John very nearly resorts to physical violence in order to preempt the man trying to get into the cab, and mutters an excuse about being the police, sort of. The other man scowls at him but John has shouted, "St. Bart's Hospital" and the cab is already screeching away from the kerb.
o-=
Sherlock is frozen in place for what very well may be the first time in his life. He manages to raise his face and locks eyes with Moriarty, who is still grinning from ear to ear.
The morning sun is still beating down hard in the white rooftop, and Sherlock can barely think. Another first.
"It'll be all over the news by this time tomorrow, I guarantee it, Sherlock. And I don't mean some small-time gossip like the one Miss Riley writes for, no, this will be the front story of all the major news corporations. It'll be out of the country within twenty-four hours, and by then nothing will be able to stop it." Moriarty turns his back to Sherlock, feigning disinterest, though Sherlock can feel tension radiating from the man.
"They'll go for you first, Sherlock. And then your brother and his cronies, all the high-clearance government workers in all the governments, and it won't matter if they were involved or not.
"Do you know how angry even ordinary people can get, Sherlock? You just can't beat the numbers. Humans won the first war, and they'll win this one, too, but this time they won't leave anything like you around to interfere."
Moriarty's voice is nearing passionate for the first time, breaking its façade of indifference, and this is when it hits Sherlock. He walks toward the consulting criminal and grabs his shoulder, spinning him to face him, and his theory is confirmed when Jim flinches very slightly at his touch.
"What did they do?" Sherlock asks.
A long pause follows. The quiet buzz of the streets below is starting to pick up.
After a few minutes, Jim breaks the gap.
"They – you – were supposed to be the dawn of a new era, of peace, did you know, Sherlock? They were intended to be enforcers of the law, enforcers of harmony, can you imagine? The idea was that superior intelligence would know what was best for the human race, how best to lead it.
"But you Augments ruined all that, didn't you? How was it put among the eventual revolutionaries? 'Superior ability breeds superior ambition.' Threw the metaphorical wrench into the experiment, and you know how that feels, don't you, to have an experiment ruined?"
Sherlock can see it now. "All the scientists were killed trying to fix the 'experiment', as you call it. Someone close to you was one of them, maybe more than one someone…?"
Jim doesn't reply, but Sherlock knows it now.
Bitterness, even hatred, can be a paralytic in most people, but in James Moriarty's mind, it has apparently become a powerful motivator. Not to crime, Sherlock decides, since Jim most likely would have become a criminal no matter what, all things considered.
So it hasn't driven him to crime, but rather to put himself at risk, something he rarely has done in the past. His face is in the newspapers, his name is out, and he's inadvertently changed his modus operandi.
One of the reasons why Sherlock hadn't been able to track the criminal Moriarty down was his extreme caution, his refusal to carry out his own crimes, instead choosing to mastermind from behind the curtains.
Now, however, he's been reckless, exposed himself even a little, and chosen to let his name become public.
Sherlock still doesn't know much about Jim, but he can guess at the reason why he no longer is trying to be cautious with his own life.
=-o
John tries to calm down, telling himself that the cab can't go any faster without causing an accident, and as a doctor he shouldn't under any circumstances have a reason to cause injury, but he can't convince himself. Images invade his mind: of Sherlock, drugged and kidnapped; Sherlock, dead in a back alleyway; Moriarty and Sherlock grappling on the roof of a tall building; even Moriarty revealing that he is one of the missing eighty-four Augments, though John knows his age isn't right, even for a slow-aging genetically augmented superhuman.
He stares out the window, but it only serves to remind him that the vehicle won't move fast enough and he returns his gaze to the empty seat next to him.
John can't help but think that the Eugenics Wars are involved in this in some way, though he can't be sure, as all the scientists were killed by their own creations and the Augments were, in turn, killed after the wars – excepting the eighty-four, he remembers again.
o-=
"You know, Sherlock, this has been a load off my back. Truly.
"You don't believe me? Honestly, carrying this kind of hatred around, it's a real burden, even for me. And now? Now, I won't have to anymore, because here's what's going to happen in the next few minutes." The gleeful smile is back on Jim's face, broader than ever.
"I'll say it slowly, just so it's clear to you, because if you don't follow my instructions exactly, well, let me give you a little extra incentive. Your friends will die if you don't."
Friends. The wretched word hits Sherlock almost physically. He used to think that he didn't have friends; after all, caring… caring wasn't an advantage. One of the things Mycroft had been right about. Presently, it isn't helping his position at all. He wasn't supposed to care so much.
And a little voice at the back of his mind whispers, But John.
He'd said it to Irene, hadn't he? Sentiment is a chemical defect found in the losing side.
He certainly doesn't feel like he's winning, just now.
"John," Sherlock breathes. Dear god, John.
Jim's still smiling. "Not just John." He lowers his voice, whispers in close. "Everyone."
Sherlock remembers the apple, the graffiti, the windows. He exhales, "Mrs. Hudson."
"Everyone," Jim says, now practically dancing with glee.
"Lestrade." Sherlock wonders why he hadn't stolen John's Sig so he could've blasted the evil bastard's smug face into pieces, but soon he'll realize that this wouldn't have helped his situation a bit.
"Three bullets, three gunmen, three victims. There's no stopping them now," Jim says, moving away from Sherlock.
"Unless my people see you jump," he completes.
Sherlock gazes out behind Jim, not seeing him. The London skyline, beyond the ledge of the St. Bart's roof, is still and cold. The metaphorical calm before the storm.
"Your only friends in the world will die, unless…"
Moriarty pauses, waits. Sherlock finishes the sentence, resignedly. "Unless I jump. Complete your story."
"You've gotta admit that's sexier." The bizarre grin just doesn't go away, and Jim still has more to say.
=-o
John hits the ground running, but slows after he nearly plants his face in the asphalt. Striding quickly toward the entrance to Bart's, his mobile rings and he answers to Sherlock's voice.
"John."
"Sherlock, are you okay?"
"Turn around and walk back the way you came now." Sherlock's baritone might or might not shake slightly, but the quality of his voice is distorted by the phone.
John protests, making to go into the building.
"Just do as I ask. Please. John, leave now, I'm begging you, don't be here."
If there is one thing that John will not do, it's what Sherlock is directing him to right now. He refuses.
Sherlock speaks again. "John, I – An apology."
"For what? No, wait, no you aren't saying–"
Deep breaths on the other end of the line, uneven. "Not exactly, no.
"John, what did your father do? While he was alive, what was he like? What did he tell you?" Sherlock asks, calmly now.
John doesn't want to know where this is going. "Stop, Sherlock, get off the ledge, we'll talk, whatever the problem is, don't do this."
"Never mind, forget that. You'll see it soon, I suppose–" he breaks off, and the static in John's ears crackles unevenly in contrast with Sherlock's heavy breathing in the other end of the line.
o-=
Sherlock knows with absolute certainty that in a few seconds, all the ties he's made in the last few years will be worth nothing, there will be no more John and Sherlock, and everything they've done together will have gone up in smoke.
He spares a moment to wish that he'd burned his bridges better. It would have been less painful in the long run, he supposes, but it's too late for that here so all he says now is, "Goodbye, John."
He lowers the phone and then lets the device fall from his right hand, staring straight ahead.
Sherlock spreads his arms.
=-o
Sherlock falls gracelessly, and quickly, and John can do nothing but stare up in stupid astonishment, because his heart has stopped and his lungs are no longer sending oxygen to his brain.
It's the part when Sherlock tips forward that appears slow, when his feet are still connected to the cement ledge on the roof of St. Bart's and John can still believe that Sherlock can save himself if he wants to.
But as soon as his body leaves the edge, Sherlock plummets, arms flailing uselessly, like an attempt in vain to slow his fall, and to John the drop is quick, over almost in a blink.
The pavement appears to rush up to eagerly meet his friend, and John can hear the sickening slap as flesh meets concrete and the crack that seems to split the air and echo through John's mind so that he cannot hear for several seconds, or so it seems.
The world must stop turning now, he knows, because his best friend is lying on the pavement, still, and this is simply not an option, not in John's world. He wants to run to Sherlock but his legs will not move, and this is both fortunate and unfortunate, because if he'd tried to move he would have surely tripped, and this way he is erect when the unthinkable happens.
Because Sherlock gets up, and when the world starts spinning again, John feels as if he will be flung off the surface of the earth.
He is being torn in little bits, destroyed from the inside ever so slowly as his brain struggles to comprehend the impossible.
The thing that almost nobody knows, even among we who remember the Wars, is that some of the Augments went missing and were never executed.
Remember what I've told you, John. Never forget.
John's heart mutinies, and all starts to fade as Sherlock struggles to his feet, to explain, an agonized expression on his face as he looks at John.
Whose mind is lost in a loop as black fills his vision:
sherlocksherlocksherlockAUGMENTsherlock?