we Johnny Boy? - M
Midnight?- JW
Oh, Johnny you remember! - M
John throws his mobile against the settee's cushions in a huff. At some point during the conversation, the doctor had risen and started pacing furiously around the room. The telepath tries to dig into Sherlock's brain, breaking through his unconscious slumber, looking for anything that would give confirmation of where the detective is at, or at least confirmation that he is still alive.
John digs deep into the detective's mind, not even coating his intrusion with feelings, just plain digging. Finally, the doctor finds something tangible, a memory. The doctor unfolds the memory like a rolled up piece of paper.
That's when John realises it isn't a memory at all, it's colors. Very faint hues that fade and then sporadically blink in vibrancy, the colors flow into John's brain.
John lets out a huge sigh of relief, the genius is alive but unconscious. The doctor wrings his hands together in anger, relief and sadness. He stares at the clock on the microwave, green numbers glow back at the soldier, their digital lines reading nine forty. He has a little over two hours until he has to meet Moriarty.
The doctor paces across the sitting room, keeping a hold of Sherlock's faint, slumbering colors. There is a lot of reds being passed through the genius's mind and John tries to calm the detective but his unconscious state is deep and the red stays.
John grunts in frustration.
The doctor stares at his phone lying on the couch. He should call Mycroft, the politician could help.
What would happen to Sherlock if Mycroft is called? Would Moriarty kill him?
John stares longingly at the mobile and then turns away with determination. John can't afford to call the elder Holmes, the risk is too great.
Why now? Why today of all days? The doctor paces back and forth, looking at the clock every five seconds.
The clock turns from ten to ten thirty and the blond man can't handle it anymore. John races into their bedroom and grabs the gun in the drawer. He loads it and forces it into his back waistband.
The doctor is shaking as he heads out of the door and off into the night, hoping that they both will make it out alive again.
There is a saying that lightening never strikes the same place twice, yet, John finds himself in a cab, driving back to the pool. A place that they both barely escaped the last time.
The cab drops him off at the entrance of the building. The outside still looks the same as John remembers but the doctor doesn't stop moving to reminiscence. It's eleven thirty and the doctor walks into the open doors, his gun hugging his back reassuringly as the soldier walks into his living nightmare.
John can senses the blood before he smells the chlorine, it's stronger than last time, filling the doctor's mental nostrils and taste buds with sickening ease. John wrinkles his nose in disgust but pulls out his gun as he zigzags through the lobby and into the actual pool area. The blond man sees the doors, the all too familiar doors, and pushes through them without hesitation. A sudden wave of chlorine hits him and it mixes unpleasantly with the blood whirling around in John's brain.
The soldier scans the interior, his eyes darting to the balcony above and glancing into the water. Several minutes of silence envelope the doctor and John finds himself growing steadily impatient.
"I know you are here Moriarty." John calls into the remodeled pool, the water reflecting off the ceiling, dancing and shimmering with ease.
A clicking of shoes erupts behind John and he turns around rapidly. The Irishman stands in front of him, coming through the door John just entered. The doctor aims his gun directly at Moriarty's head.
"You are early," Moriarty states, raising an eyebrow, "But it is so nice of you to join me."
"Where is Sherlock?" John demands, holding his ground. The man in his Westwood suit, walking gingerly, further into the pool area.
"Safe." Moriarty remarks, his expression cold and neutral, his eyes remain focused on John, something isn't right.
"Safe?" John repeats, quickly scanning the pool area once again, looking for any signs of the detective or Moriarty's goons. It's an oddly vague description and the criminal mastermind likes to brag, he would have told John exactly where the detective is hiding.
"I'm going to be honest, Johnny." Moriarty begins, advancing slowly towards the doctor, ignoring the doctor's question. "We don't have a lot of time."
The Irishman stands directly in front of John, the gun centimeters from Moriarty's chest.
"Where is he?" John commands through gritted teeth, clicking the safety off of the Browning and closing the gap between them. The surge of blood is almost overpowering but John holds his ground.
Suddenly, John's mobile rings, it's shrill song echoing throughout the acoustic walls of the pool.
Both men stare at each other, neither moving, as the mobile continues to ring in John's pocket.
After the third ring, Moriarty lets out a huff of annoyance. "Answer it!" He yells and John flinches. The doctor doesn't waste time and hastily plunges a hand into his pocket, pulling out the mobile and looks briefly at the screen before hitting the answer button.
"What do you want, Mycroft?" John asks timidly, keeping his gun trained on the criminal mastermind. Why is Mycroft calling? Why is Moriarty letting him answer the phone?
"John," Mycroft voice is calm and neutral just as it always has been. "Sherlock is in the A&E."
John takes a step back in shock, and then he stares into Moriarty's eyes. The criminal mastermind's face contorts into a grin. John doesn't say anything, he is frozen in surprise and confusion.
"Surprise." Moriarty mouths at John and the doctor resist the urge to shoot the man.
John doesn't speak, he stares at the obnoxious grin that Moriarty is holding on his face.
"John. John, did you hear me?" Mycroft's voice calls out through the phone, the doctor shakes his head slightly and opens his mouth to speak.
"What?" John's voice is quiet, emotions running across his face and the Irishman watches with menacing glee.
"He is in the hospital, John. Someone mugged him." Mycroft remarks. "They knocked him unconscious, taking his mobile and pocket book."
The doctor shakes his head but keeps his eyes focused on the criminal mastermind who is taking another step forward.
"How come we didn't know about this earlier?" John asks, taking a step back from Moriarty again, scanning the area for exits and/or an ambush. What's the point? Why trick him into coming to the pool?
"Someone dropped him off under John Doe." Mycroft states, "The staff called the police and the bobby recognised him. Gregory called me."
Moriarty never had Sherlock, John walked into a trapped. The doctor sighs into the mobile. Realisations and emotions filtering through him. Moriarty never intended to involve Sherlock, only get him out of the way so John could be tricked into coming alone.
"What's the timeline?" John questions, wondering how long Sherlock has been unconscious.
"The timeline?" Mycroft repeats, confusion creeping into his voice. "John, where are you?" Of course the elder Holmes would notice something is wrong. John looks up to Moriarty who is shaking his head. The lunatic looks down to John's chest and the doctor's gaze follows. A small red dot appears right over John's heart. The soldier scowls and lifts his head up again.
"How long has he been unconscious?" John inquiries, his voice suddenly firm and determined.
"He was dropped off about five minutes to nine. He hasn't woken up since." Mycroft states, his voice no longer neutral. "Where are you, John?" The elder Holmes's voice is suspicious.
"Are you there? Are you at the hospital?" John ignores Mycroft's questions, just hoping that Sherlock won't wake up alone
"Gregory is, I'm on my way, why? John what's going on?" Mycroft asks again, his voice growing slightly panicked.
"I can't explain. Just tell Sherlock I'm sorry." John resigns pulling the phone away from his ear.
He can hear the elder Holmes calling out for him but John ends the call and places his mobile back in his pocket. John looks down and sighs, feeling like a complete idiot.
"You never had him." The doctor states looking back up at Moriarty, the man before him shaking his head with a smile.
"Nope!" The Irishman cheers gleefully, closing the gap between them, John grips his gun tighter and straightens his stance. He may have walked into a trap but there is no way he is leaving now with Moriarty still alive.
"I can kill you know." John remarks, his knuckles white and his face determined.
"No, I don't think so." Moriarty responds nodding towards the red dot on John's chest. "Seb will not hesitate."
"But then you will be dead." John states, gripping the gun harder.
The two men stare at each other. John working up the courage to shoot Moriarty and the criminal mastermind analysing the doctor. Minutes pass and suddenly Moriarty speaks.
"You nobility is dull." Moriarty sighs, turning his back to the soldier and waves a hand in the air. John watches with surprise at the retreating form of Moriarty. A sudden pain in the doctor's neck causes John to falter. While still holding the gun with one hand, another hand flies to his neck. Moriarty turns to face John, a smirk on his face.
Soft strands of material meet the pads of the doctor's fingers. With a pull, John yanks out the dart and stares at it, it's red and white tube glistening like the blood he can't get away from, plaguing the doctor's mind and thoughts. John shakes his head, his eyes are already starting to go fuzzy. Abruptly, John's legs buckle, causing the doctor to fall to the tile floor.
John's knees hit the ground hard and with a loud thud. The soldier tries to aim his gun at Moriarty but the Irishman has moved closer once again, extending his arm in the process and batting the gun away. It flies out of John's grasp, clattering to the ground and sliding away. The sound of metal scraping tile reverberates loudly into John's ears.
The doctor is breathing heavy, his thoughts are jumbled, the blood is all consuming and Moriarty's face is now directly in front of him. John tries to focus on the face but his vision is blurring, things that use to be clear are now fuzzy and moving in an out of focus. The soldier closes his eyes, trying to stop the headache forming and willing Moriarty's blood senses to go away.
"I expected more out of a soldier." Moriarty says, crouching in front of the drugged doctor. John's eyes snap open and his face twists in confusion, his head hurts, his vision is blurred and the smell of blood is starting to make the doctor gag. John lists forward, he extends his hands instinctively and they catch the doctor, but under John's drugged weight and his hands collapse and John plummets to the floor. The telepath's bad shoulder connects with the floor hard and John lets out a pained gasp.
The doctor rolls onto his back, trying to get away from Moriarty and sit up at the same time. A sudden hand is placed upon his chest, the weight forcing John to remain on the ground. The doctor writhes and struggles but nothing happens.
He is going to pass out, John knows it, he can feel every muscle in his body growing weaker. He wants to say something, anything snide and degrading but his mouth isn't working. Nothing is responding to his bodily pleas.
A hand brushes across his chest softly. John shudders and tries to move away but his body doesn't answer.
"I can't wait for Sherlock to visit later, once you've begged him to rescue you." Moriarty whispers into John's ear, his hand brushing leisurely on John's clothed torso. The doctor attempts to flinch away from the hot breath, it only comes out as a weak tremble.
"No." John whimpers, his head lolling and his eyes closing. He hears Moriarty laughing. He feels the cold tile beneath him. He smells the chlorine.
But the last thing John notices is far worse than the laughing or the tile or even the chlorine. The last thing John observes before the drug knocks him out is the blood. It's presence mixing in with all of John's senses, the metallic smell, the copper taste, the sticky feeling.
It is everywhere and as John falls deep into a drug induced slumber, all he dreams are about blood. He can't get away from it and it's never ending flow.