Defeat
Harry had texted her late prompting her to stay out most the night on another stake out. It seemed that Harry had uncovered quite a bit with the background check he had done on Joseph Morris. The man had a half-brother that went by the name Richard Brooks. A prominent math professor at University that had invited Hermione to come speak to his class around the time she moved in with Sherlock. Richard Brooks had been an actor before his career became none existence do to fraud charges that had been filed after claiming he had been hired by the famous detective to pose as a Jim Moriarty, whom now was supposed dead. The similarity between the two men are staggering as they could very possibly pose as twins yet according to legal records neither men were related.
Hermione returned home early the following morning and was able to get two hours of sleep before being awoken by Sherlock who did so by plopping a warm washcloth on her face.
Sherlock was fast becoming a bit too attentive for Hermione's peace of mind. The man hovered. He noticing everything, from the micro expressions that conveyed when she was upset, to being aware of her skin sensitivity to certain soaps, he was even aware of the timing of her monthly cycle.
It was in all becoming a bit too much.
Sherlock was obsessive about her health. Just last week one sneeze dictated a trip to Dr. Watson's clinic and this morning he was watching her with clinical precision. "What are you doing?" Hermione inquires sitting up on the couch where she had fallen asleep.
"You were out late. And we are needed across town. You have three minutes to get ready. It is imperative we are prompt."
Hermione groans throwing the wash cloth off and laying back down.
Apparently sleep was not a luxury she was allowed by either of the men in her life.
Sherlock pulls her up off the couch without another word pushing her towards the door. Hermione has enough time to grab her coat before being shoved towards the stairs. She has two option to climb down them or fall down them.
She chooses option number one.
Their cab ride was sort and Hermione used every moment coming up with clever insults that she chose not to share. They arrived at Dr. Watson's clinic unbeknownst to her, because apparently Sherlock had made her an appointment early that morning claiming it to be urgent. Blood is drawn as Hermione sits there glaring at her flat mate as the lab tech finishes.
Everyone is skirting around them with goofy grins but Hermione was not nearly as amused with Sherlock's antics as Mr. And Mrs. Watson seem to be.
Sherlock was hovering again this time over John as the doctor pulls out his stethoscope and listen's to Hermione's heart. Mary leaves the room taking blood specimen with her.
"She is fine, Sherlock. Her blood pressure is lovely, a testimony in its self since she lives with you. Your...ah...concern?...is unfounded." John declares turning to look at the detective. Sherlock apparently is not pleased by John's assessment.
"Absurd. She had a fever. You took it yourself with that the temporal thermometer. Low grade, but still a fever. You can't go out tonight with Mycroft." The detective declares taking the stethoscope and listing to Hermione's back. His hands on her shoulder as John walks over to lean casually against the counter looking annoyed.
"This is really pathetic. Perhaps you don't recall the wash cloth you plopped on my head before we left, of course I have a low grade fever, you idiot! I am going tonight, this charade of yours is not going to stop me." Hermione tell her flat mate.
Who is not listening to her words but her heart, the stethoscope now placed on her chest.
"Grumpy mood swings, irrational anger, fatigue, delusions of conspiracy, you are sleep deprived. You can't go out tonight it is for your own mental health, tell her John." Sherlock motions with his hand to the doctor, but cutting across the man as he begins to speak. "Plus added stress could weaken your already fragile state of health, its best you stay in and get a full night sleep." Sherlock declares placing the stethoscope on the counter. John shrugs and Hermione looks at Sherlock impatiently.
"Ridiculous. I'm going. This little charade of yours really is insanity." Hermione firmly states besides, if she was sleep deprived it was partially Sherlock Holmes' fault to begin with.
She knowingly let him to set the rhythm of her life. Staying up late just for a moment more in his company. He was a like a fascinating book from the restricted section she couldn't seem to put down.
She had went on stake out last night with Harry investigating the great mystery that had become her life since she moved in with the consulting detective.
Hermione was trying to work out the daunting puzzle that stood at her feet, a puzzle she was unwilling to share with Sherlock until she was sure he was not in danger.
She wasn't about to put him at risk, not when she could save him.
The brilliantly beautiful and complex man that she could argue with for hours and still want to cuddle up with on the couch that same night reading whatever text book he had procured.
She enjoyed spending time with the irritating man even when he was purposely being difficult. Sometimes Hermione wonder if at times Sherlock disagrees with her because he actually enjoys to hear her lecture him.
Sherlock also liked to test her. She knew that all the sharing of ideas, and experiments...they were all examines, ways for him to evaluate exactly how clever she really was.
Yet Hermione was not insulted because there was never a test she couldn't pass with extra credit. And perhaps that was the whole point, her keeping Sherlock ignorantly safe was her extra credit.
He wouldn't see it that way but he would be alive.
Someone was out to burn him that much was painfully obviously.
After John finally agreeing on a diagnoses of exhaustion, (with a small nod that Hermione read as get out), Sherlock allowed her to jump down from his exam table and put her coat back on. It seemed both men would see her stay home tonight.
Sherlock's arm is already around her waist as they walk out of John Watson's office. Sherlock is like a detective with a mystery: he simply will not let it go. "John was even insistent that you need more sleep, I'll let Mycroft know you can't make it tonight." The detective offers hailing a cab.
"I'm going, Sherlock. Nothing you say is going to persuade me otherwise. Two hours of sleep in 24 hours really isn't that shameful. Nothing compared to your trickery. Claiming that Mary had gone into labor. You should be ashamed of yourself." Hermione lectures her roommate sliding into the back of the cab.
"And oddly I'm not." Sherlock declares earning a scowl from Hermione.
"You are impossible." Hermione declares rolling her eyes.
The silence lasts the rest of the way home.
When they arrive at Baker St. Hermione hurries up to her room to get ready for that evening even getting a couple more hours of sleep before needing a shower.
She picked her dress out weeks ago, and looking at herself in the mirror, she didn't know what she was doing.
Playing the game perhaps, but she really wasn't even sure what game they were playing at this point. Her dress is elegant- a short white number with a flare skirt. It was conservatively cut but would draw his eyes just the same.
Sherlock always had an insult comment concerning her provocative attire.
Tonight Hermione decided, she could be accommodating.
Mycroft was to pick her up for the theater within the hour. Hermione grabbed her coat throwing it over her arm descending the stairs to their shared living area. Sherlock is pouting on the couch. Hermione had kind of expected another elaborate plan to prevent her from going out instead he stands the moment she walks in giving her his full attention. "You look lovely." He praises as he motions to the tea set on the coffee table pouring her a cup.
Hermione's eyes narrow suspiciously at him and she can feel her heart flutter at his complement. His presence alone was enough to distract her from obligations. How many times had she cancelled on friends or put off assignments just to spend time with him? Too many, she was sure. Hermione had never met a man as intelligent and attractive as Sherlock Holmes. She could forget the world if she stayed with him too long.
She gave him too much power.
Hermione twirled, with girlish flare, just to watch Sherlock's pupils dilate. His attraction to her was growing and it was becoming harder for him to hide.
Hermione walks over to pick up the tickets on the mantel.
"Thank you." She acknowledges his complement, looking over to see the kitchen sink is still filled with dirty dishes. This upsets her in a very basic and type A way. She is contented with the anger, it helps keep things in perspective.
Keeps her from flirting too much.
She has no intention to nag. Not tonight, there is no reason for her to start a fight ruining her building excitement before her evening even begins. "Are you sure you won't come. There are two ticket, Mycroft purchased another one just in case you changed your mind." She tries to make it sound tempting, like he will be missing out. But Sherlock just shakes his head as he fixes the tea.
"No. An evening with Mycroft and my parents is not as tempting as one would think." He replies picking up two cups and walking over to her.
"Your parents? I am going to meet your parents…thought you had been hatched." She tries to conceal her surprise. Mycroft hadn't said anything about parent. But there is a recollection of her and Sherlock cuddled on the couch, him making an off handed comment that she barley remembers.
Sherlock hands her the cup as she looks at it suspiciously. "To calm any nerves you might have." He reassures.
"Are you poisoning me?" She asks, wearily taking the cup and sniffing the contents.
"Don't be so dramatic. I wouldn't be so forward if I were poisoning you. Miss Granger, you are far too clever for that." He declares taking the cup back and drinking out of it before handing it back to her.
She takes a sip and smiles. "Rose and orange! Thank you." She takes another drink before places the cup on the mantle and picks up the tickets. Sherlock is watching her and Hermione can't help but be suspicious. She opens the envelope to look at the tickets, when Sherlock speaks causing her to pause and look up at him. He is standing incredibly close to her and she can't help but wonder what he was planning.
"Post came. You have another invitation from Professor R. Brook. He is eager for you to come speak to his class, I can't imagine what about... That name seems familiar. He sent roses... Where do I know that name?" Sherlock's asks himself. Hermione knows he is up to something. She looks around the room, keeping Sherlock in her peripheral vision as she tries to figure it out, what he had up his sleeve to ruin her night.
Hermione quirks an eyebrow and looks up at her flat mate suspiciously. "Brook is an Arithmetic professor." Hermione shares, like this should mean something to the detective, as she pulls the tickets from the envelope, deciding she would just have to trust he would behave.
"And you are you a mathematician? I thought you were a Spy?" Sherlock asks. He knows she saves orphans and solves crimes with Mr. Potter, but Sherlock got the impression both of these were more a keen to hobbies than her actual profession.
Hermione shakes her head reading the tickets. "No. But my specialties do encompass a variety of subjects. Harry calls it a professional Know-it-all." Her phone rings and she places the tickets back in to the envelope to pull out her phone.
Sherlock is standing very close and far too casually. Once more making her suspicious of his intent. As she answers her mobile Sherlock catches her hand before she can put the device to her ear. The motion causes her to sway, she suddenly feels dizzy. His arm is already around her waist as she feels a sedative take effect. Everything happen so fast that Hermione is caught off guard unable to stop him from pulling her phone from her hand, so she slaps him when he looks away to toss her phone on a nearby table.
"You selfish prick. You did poison me!" She declares stumbling into him from the force of the slap.
He smiles in that pained semi-amused way as he smartly boast of him one upping her. "Yes! But it wasn't the tea." He comforts her seriously, not even phased by her scorn.
"The tickets. You laced the tickets..." she figures it out while trying to fight the effects of the sedative. "I trusted...y..." She accuses as her head slumps onto his shoulder.
"Don't." he suggest to the semi-unconscious beauty as scoops her up bridle style in his arms. The door opens and Mycroft is standing there with their parent; both of whom look scandalized.
"What did you do now?" Mycroft doesn't look phased with his sour expression and quirked eyebrow.
"Miss Granger is not feeling well. The prospect of spending the whole evening with one of British's most eligible bachelors made the poor girl swoon." Sherlock's snide insult did not go unappreciated.
There is a twitch of amusement at the corner of Mycroft's lip, "I see, so you did not murder Miss Granger?"
Sherlock glares at his brother hugging Hermione tighter to him. "You really have to ask?" is the detective's indignant answer.
Mycroft raises an eyebrow in that annoying manner clearly wanting direct reassurance.
"Of course not! She will wake in a couple of hours with a small head ach but other than that she will be fine." Sherlock yells looking down at the heart shaped face of his roommate then back up at his family.
Mycroft rolls his eyes. "And are you feeling well enough to grace us with your presence?" Mycroft asks sounding bored.
"Don't be absurd. I must stay at Miss Granger's side to make sure she makes a full recovery. I'm sure Mummy and Daddy understand." Sherlock states.
"Of course we understand." their mother says recovering before their father. "We will wait in the car, Mike." she says taking her husband hand and leading him back out the door blowing Sherlock a kiss. His father recovers in time to wink at Sherlock before leaving the brothers alone.
"You really have outdone yourself this time. I had hopes for you and Miss Granger. I see now how foolish I was." Mycroft states with his nose in the air. "Do not make an enemy of her, brother dear, she would be far more useful as an ally." is Mycroft's advice before he leaves Sherlock to his own vices.
Sherlock makes Miss Granger comfortable in his bed, her eyes have yet to fully close as she looks at him from under her eyelashes. "When you meet my parents it will not be for Mycroft's amusement." He confides to her, sure she will remember none of it. Then he places a glass of water and aspirin on the nightstand going in to do the dishes. He had purposely left them to get her all riled up, now however they were starting to attach bugs.
There is a tug of guilt in the deepest recess of his mind palace and Sherlock wonders only fleetingly if he has in fact ruined what little trust Hermione had for him. Perhaps, he considers, this has ruined any chance of her telling him that big secret he keeps from the world. Hermione Granger was not nearly as easy to read as most. And when he tried to do a background check he found that Miss Granger's files were confidential, not even Mycroft had the ability to look into her past. Hermione Granger was...
Heavy footsteps on the stairs interrupt his thoughts.
Even with the water running Sherlock can hear them and they are familiar in a way that sends off warning bells. Sherlock leaves the water running throwing a dish towel over his shoulder as he walks over to get his gun, tucking it in his waist band before returning to the dishes.
The living room door squeaks open and Sherlock turns to get a full view of a very much alive Jim Moriarty walking through the door.
"SuPRise!" The snake greets in that annoying fluctuating pitch. "You have tidied up the place. It's interesting how complimentary THings can be with a woman's touch." Moriarty says casually leaning against the kitchen door frame a bag of popcorn in his hand.
Fear is Sherlock's first emotion, not surprise or intrigue: those follow. The first is the fear he has for the unconscious woman in his bed. Sherlock turns just so putting his body between the threat and the hallway that leads to his room.
Moriarty's expression telling Sherlock a million and one things about his thoughts but nothing screams louder than the desire for destruction.
"Oh, don't be like that." Moriarty says with a sweeping hand gesture. "I'm not jealous, we never said we couldn't see other people, Sherlock. I tried to be considerate...timed this perfectly so we could have a little alone time. Wouldn't want her thinking you were cheating on her now would we? I have been asking her for months now to come be a guest speaker for my class, I think she is ignoring me..."
It all clicks, "Richard Brook." Sherlock whispering the name remembering it to be one of Moriarty's alias. Or perhaps Moriarty was an alias for Richard Brooks. "You're not dead. But why would you just let me deconstruct your terrorist cells. Took me two years." Sherlock wants to know.
"I know. I spent my time productively, feeding your little mice tasty treats, and Joseph Morris did have his uses. Did...now he eats out of a straw." Moriarty shared, and Sherlock remembers how Hermione slammed the reporter's face into his desk. This causes Sherlock to smirk. Prompting Moriarty to continue his boasting "When did you suspect your homeless network had been comprised? It did seem fair. You deconstructed my information network, it is only right I poisoned yours."
"In the process you murdered a child!" Sherlock accuses harshly, recalling Hermione's tear stained face.
Moriarty shrugged. "Orphan couldn't be bought, he was too loyal and it got him DEAD!" the professor yelled the last part. "A picture worth a thousand words or in this case 13 deaths. He was a naughty boy stealing the photos I paid for. He didn't want to play nice."
"So you're back from the grave? Why now? Wait all this time. Your death was an impressive accomplishment…how did you fake shooting yourself in the face, did you have a mentally unstable twin?"
Moriarty rolled his eyes. "How boring." The psychopath claims. "It's a bit more creative than that. Desperation can stain the purest of souls. Your Miss Granger's halo glows white."
Sherlock's back is to the hallway his eyes still trained on the snake, "I understand death has improved you, you are a professor now?"
"I have always been a professor, try to keep up!" Moriarty grows impatient. "You are always one step behind, not able to keep up. You disappoint me over and over no matter how many chances I give you. Still you manage to get in my way. You were right, though, you might be on the side of the angels but you certainly aren't one." Moriarty declares with a shrug. "I still owe you though, don't I?" He asks stepping forward holding the popcorn back out as if offering Sherlock a handful.
Sherlock shakes his head. "We have yet to solve the final problem." Sherlock acknowledges, trying to work out the real reason behind this house visit.
"Ah but I have the answer." Moriarty shares. "I already told you how it ends. I am going to burn your heart out." Moriarty threatens.
Sherlock has already noticed that the popcorn bag is from the theater, the same one his brother and parents were at tonight.
"It was nice of Mycroft to send ticket for John and Mary as well as inviting your little girl friend. Just imagine the whole family all in one place sitting down together to watch, what is playing tonight? Les Miserable? The miserable ones. Ooh sounds like it will be a blast." Moriarty says with a sickening smile eating a bite of popcorn before backing out of the apartment. "I did warn you Sherlock. You should have stayed dead."
With that the snake was gone and Sherlock was left to digest the information he had been fed.
Phones have been turned off, Sherlock is unable to reach anyone so he calls Lestrade warning him of the possible threat to the Theater. That phone call is followed by a text to Bill Wiggins who shows up at the apartment ten minutes later.
If there is anyone in his network that was loyal it was this man. "Watch her." Sherlock commands in a hurry, throwing on his coat and pointing in the direction of his room before his feet hit pavement and he is hailing a cab to the theater.
Sherlock's heart hammering as he tries to work out how he will find the bomb and save everyone in the theater, everyone that means anything to him. This is why emotions were a weakness to allow the wicked to see your heart, because they will always use it against you.
The cab is half way to the theater when the cabby stops in the middle of the road his eyes on the rearview mirror and Sherlock turns to see why they have stopped. There behind them is a huge fire blazing several blocks away. Sherlock opens the door climbing out of the cab to look back slacked jaw at the raging infernal behind him. It was in the region of 221B Baker Street. Sherlock notes, then he is in a dead run, sprinting all the way back to his flat to find it consumed in fire.
The flames so high and engulfing every last piece of the structure there was no way that anyone could survive. Firemen were already on the scene trying to squelch the raging inferno. There could not have been a time that Sherlock had ran so fast or fought so hard to get into a building. Hermione was in there helpless asleep, unable to save herself and it was all his fault.
Moriarty had said, "her halo is white", followed by a promise to burn Sherlock's heart out. And the snake had waited all this time for this opportunity. Sherlock is interceded by two fire men that refuse to let him by, holding the detective back as the flames continue to rage. There was nothing to be done but contain the flames until they died down. Sherlock hits his knees, panic and despair engulfing him as he realizes he is helpless to do anything to stop this, his heart burning as a pain filled sob escapes him. This is was agony. This was anguish because Hermione was dead, and it was his fault.