Disclaimer: Nothing here belongs to me, it's all BBC and Marvel owned
Sherlock clutched at his throat, wheezing as the air forced itself in and out of his windpipe. He knew that it was pointless, but the damned reptilian part of his brain wouldn't let go of the desperate need to try and survive; not that he was going to die.
Loki's hold on him was painful and violent, but he had not killed him. Yet.
He could only observe (while chills crept up and down his steadily numbing spine), hanging a foot above the ground, suspended by the unstoppable force of Loki's magic, as the god strode, arm extended in his direction, towards the madman that had almost ruined his life, a cold, devious smirk curling his lips.
Moriarty ambled back around his hyperbolic and grand desk, swinging his feet up to rest on his papers, and bringing his hands together beneath his vicious, self-satisfied grin.
Sherlock caught a shadow passing over Loki's face at the action, but it was gone before he could have even hoped to analyse it. The detective was certain that Moriarty must have seen it…If not, he was so wrapped up in his own delusions than he had dared to expect.
"I said…go on." Loki hissed, on the cusp of restrained disgust and malevolent interest, "Do not allow your power among your pathetic kind to misinform your behaviour in my presence."
Moriarty chuckled darkly, his dead eyes lighting as only they could, making Sherlock's blood run cold as he addressed the Asgardian. Sherlock knew that he couldn't have done it; the scuttling but proud figure of before had been transfigured into an imposing, dark presence whose power practically crackled in the air.
Moriarty had a death wish…or he knew something they didn't.
"Oh…don't give me that 'almighty god' routine," Moriarty tutted, rolling his eyes; Loki's face contorted with rage, but he sucked it in as Moriarty continued, though he was unable to hide the trembling fury in his raised hand, "I know exactly how powerful you are – that's why I waited here for you to come to me. But don't pretend that you are anything more than a man…" Moriarty continued, and then as if as an afterthought, "and an ally."
Sherlock tried to curse, to shout at Moriarty, or to knock some sense into Loki, but all that came out was a rasping groan and a heaving cough. Moriarty's eyes flickered towards him, but Loki didn't waver, in fact, flexing his fingers, loosening and then tightening the hold on the detective's throat.
"An ally?" he breathed, and then the knowing smirk returned and Loki rolled his shoulders in contempt, "I see…why would I ally with the foot-soldier when the Master hasn't even the grace to bargain himself?"
Once again, Moriarty's face split into the manic, insane grin, his eyes bulging, and he let out a chilling, vindictive laugh that pierced the very walls. An icy, plunging sensation clawed at Sherlock's guts as he recognised the tone that promised that a whole world of plans had yet to be revealed.
As Moriarty brought his laboured breaths under control in an unnatural snap from frantic to deadly, Loki glanced momentarily at the detective, his quirked eyebrow the only sign that he wasn't completely on top of events.
Sherlock would've offered words of suggestion…if he hadn't been choking in the air.
"The Master…" Moriarty sneered, "The Master…he was nothing, he placed too much trust in his accomplices…he had no…vision."
"As a Timelord of Gallifrey the Master is already a god amongst your kind mortal." Loki sneered, and it seemed as if a sharp breeze whipped past him in his indignation.
In his indignation, Sherlock realised before him which tense Moriarty had spoken in.
Moriarty spared him another vibrant frown, a wonky, flickering smirk morphing his lips as he scanned the detective scrabbling at the invisible hand around his throat. He then fixed his gaze on the god.
"Loki, Loki, Loki…" he shook his head as he uttered; Loki's chest heaved, as if he were holding in his anger at the disrespect that was wafting his way; Moriarty's expression hardened, "The Master is dead. Your god was weak, and I disposed of him."
Loki's eyes widened fractionally, and Sherlock ceased struggling, actually holding his breath.
"Disposed of?" Loki inquired; if not for infinitesimal motions, he would have appeared completely unconcerned. He did not step forward, he didn't have to. His presence filled the room, darkening and weighting the air with his magic and vacillating anger.
"I stepped up behind him, and I slit his throat." Moriarty said plainly, and Sherlock expected it, the coldness, but it still made him queasy when he thought of how close he had once got to the man, "I don't think he even realised what I had done until I was thrusting the knife in again, to make sure he couldn't regenerate." Moriarty's eyes burned icily as they bored into the god of mischief, "Weak...but you have something that I need."
"And what would that be?" Loki whispered, raising his chin to look down at the psychopath. His face had returned to the placid intrigue, and any hope that Sherlock had held faded.
"Power" Moriarty practically salivated, "Your power and your mind…the Master was intelligent, he provided the knowledge and the technology for me, unbeknownst to him, but he was nothing more than a tool…you…you could be a valued ally."
"Why would I ally myself with something as lowly as you?" Loki snarled, and Sherlock hissed at the increased pressure on his throat, "If you believe me to have such power, why would I waste it on your petty human schemes?"
Moriarty didn't flinch.
"Because unlike the Master, I have vision." He described, his eyes never wavering, "He wanted to destroy, to watch the world burn and die when he met someone strong enough to squash his army. Me… I want to be entertained, I want to make the world dance in the flames…" he seemed to rise and contort, "and you God of Mischief… you understand that – I know the legends, I saw the carnage you brought to New York…You could kill me in under a second, just flick your wrist and I'd be dead – but you won't, because I understand your nature, and you will ally yourself with me."
Sherlock wished, prayed that John was making progress with the machine. He could stop this, even if Moriarty, or Loki for that matter, choked him to death in this scant room. In fact, all that he could think of was John – John, and the fact that everyone was at risk.
He had never really cared before – not truly – but if anyone could slaughter the entirety of the human race, it would be Moriarty. And when he thought about it, Sherlock really didn't want to human race to die.
After what could have been an eternity, Loki's vicious smirk reappeared, and Sherlock's couldn't see the glint in his eyes, but he could practically taste it in his tone.
"So…you understand me…" he drawled, "Tell me then how your scheme differs from the Master's plans for mindless destruction. I believe that under his command the monsters were to destroy Midgard, and then Asgard, and then whichever planet his deluded mind carried them to next – yet you have vision that he does not – explain that to me!"
Moriarty beamed, a stiff grin that pulled his lips back, revealing his bared teeth.
"I don't want destruction, I want to be entertained – Earth has nothing left for me, but it will be fun to watch people try to stop my monsters…I have the power to control them in my hands, a trigger, and stopper – the Master inserted telepathic chips in their brains so that they will follow my every order!" Moriarty exulted, and Loki's expression didn't waver, he merely watched with disdain as the madman explained; Sherlock was torn between horror and relief that Loki's grip on his throat loosened ever so slightly, "And then I will go to Asgard – oh Asgard!, all those aliens with such power, such abilities…watching them will entertain me far more than anything here," he spat scornfully, and then concluded, "and that is why you will help me, to get back at them, and for mischief."
Loki scoffed, and the pressure on Sherlock's throat increased once more; he had no idea what the god was going to do. If it had been anyone else, he was sure that Loki would have turned them to ash for their impudence…but Moriarty, he had the ability, and now that tools, to succeed.
"You, a mortal, wish to rule Asgard?" Loki's voice filled with hateful mirth.
Moriarty shook his head, scowling as if disappointed.
"No, that's not what I said. You can rule Asgard – that's your motivation for helping me, a little piece of nostalgia." He scolded, "No, no, no…I want to be entertained. My monsters will beat the Aeseir down, place us in command, and then I will have the gods, dance for me – they can fight the beasts, fight for their realm, or they can do the smart thing and wait until I have them fight among themselves. Either way, they will all die…they'll just believe they have a chance to live."
If Sherlock had been frightened before (and he was sure that apart from the times when John was missing, he had never been this frightened), he realised that that had been nothing compared to now. Moriarty could do it, he could.
And Loki wasn't moving. His face was hard to read, turned away, lit only by the mediocre lamps in Moriarty's office. The fingers on his extended arm were flexing, alternating the pressure on the detective's throat, and his breathing was controlled.
"You want to slaughter the gods?" Loki breathed tonelessly; Moriarty grinned wickedly, as if he had already won, "Every single one of them?"
"I thought that was what you wanted – to revenge yourself upon them." Moriarty replied dully, his joy never sinking, "You may pretend to aid these Avengers, but we all know that nobody can trust the god of deceit."
A sardonic smirk flickered on Loki's face, and he continued to stare at the man slouched before him. Silence stretched between them, and then Loki spoke again, business-like.
"You realise that the Avengers have found a way to eliminate the portal you hope to open." He verified in a superior, airy tone.
Sherlock thought it rich that he didn't mention his own substantial part in that particular weapon. He also hoped that Loki wouldn't mention the formula. It was obvious that they had lost the god, if not to Moriarty, then at least in the sense that he chose neither side.
"Of course I do!" Moriarty retorted, affronted, "I made sure before the Master that we had covered any weaknesses. That machine cannot be shut down without the controls, which are Isomorphically linked to me and I'm not stupid enough to open just the one portal." He boasted drearily as if he were sick of the world and its dragging nature, "I'm going to tear portals open all over London – there's no way that SHIELD scientists have the technology to tackle that." Sherlock grudgingly admitted to himself that that was true, "Some of my monsters will go ahead to Asgard and break down the defences, and when Earth has been completely destroyed…the rest will follow, and Asgard will fall!"
"Very well planned." Loki conceded, his only indication that he was impressed was the slight inclination of his head.
"Yes." Moriarty agreed, and then rose to his feet, striding around his desk to stand face to face with the god, though his head only came half-way up Loki's chin, "So do we have an arrangement? You accompany me, and I will explain the rest of my plans and their execution."
He extended his hand, inviting him to shake it and seal the deal.
Sherlock gasped for breath, and he tried to wheeze out protests. Moriarty threw him a dirty look, but Loki glared down at the madman.
And then Loki's face lit up maliciously, and he extended his free hand, taking Moriarty's in his.
"I accept your terms." He drawled, and then his pleasure turned dangerous, "But remember your place, or I will not regret breaking our truce." He loomed over the shorter man, but Moriarty just scoffed and shouldered past him, heading towards the door.
"That can be arranged during our discussions." He replied sharply, the insanity vacant save for the manic coldness in his eyes as he nodded at Sherlock's writhing form, "Finish him. I no longer require his meddling to keep me from shooting myself."
With that Moriarty left them alone, the footsteps clicking along the hall proving that he was gone.
Sherlock met Loki's gaze and the rush of fear was back. He had no idea what he was thinking, his expression was closed off and dangerous, malicious. The pressure at his throat increased, choking him as Loki stepped towards him, moving in uncomfortably close and bearing down on him.
Sherlock heard his own gargling, strangled sounds, and his fingers scrabbled uselessly at his neck, trying to pry away something that wasn't there.
Loki stepped back suddenly, and the force pinning the detective to the wall disappeared as quickly as it had appeared. Sherlock crumpled to the floor, gasping for air, clutching at his chest. When he looked up at the god, Loki gave him one last lingering stare.
And then he was gone, sweeping from the room in Moriarty's wake, leaving Sherlock gasping in the corner of the office, terrified and confused, his mind whirling in a thousand directions. One thought made it to the front of his mind; he had to find John – and find him with the information that had been promised.
It wouldn't do to be killed by his flatmate when he had just been spared by the god that was quite probably going to kill them all.
Oh dear, Loki's gone rogue.
Here's a short chapter. I can't write much more this week as I've got to revise for a week of mock exams next week.
But, we are drawing to some kind of climax, so there's that to look forward to