CHAPTER 5: THE TRIAL (Part 4)
Although having tried to delete it, the detective had failed to erase one certain mundane, and useless thing from his hard-drive. And now, it was coming back to bite him. He always took special careful behavior over what he stored in his mind, and assiduously hand-picked each and every thing which he deemed suitable and important enough to warrant a place among all the knowledge he possessed. Of course, there were a few things he just couldn't delete, but he took great care in seeing that everything he positively did not want inside of his head stayed trapped in one of the three locked rooms he had built within the palace, and it should've stayed that way.
But when it comes down to it, the boffin could understand the reason why his own mind had chosen to bring forth this particular data. Him, not ever having been one for metaphors, found himself elaborating an analogy of his situation with an ancient myth, and after what he had set off with Moriarty, he could only muster two words that could come close to describing it: Pandora´s box.
A day after the crucible was done, the criminal had payed another one of his unwanted visits, and with Sherlock being currently at the middle of a strop, it was fair to imagine things would only go south from there.
"Holiday's over. It's time we continue with our little game." He stood in the middle of the room, just assessing the enormity of what he had already achieved and what he would accomplish. Boasting around with Sherlock as a supposedly well-earned trophy as if saying "Look what I'm doing to this man! Look how strong he was and I'm just tearing him apart!" and the consulting detective would comment, but his mind was more preoccupied with much more relevant things than embarrassment. And while his brain ran and circled and hopped, his temper would attempt to murder anyone who dared to interrupt him.
"No." Came the strong baritone voice from the annoyed form curled up in the floor, with his back against the world, not even deigning to acknowledge its existence. "No." He said again, even though he abhorred repetition, he felt once was not enough of an impact to make his resolve known.
"What?" The criminal asked in disbelieve. "No?" His warning tone could be recognized from outer space. He was giving him a chance. An opportunity to back-pedal and changed what he had just said. Because if you could believe his word -which you couldn't- he didn't take pleasure in punishing him.
"Yes: No" The boffin knew he was playing with fire, but he couldn't exactly bring himself to care. He wasn't just going to sit there and take the abuse any longer. The brown-eyed man had already taken a little too much from him, and he refused to do as he said and be ridiculed for it again without at least putting up a fight.
"Perhaps I may have not made myself clear, here." He stalked towards the back of the other man. "You have no say in this," The criminal fisted a handful of raven locks and yanked back the man's head until the musician's skull was moved, and he was left facing upside down at the face hovering above his. "And you will deny me nothing!" His temper, as a perfect imitation of the detective's, flew out of the metaphorical window.
As soon as Sherlock felt insidious worms snaking through his wild curls, a burning sensation of dread and disgust crept along his spine. His head was pulled back, and it would all be very amusing if it wasn't so abominable. For when one looks up at the sky, at heaven, one expects to find angels, to find some source of comfort and help; and he, very agreeably with his luck, could only see the exact opposite. He supposed it was to be expected, since celestial beings, if ever real, would not want anything to do with him, not ever.
"You can, and I'm sure you will, attempt to take any piece of me you please. But you can't expect me to lay down my soul for you; as I said before: you cannot break me." The words crept out of his mouth, belligerence-dripping and threatening, up to a state of catatonia to any lesser man they encountered in their path. But Moriarty was no lesser man -if a man at all- and poison-coated sentences did nothing to him. He was used to hatred, he knew that dance already. And any venom that Sherlock could ever leach out at him, the parasites beneath his flesh would eat alive before it could do any damage. After all, with what else do you feed your bloodsucking minuscule friends if not with tiny slices of consulting detective?
James released his head with forceful anger, making it bounce slightly on the wall before him. The hit had his forehead already being marked by a red blotch on the middle and his brain rattling inside his skull. A powerful migraine was on its way to have a full effect on his abilities, and why did the lights just seem so bright?
"I do not believe in unbreakable things." The maniac said, taking a step back. Watching as the detective brought his hand to his temple, and the corners of his mouth turned upwards a bit. Sherlock could never conjure how was everything always so easy for him. How did he manage to always be one step ahead? Whilst the boffin was forever stuck stumbling behind him, never quite gaining. Never being able to keep up.
"There's nothing more to be done tonight, though. You have already been judged." The psychopath couldn't seem to decide if he was addressing the captive before him, or the horde of neanderthals he brought with himself into the room. They had appeared to have gone full-circle, the two of them; the musician thought bitterly. Only with the slight difference that it was him, rather than the criminal, who was being held in trial this time. "You are to know the verdict tomorrow morning."
That got the detective's attention. Tomorrow? Since when did the criminal left something really worthy in entertainment for to-morrow? He couldn't even fathom why would anyone wish to delay something which could offer them any level of excitement. "Why?" He blurted out before he could stop himself. Curiosity was a second-nature to him, and sometimes -more often than not- it got the best of him. When Jim looked at him bewildered, as if not having expected the question, the silver-gazed man elaborated. "Why wait until tomorrow? Why not start today?"
The query was unanticipated, but Moriarty supposed the nature was completely understandable. If the roles were reversed, he also would wonder why was his enemy stalling, neither of them being virtuous in the art of patience. "You are going to have to brace yourself and mind for what's coming," A fair answer to a just question, and the scowl the other man was wearing was enough to make the consulting criminal feel rather smug. "I'm offering you a sporting head-start, prey. I suggest you seize it."
And that's how Sherlock found himself at the situation in which he was now. All the bad and sick things that anyone could ever imagine raining down on him. Escaping Moriarty's head after being trapped for so long, even before actually happening. Dancing and flying away from their origin, those cruel, atrocious beings were inexorable. Darklings, so somber yet so bright, that when the detective took a seeing at them, they tore through his eyes and left him undoubtedly blind. And even though the musician didn't know exactly what the criminal was going to do with him, he could see how it would play out.
Because when one sets out to satiate their own curiosity with trying to play fate, probing and poking at the beast, one's hand is bound to be chewed off. And when the case that was the brain of the most disturbed man on earth was opened just to see what was inside it, maledictions were destined to be let out. All good things would be consumed and devoured by a sucking leech. Any comforting thought had died out a whimpering death, and the curly-haired man's hope was next in line. He realized his mistake at tampering with things he didn't completely comprehend, because now he could see -even if he didn't know how- his destruction just because he wanted to know. Now he understood, that just like Pandora, he should've never opened that box.
Author's notes: Thank you so much for the ones reading this story and giving their opinions. If you have any questions or hypothesis, feel free to tell me.