Oh my, here it is.
Moriarty has powers, and for those who didn't want that, I made it a little easier. Moriarty's powers are very limited.
I'm also afraid that the Reverse Reichenbach idea has gained a crap ton of votes.
I hope that's not terribly disappointing. I'll make it better by having the time John is away done to a year or less.
The reunion will probably happen in the sequel.
For this story, I'm almost done, a couple of chapters more.
Next chapter, we are going to see Sherlock's view of this scene.
What do you think?
Peace&Love
Sophie
It's bright. That's all the doctor can register, even with his eyes closed. The light filters through his eyelids and John lowers his head to get away from the intruding light.
The soldier contemplates opening his eyes but the pain in his head stops him. John tries to probe his exterior, looking for any wounds.
The doctor doesn't feel any dried blood on his skin, so the painful throbbing must be an after effect of the drug.
"Fantastic." John thinks bitterly.
He wonders idly what the drug had been. Why would Moriarty use it in the first place?
His curiosity is slowing creeping and the doctor opens his eyes slightly. The blinding undimmed light of the room hurts his eyes. John squints, trying to adjust himself to the luminous room. Through his adjustment phase, the soldier immediately catalogs the area through half-lidded eyes.
The walls are white and bare, just like the rest of the medium-sized room. John is on the only piece of furniture visibly, a hard, wooden chair.
The doctor struggles briefly against the restraints, a thick rope is wrapped intricately around his wrists, it's knot military and professional. It prevents John from getting the right leverage to break his thumb or struggle out of it.
The soldier remains calm, trying to sense minds outside the closed door, nothing greets him and he sighs with defeat.
Where is he?
No smell of chlorine hits the detective, they must be away from the pool. All John can sense is the faint smell of blood, which means Moriarty is close.
Why is he here?
John seeks out Sherlock's connection, finding it swiftly and opening the bond without thinking. He starts to think of the emotional code and how to communicate his location before suddenly stopping.
Moriarty's words echo throughout the doctor's memories.
"I can't wait for Sherlock to visit later, once you've begged him to rescue you."
The doctor panics and stops thinking.
"Moriarty knows." John declares to himself "and he wants me to call for Sherlock." The doctor thinks with disgust, shuddering as he remembers the lasting touches of Moriarty's hands on his chest.
Moriarty wants Sherlock to show up and he intends for John to lead the detective right to them.
John is many things, a puppet is not one of them, not willingly anyway.
The soldier breaks the connection with rapid ease, protecting the detective, not wanting Sherlock to find wherever Moriarty is holding him.
It's too late, Sherlock already recognised John's intrusion. It isn't long before the telepath is bombarded with mental questions that he can't answer, protecting the genius in the long run.
"John. Where are you?" The detective is desperate, his thought is pushed forcibly into John's brain but the doctor doesn't, can't respond.
"John, answer me."
"Are you hurt?"
John is breaking, Sherlock's thoughts are getting more panicked and the turmoil is slowly causing John's resolve to crumble, so he sends one emotion.
John finds the lilac and honey and briefly opens the bond, sending one emotion. Contentment. "I'm not hurt."
He owes the detective that much, a peace of mind.
John is out of the bond again and locking his self-control in place, shutting the door firmly. The doctor can't afford to let Sherlock into his thoughts again, even though he wants to desperately ask how the genius is? Where was he hurt? How long was he out for? Is he okay now?
But the doctor can't, his jingles his self-control door making sure it's locked tight.
However, that doesn't stop Sherlock from pushing his own thoughts.
"John. You're fine?"
"Where are you?"
"Why aren't you answering me?"
"John."
"John."
The soldier ignores the genius, focusing on a plan to get out.
After several minutes, the detective stops pushing his frantic inquiries and John sighs in relief. The doctor is left in silence, a discomforting alternative to Sherlock's persistence but it keeps the detective safe and John's resolve intact.
Nothing happens for a few minutes until John's nose wrinkles subconsciously.
The smell is obnoxiousness and suddenly more prevalent, causing John to focus on not vomiting and putting Sherlock's silence on the back burner.
The doctor smells the criminal mastermind long before Moriarty actually walks into the room.
Blood integrates with John's thoughts and feelings. It's intense, metal smell fills John's nostrils and it's sickly bitter taste rests uncomfortably on John's mental taste buds.
The doctor opens his mouth to breath, hoping the smell of blood will dissipate, even though it's unlikely.
The soldier struggles briefly, trying to get away from the copious amount of blood senses. Physically trying to make it go away. John doesn't dare make a mental connection with the man, the blood is already too much, John doesn't want it to get any worse.
Plus, there is nothing to gain, the last time John connected with Moriarty and got past the blood, the mastermind's thoughts were vacant. John's power is useless against the Irishman.
The door creaks open and John stills his body, his restrained arms going slack against the tight ropes. The small Irishman saunters into the white room, his steps springy and calculated.
The man is excited and John resists the urge to spit nasty, degrading comments at the disgusting creature in front of him.
"Good Morning, Johnny!" Moriarty exclaims, clapping his hands together greedily, an evil leer on his face.
"Moriarty." John remarks with contempt, straightening with confidence and disinterest.
The suited man walks closer to the doctor, the blood growing stronger with each advancing step.
"Sherlock isn't here yet." Moriarty remarks in a mock sadness. "I thought you would have called for help already."
"What do you want?" John questions, ignoring the evil man, subconsciously trying to back away from the approaching incorporeal, metallic crimson.
"Dull, you always ask that question." is Moriarty's answer, his footsteps stopping suddenly and his head cocking to one side, studying the doctor.
"I believe the last time I was in this situation my question was 'Why are you here?'," John remarks snidely, "It's technically different." The doctor turns his head away in boredom.
The consulting criminal raises his eyebrows and chuckles slightly.
"You have a good memory, Johnny." Moriarty comments, starting to come closer again. John inhales and exhales with force, the copper taste on his actual tongue.
The doctor shrugs in response, still not looking at the Irish genius.
"Why am I here? What do you want?" John asks again, this time with determination.
Moriarty doesn't answer, he stares at John with intense eyes and a hard expression. The doctor, once he figures out he isn't going to get a response, goes back to analysing the room.
"I know." Moriarty states bluntly, the doctor's eyes whip to find Moriarty standing mere centimeters in front of John. The doctor is breathing with shallow inhales, the blood intense and making him dizzy.
"You know what?" The doctor states lazily, trying to keep his face as neutral and unassuming as possible.
Moriarty narrows his eyes with contemplation, advancing another centimeter. "I know this." The criminal mastermind remarks and in a sudden movement, Moriarty's finger is pushing onto John's forehead.
The doctor erupts in pain, whimpering uncontrollably as the blood intensifies making John gag on the smell, the taste, the encompassing blood.
John tries to shake the finger off his forehead, thrashing his head side to side, trying to dislodge the offending touch.
"Stop." John calls firmly, images beginning to flow from deep within John's mind. The doctor starts to see red and then short burst of sand mixes with the flowing red.
"STOP!" John yells and pushes himself back, the force of his movement sends him careening backwards, swiftly breaking Moriarty's connection and causing the wooden chair to clamber backwards.
The doctor lands on his back, jamming his fingers in between the hard surface of the chair and the cement flooring. John yells as the sharp pain emits from his limbs.
As the telepath thuds to the floor, John's breathing is laboured, his exhales shaky and heavy. John tries to roll to the side but the chair prevents him.
Moriarty's face is suddenly in the doctor's space, causing him to flinch backwards, shuffling the unrelenting wood to squish his fingers more. John grits his teeth at the discomforting pain.
"Well," Moriarty starts, crouching next to John. "That must be uncomfortable."
John turns his head to the side, his headache worse and the overwhelming presence of blood causing more of a discomfort than being on the ground.
"Now, Johnny." Moriarty scolds at the doctor's apparent disgust. "It isn't-"
"How do you know?" The doctor ask bluntly, not caring about interrupting the criminal. Moriarty raises his eyebrows and laughs. An eerily, unsettling laugh that hurts John's ears and causes his head to throb. The consulting criminal stands up languidly, pacing absentmindedly and lazily around the room, occasionally looking at the doctor struggling on the floor.
"It's a secret." Moriarty whispers gleefully after a few minutes.
"Who am I going to tell? I'm not leaving this room alive, we both know that." John remarks confidently, the compression from the doctor's weight and the angle of his arms making John's limbs tingle with numbing sensations.
Moriarty seems to contemplate John's comment with a narrow concentration. "What makes you think you aren't leaving here alive?" Moriarty challenges.
The doctor is taken aback, the question is shocking. John honestly thinks this is the end game, the final battle, and Moriarty is definitely at an advantage. It's not as if John has given up, he is just accepting Moriarty's reality.
"Come on," John states finally, raising his eyebrows at Moriarty. "Do you really intend on keeping me alive?"
Now it's Moriarty's time for a challenging question. "No, I suppose not." The soldier is calm at Moriarty's realisation, even though the criminal mastermind just verbalised John's death sentence.
"So, there is no harm in telling me then." John comments, wiggling slightly trying to reposition himself, the wooden back of the chair digging into his arms and back painfully.
"I died." Moriarty states bluntly, looking directly at John's face. The doctor ceases movement and stares back at the criminal mastermind. To anybody else, this statement would have been confusing but John knows the full reason behind Moriarty's comment.
John doesn't say anything, he stares in shock, even when Moriarty starts to move towards the telepath, crouching down again.
The doctor flinches away but Moriarty is too fast, a hand is cupping John's neck firmly and a finger is placed on his forehead.
John's head explodes, he can literally see the river of blood flowing, intertwining with his thoughts, tainting his memories.
An image that John doesn't recognise floats across his mind. The doctor latches onto it, hoping for relief from the blood presence. As the memory becomes clear, John is bombarded with more blood, a unfathomable amount. The doctor thrashes and pushes the thought away, but the memory stays planted, playing for the doctor against his will.
The soldier closes his eyes in pain, his headache erupting in agony and the unfamiliar memory breaking his control.
The memory is simple, John is seeing the image through the memory holder's own eyes. The brick beneath the owner's feet, his shoes clicking and walking fast.
John breathing is erratic as the memory unfolds. Suddenly the image in John's mind fills with panic, John's emotions are mixing with the strong memory.
"Stop." John shouts.
"No, you will feel how I died." Moriarty whispers into John's ear, causing the doctor to loll his head away from the voice. It didn't even occur to the doctor that it was Moriarty's image that he is seeing, that how bad the blood and powerful memory is messing with the blond's deduction skills, what little John actually picked up from the detective.
Suddenly, John stops breathing, non-physical hands are around the doctor's neck cutting off his air supply. John is watching Moriarty's memory with apt interest.
Moriarty is no long walking, he is pushed against a wall, staring his attacker in the face. The man's face is hidden in shadow and John can't focus on anything. The hands that were once on Moriarty's neck are now on John's, the vision blending with reality.
John gasps and struggles, trying to get out of Moriarty's grip. The doctor is suffocating and he begins to see black spots dancing on the outside of his vision.
Choked sounds emit from John's throats, he pleads shamelessly but the memory becomes stronger and soon John passes out from lack of oxygen, not before hearing Moriarty's evil laugh.
He wakes a couple minutes later, the bodiless hands gone along with Moriarty's forced tactile contact.
It takes a couple more seconds for the telepath to realise that his chair had been set upright, relieving the pressure in his back and limbs, the doctor sighs internally with relief, his breathing still irregular.
It takes another minute or so, but John finally is able to get his breathing calm and readjusted for air intake. John can still feel the squeezing hands on his neck and panics slightly at how strong Moriarty's flashback was, how it was able to claim John and make him witness the actual feeling of the criminal mastermind dying.
The doctor shudders at the power and tries to shake the horrible memory out of his head.
John coughs suddenly, his throat sore and scratchy.
"My heart stopped beating and my attacker took my belongings." Moriarty states and John opens his eyes, looking tiredly for the criminal mastermind. The Irishman stands against the far wall, just beside the door, leaning against it with comfort.
"Huh? You? Caught in a mugging?" John tries to reply with a smarmy tone but his wheezing and deep voice botches the attempt. Instead John's voice is quiet and weak, the soldier noting the morbid irony between Moriarty's flashback and the reason Sherlock is currently safe.
The doctor coughs again, long and deep to clear the hoarseness of his voice. "How pedestrian."
The criminal doesn't respond verbally, but his face twists momentarily in a scowl before smoothing out and continuing. "The woman who found me gave me CPR and after a couple of minutes my heart started again," is how Moriarty responds, ignoring the doctor's comment.
"I lived." Moriarty exclaims brightly. "Although, my brain was never really the same." The criminal adds looking straight at John with a devilish smile. John's eyes perk up and the thought comes to him. Moriarty has an ability.
John stares in shock, he just thought the mastermind was powerful, not necessarily capable of having a gift. The realisation sends shivers down John's back.
"You have a gift." John states, his voice gaining it's usual tone back. The criminal mastermind just stares at John with a insatiable grin.
"I do." The Irishman smiles.
It explains everything, the powerful reach of Moriarty's mind, the ability to subdue John with the evil man's thoughts, the blood.
John's head reels, the doctor has never met another person with a power. The feeling is strange and unnerving. This is a bit not good.
No wonder the man has a criminal organization so vast.
The doctor, despite the dangerous situation, is extremely curious. What can the criminal mastermind do? How powerful is he? Can he control emotions like himself?
John stops with his internal question, his eyes find Moriarty who his grinning with pleasure. The look is sickening and John realises he doesn't want to know. The doctor does not want to be in Moriarty's head more than necessary, if not at all.
"I find you intriguing Johnny." Moriarty says playfully interrupting John's thoughts, moving closer to the doctor. "Granted your nobility is dull and frankly worthless, but your telepathy makes up for it."
Moriarty's blatant proclamation of John's ability causes the doctor stiffens, not willing to agree or deny Moriarty's suspicions, even though John knows it's useless. The criminal mastermind already knows, isn't John just wasting energy by reveling in denial?
"You know, Johnny, I'm a genius and I have a powerful gift." Moriarty states, gazing upon the soldier. "But, your mind, it's extravagant and complex. Your gift is extraordinary and even more powerful than mine." The suited man's tone is slightly sad but something bright and calculating flickers in the mastermind's eyes.
John is too shocked from the situation to respond. He stares back at the Irishman and remains wordless, cataloging Moriarty's look and confession.
"I know all about you Johnny dearest." Moriarty continues, ignoring John's speechlessness.
"How?" John sputters clumsily.
"Oh come now, another telepath running around London and you don't expect me to keep tabs." Moriarty exclaims.
"You can read minds?" The doctor asks stupidly and Moriarty laughs.
"Yes, although, that is the only thing I can do." The mastermind remarks. "And I can't read yours." Moriarty adds, his expression full of curiosity.
John reels. Moriarty can read his thoughts. Why? And why can't John read Moriarty's thoughts? Is it important?
"Of course it's bloody well important, Watson." John accosts himself. "You are in the presence of another telepath and neither of you can read each others' mind."
John realises that if Moriarty can't read his mind then that Irishman doesn't know that he smells like blood, he doesn't know how powerful he really is, how easily he captivates the doctor. And John is not going to be the one to tell him.
"Unlike you, Johnny." Moriarty continues, suspending John's thoughts.
"I, however, know about your white noise, which you've expanded the range significantly. It's silent right now, isn't it?" Moriarty observes.
John is alarmed, he didn't even register it, of course the doctor and his detective have been working on the range and it's proven successful. Through practice, John's white noise has the ability to be silenced within the proximity of London. If Sherlock is in London, John's white noise is silent.
Which means John is still in London. The thought causes hope for the doctor, but John keeps his face neutral, not giving anything away.
"I'll take that as a yes." Moriarty chuckles, pacing around the room with slow steps, circling the doctor like a vulture.
"I also know that you can control people's emotions." Moriarty continues, his tone is quiet and beguiling, dripping with hypnotic charm.
The doctor doesn't say anything, Moriarty paces behind him and John stares forward, not willing to give in to the lunatic.
"Which begs the question, how come I'm still standing and not on the floor in a coma?" Moriarty purrs. "Surely, your self-control isn't that noble."
The Irishman drags a hand across the back of John's shoulders, causing the doctor to stiffen and shiver at the same time.
John is confused, the man is messing with him, showing his true evil. John remains quiet, focusing on not answering, blood encasing John and the doctor has to force the bile down.
A hand suddenly cups John's chin, forcing the doctor to tilt his head back.
John's eyes immediately close at the forced memories and onslaught of blood.
A dead soldier lay in front of John, the sand stained crimson and the soldier's mouth moving with inaudible pleas.
"Am I special, Johnny? Or do you just like me too much to put me in a coma?" The doctor can hear Moriarty's faint enticements but John can't respond, he is focused on the dead soldier. John tries to go to him but the doctor can't move, something is immobilising him. Fear? Anxiety?
John looks down to see his feet sinking into the bloody sand. The doctor is actually stuck. John looks to the soldier with panicked eyes, he tries struggling out of the sand but to no avail. He has to watch the soldier die, his blood mixing with the sand blood.
The hand is gone and John's head snaps forward, Moriarty laughs but the image doesn't dissipate.
John turns his head and throws up onto the white floor.
His nose is running freely and the blood mixing with his vomit.
Moriarty is torturing him. The lunatic is using his own powers to manipulate the doctor, showing John distorted images. John recognised that soldier but the memory was altered, obviously. John, originally, had saved that boy, Private Stanley Lowell, barely nineteen. He has a sister and two younger brothers.
The altered memory is tugging at John's mind. How is Moriarty doing this? How is he manipulating John's memories?
John is a army doctor, a soldier, someone who knows how to resist torturing techniques and that's exactly what John intends to do, resist Moriarty's torture to the best of his ability.
But, the army never prepared him for this, they never prepared him for mental warfare.
John's breathing is heavy but the soldier sits up straight, with new determination, John lifts his head and finds Moriarty grinning like mad.
"Oh, Captain Watson has come out to play." Moriarty exclaims, wringing his hands together in elation. John glares at the Irishman, his face taunt and unrelenting.
"John, I'm coming, hang on."
Sherlock thought is sudden and practically catches John off guard, the detective had been so silent up until this point that John almost forgot about him, almost.
The doctor panics slightly, the detective can't come, that exactly what Moriarty wants. He doesn't physically move but he sends waves and waves of paralyzing, defiant unhappiness to the genius, hoping to stop Sherlock long enough to be safe. "Definitely not, you are not coming here."
John sends the emotional code over and over, hoping that the detective understand the gravity of the situation.
"I've narrowed it down. I'm on my way."
John's face must have showed something, because Moriarty's grin widen.
"Sherlock's on his way then?" The Dublin man questions but John turns his head in disgust, his throat scratchy and his mouth tastes like blood and vomit.
The doctor sends paralysing fear and grief, he is desperate to stop the detective.
"John, Stop that." Sherlock voice is sad and John opens up the connection to see the detective gripping a railing somewhere, trying to reign in his emotions.
"I'm coming to get you and that's final."
"I can't wait until he gets here." Moriarty squeals and for a second, John thinks the man is going to jump for joy.
"You are interesting." Moriarty states raising his eyebrow with interest. "But the detective is unpredictable."
"Leave him out of this." John says through gritted teeth.
"I can't, Johnny." Moriarty smirks. "If I hadn't picked him as my worthy opponent, I would have never found you."
"Stop." John states firmly, his restrained fist clenching.
"I think it's time to return the favor." The criminal mastermind says before starting to pace again.
The doctor stares dumbfounded. He wants to ask what Moriarty means? How will he return the favor?
John doesn't have to be a great detective to know that Sherlock probably wouldn't get out of the exchange alive.
The doctor panics, his thoughts are frantic and jumbled. He continues to send paralysing emotions to the genius and watching as Sherlock stumbles due to the grief, the anger, whatever John is sending.
"JOHNATHAN!" Sherlock voice is loud and it causes the doctor to wince. John's headache stabs his brain with agony and his nosebleed is severe, and suddenly the doctor stops.
He sends a final emotional code, shame, grief and regret. "I'm sorry."
John closes his eyes, ignoring the criminal who is watching in amazement.
"John."
With one swift thought, John sends a strong calm feeling into Sherlock. John watches as the detective falls wherever he is, his eyes closing in the process.
Faint colors meet John's probes and the doctor backs out. The detective is unconscious.
John's guilty is consuming but the doctor realises it's for the greater good. If John hadn't knocked Sherlock out, the detective would have stomped into wherever they are and gotten himself killed in the process. It's for Sherlock's protection.
Anything to keep the detective safe.
John opens his eyes to look at the mastermind. Moriarty says nothing, he continues to stare with curiosity.
"He's not coming." John says exhausted, lowering his head slightly, watching the blood drip from his nose and onto his pants.
Moriarty stares and John tries to keeps his eyes open.
"Just kill me already." John calls bluntly, tiredly. He doesn't have a lot of time before Sherlock wakes again and this is his last tactic to keeping Sherlock safe for good.
"No, no, no, no, no, Johnny Boy." Moriarty shakes his head playfully. "I'm afraid that isn't going to happen."
"What?" John cries, his face full of desperation. He looks longingly into the mastermind's eyes.
"You are powerful, too powerful." Moriarty exclaims, John hangs his head in weary resignation. "I would be an idiot to throw away my own personal telepath."
"You said-" John cries weakly, fighting his attack, the headache and the nosebleed, with poor results.
"I'm soo changeable." Moriarty sings before putting a finger onto John's forehead, causing the blood to envelop the doctor once more. John's memories are strong, sand and blood and London and blood.
The image this time is of cobblestone, a boy lays crumpled on the ground. His skin glows red, blood seeping out of his pores. John recognises the boy as Ian Jeremiah.
"No." John whimpers, trying to shrug off Moriarty's finger. John squeezes his eyes shut. Jeremiah opens his eyes suddenly, the irises are a shimmering crimson. John is forced to look directly into the unnatural, blood red eyes.
"You killed me." The boy's voice is weak and accusing.
"NO!" John screams, thrashing and writhing. The finger is gone and John's breath is stuck in his lungs.
The doctor can't breath, fatigue, exhaustion, panic, agony. It's all taking it toll on the doctor.
"You are too interesting of a specimen to kill, John Watson." Moriarty exclaims before John passes out.