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A Bit Worse	By : VulpineBeesKnees Category: S through Z > Sherlock (BBC) > Sherlock (BBC) Views: 2624 -:- Recommendations : 0 -:- Currently Reading : 0
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Chapter List
- 11
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"We've really come full circle now haven't we?" Moriarty glanced down at bottles and then back up at Sherlock. He was carelessly holding John on the edge of the metal framework, but he seemed unaware of his precarious situation. His blue eyes were fixed on Sherlock desperately.
"Although last time you didn't play my game right. Apparently someone," his lip twitched in anger and disgust as he glared at the man beside him. "Stopped you."
His face relaxed as he looked back to Sherlock. "But that won't happen again, not this time. I assume you understand the rules of the game, the twist of course being if you refuse then you lose your precious doctor." He relaxed his grip on John, so the man swayed slightly, as if to make his point.
Sherlock held up a hand as if to stay Moriarty’s anger.
“I’ll play.” He said, almost having to shout over the wind, “I’m assuming it’s just like it was before.” he started moving towards the other two men and stopped where the two bottles were. He stooped down and picked them both up, one in each hand. His left hand and arm throbbed weakly with the residual pain from the burn and having his nails ripped off, but he ignored it.
He looked down at the pills as he walked and tried to decipher which pill he should take. They were both identical, white capsules with red spots. He was sure there were no differences so he stopped not too far away from Moriarty and John, about five feet or so, and held both bottles up, watching for any reaction the man might have to give away the nature of them.
“I suppose one will kill me, and the other won’t?”
"I really should not have to explain this to you." Moriarty spat, obviously bored. He took a step closer to Sherlock, dragging John behind him. "I do hate repeating myself." He sighed heavily, they were within arms reach of each other. "Yes, one will kill you and one won't. The only real difference is that the bad pill is... a little slow acting. It'll take twelve hours to be precise."
“And if I take one, you’ll release John?” he asked. He didn’t see any indication as to which was the one he should take.
“Of course.” The man’s wily smile made Sherlock nervous, but he turned his gaze back down to the pills in his hand. When he had picked them up the one on the left had been precisely 5mm closer to Moriarty than himself. Based on the knowledge that Moriarty wanted him to live, he had to deduce that there was a reason one was closer to him than the other. Tossing the one from his right hand off the side of the bridge, he unscrewed the bottle and tipped the pill into his hand. With a slightly shaky hand he placed the pill between his teeth and hesitated. If he made the wrong choice. He may only have twelve hours left with John.
But at least you’ll have twelve hours. At least John will be alive.
With that thought in his mind, he swallowed the pill.
Moriarty glowered at Sherlock as he swallowed the pill. He violently pulled John forward as he growled at Sherlock. "Always!" He shook his head as his voice rose. "You always choose wrong!"
John was beginning to struggle listlessly against Moriarty's grip. But it was no use, he was being hung over the edge of metal frame, a drop he wouldn't survive.
"You want your bloody doctor?" Moriarty was becoming manic as he shoved a limp John toward Sherlock. "Catch him."
The moment Moriarty had let go of John he'd slipped to the side, missing Sherlock completely. His body hit the metal hard and then he was slipping down, his body still too drugged to grasp onto the slick metal.
“No!” Sherlock sprinted and dove for John, barely managing to capture his forearm as he slid forward. He cried out as the doctor’s weight jerked on his arm, and fingers gripped his burned skin. Grunting, he reached out for the man’s other hand.
“Come on John give me your other hand!” He gritted through his teeth, “I’ve got you.” John was swinging precariously, and there was no way Sherlock was going to let him plummet to his death. Not now that he’d come so close to having him back.
Moriarty leered from a safe distance. "You were supposed to be me Sherlock! You have disappointed me, you disgust me."
John managed to reach up, locking his fingers through the detectives. His blood was racing, helping him come to his senses. Gripping Sherlock’s hand tightly he nodded, he was okay, he was there.
Moriarty leaned forward over the pair of them. "You're really willing to die over that." His voice was a bitter snarl. "I can't believe I thought you'd be a fitting successor."
Sherlock growled and pulled John up to the girder, helping him over the side, and wrapped his arms around him. Even though it had been the start of all this, he showed his affection and relief by a brief press of his nose and cheek on top of the man’s head, just to reassure himself that his doctor was indeed safe. He stood then, whirling on the man, making sure to keep John behind him at all times.
“Who do you think you are playing with people’s lives like this? You act like life is just a game for your pleasure. You act like....” He stopped cold. Moriarty acted exactly how Sherlock had been taught all of his life. He acted like sentiment was a weakness.
“My sentiment for John does not make me weak. It makes things harder sometimes yes but my life is so much fuller he entered my life and I began to care for him. Maybe that’s your problem.” He took a step towards Moriarty, not wanting to leave John but knowing he couldn’t just let this go.
Moriarty shook his head, backing away from Sherlock. "But it does. You put your life on the line over and over for... For that." His eyes shot back to John. "Why can't you ever make the right choice?! You could have let him die, and you would live… But you don’t. You let your heart rule your mind. It’s pathetic."
Squaring his shoulders, his lips turned in an animalistic snarl he stepped back towards Sherlock. His eyes were alight with anger and resent. "You were supposed to be me." He sounded confused, even through the veil of anger.
Sherlock snarled back and stalked to the man. Gripping him by the lapels he lifted the older man into the air, shaking him like a ragdoll. The cocaine was making him bolder and angrier than he ever remembered.
“I will never be you.” He spoke through grit teeth as he started pushing the man backwards, “For the simple fact that I am not willing to do these things to people....”
Moriarty barely seemed phased by the sudden attack from Sherlock. He cackled horrendously, throwing his head back. "Do what? Kill people? Put innocent lives in danger? Sherlock... What wouldn't you do for John? You're just a weak pathetic version of me." Grabbing at the front of Sherlocks jacket, pulling them almost nose to nose he growled. "My blood, my flesh. Hell Sherlock, without me you wouldn't even exist."
“I AM NOT YOU!” He yelled. His body was shaking now and he released one lapel to punch the man across his face. Sherlock didn’t stop there, he reared back and punched him again, because the man was right. He’d taken innocent lives. He’d killed Irene, he’d killed Mary. He’d hurt John because he was selfish. He should have never helped Lestrade with the new cases, he should have stayed wrapped up in John and getting better.
The man before him was everything he never wanted to be. With a growl he released him totally and punched him once more. They were getting dangerously close to the edge, but Sherlock didn’t care, all he knew was that he had to destroy what he could become. He had to kill Moriarty so he would never become him.
“SHERLOCK!” John yelled out, but the detective was lost in a coke and anger filled haze. John was finally aware enough to see as Sherlock pulled back to punch Moriarty once again, how close they were to the edge. Scrambling towards the two of them he somehow managed to grab hold of the hood of Sherlock’s coat just in time. As Sherlock’s fist made contact with the bloodied mess that was now Moriarty’s face the older man lost his footing, pulling Sherlock down with him as he fell back off the edge of the bridge.
John collapsed as his arms cried out from the sudden weight, but he held on tightly, the hood being the only thing stopping him from losing Sherlock for good. He saw Moriarty quickly lose his grasp and plummet down. A thin trail of blood trickled down his right arm, the bandage soaking through quickly under the pressure. “God Sherlock..” His breathing was labored, “Reach up and grab my arm!” Each gust of icy wind caused the slick material to slip through his fingers.
Reaching up Sherlock gripped John's forearms, trying not to flail against the wind. Moriarty screamed as he plummeted down, hitting his back on a girder with a sickening crack, and tumbled into the water. No one could survive a fall that far.
"John!" He called up, "John are you alright?" His breath was coming fast and he knew he had to calm down or he would hyperventilate.
For once John was thankful that Sherlock was ridiculously light. "I'm fine," he breathed as he helped Sherlock up, pausing to readjust once he had Sherlocks upper body over the edge of the girder. There was a fine stream of blood dripping down his wrist as he aided Sherlock over the edge.
They both looked like shit. John was still in his dark jeans, his shirt never returned to him. The skin of his arms and chest were littered with cuts and bruises. A dark ring of hickeys circled his neck, a less permanent but no less painful reminder of the past few days.
Finally Sherlockstood and removed his jacket, wrapping it around John's shoulders. He stood there for a moment, just looking down at John, almost not believing after all of the ordeals he'd been through, that both of them made it out the other side.
Gripping John's upper arms, he let his eyes roam over his face before pulling him in tight against his chest.
"I thought I was going to lose you..." Sherlock pressed John close to him, trying to remind himself that this was finally over, that, no matter what happened to him, John would be okay. "Come on, lets get you to the hospital..."
Mentally and physically exhausted John leaned into Sherlock, breathing him in as he nodded against his chest. John wasn’t exactly clear as to how they’d ended up on the bridge. He knew he’d been under the Devil’s Breath yet again, the important thing was that he had Sherlock. Sherlock was alive, and Moriarty was dead. With John leaning heavily on Sherlock, cradling his bleeding arm against his chest, the two made their way down off the bridge.
John was fairly certain he heard Sherlock call someone. Lestrade?
He wasn’t sure, his mind was cloudy, and he couldn’t focus right. Had he lost too much blood finally? John hadn’t remembered sitting down, but then Sherlock was beside him, his thin arm wrapped around John’s shoulders. Whispering that help was one the way, that everything would be alright.
“Don’t leave me now...”
That was the last thing John heard as he drifted off.
A/N: So if you haven't noticed, the game Moriarty was playing losely matched up with all the big cases Moriarty was involved in. Big Ben-The Fall, The funhouse with John on hounds-Hounds, Killing Irene-Scandal, the torture trials-the great game, all the assasains-The blind banker, and of course the pills-a study in pink.
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- 12
- 13
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A Bit Worse