moriartybooty

nightmares

2018-12-26T19:56:35Z

A few months had gone by after Sherlock's proposal and lately John Watson had been feeling like the happiest man in the world. However he hadn't heard a word from Mary. This was unsettling.

He'd deleted her number long ago so there was no way for her to get in contact. Even if was in contact with her he'd tell Sherlock. Surely if she'd spoken to Sherlock he'd say something.

But that was the thing with Mary. She could be capable of anything. And she had been silent lately. But if Sherlock noticed anything suspicious he'd know.

John awoke with a gasp. He had been startled by a nightmare, something that hadn't occurred much recently. Before he met Sherlock he'd have plenty of nightmares about the war. But these weren't dreams about the war.

He sat up, took a breath and tried to recollect his thoughts. Finally managing to calm down and assure himself, John shut his eyes and layed back down.

Just as he did Rosie began to cry from the other room. John sighed. "She must be having a nightmare too."

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Don't keep me waiting

2018-12-26T19:51:48Z

"Pool. 40 minutes. Come alone. Don't keep me waiting."-JM

The text was sent immediately after Jim arrived. He looked around and studied the empty room, remembering slight bits of information he'd forgotten over the years. Like was color the walls were, or just small stuff that he didn't really care to remember.

Carl had died here. He definitely remembered that. How couldn't he? Carl's death was one of the things that brought him to Sherlock Holmes. Sherlock was the only one who figured it out. Yet the police didn't believe him.

Jim smiled at the memory.

Ah, Sherlock. It'd been a while since they last met. Last time they met it was the same location; he strapped a bomb to John's chest and almost shot the two of them, had it not been for Irene. That bitch.

This time would be different. Just him and Sherlock.

Jim shivered and shoved his hands into the pockets of his coat for warmth.

"Cold. Kinda wish I'd dressed warmer." he mumbled before looking down into the pool at his reflection.

Of course there was the chance that wouldn't just be them. Perhaps Sherlock has called the police ahead of time. But he knew he wouldn't, and he was willing to risk it anyways.

Suddenly feeling the urge to text him again, Jim pulled out his phone.

"Running late? Looking forward to seeing you."-JM

Finishing off the sentence with a flirtatious smiley emoji, Jim sent the text and waited.

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Months gone by

2018-12-26T19:49:17Z

"John." Sherlock mumbles sleepily from the couch, thoughts of his blogger on his mind. It's been a couple hours since he last shot up and the addict in him already considering another.

If he could quit, he would. He'd quit for John. Just for him. John is the most important thing in his life. He's a mess without him.

Months have gone by since he's last seen him, but right now John is the last person he wants to see. It's a lie obviously. He's desperate to have him back again. But he can't face the look in John's eyes, knowing perfectly well why his best friend in the entire world hates him.

"I killed your wife."

Love, marriage. He may not understand it but he loves John and he understands his pain. To put John through pain is like a shot through the heart, and with every dose of drugs injected into his system it numbs the pain.

Lazliy, Sherlock stretches an arm to reach for the phone. Part of him wants to call John. The other part just wants to call his dealer and go back to sleep.

He can't talk to John now, not after all that happened. But he's desperate and nervously picks up the phone to make the call. He waits anxiously, urgently needing to hear his voice.

But it doesn't pick up. Instead, somewhere in the flat a phone buzzes, soon left on voicemail.

"John?!" He immediately jumps up from the couch, heart beating nervously fast.

From the opposite side of the room is the figure of John Watson.

His blogger. His best and only friend.

Sherlock stares in awe.

'My Watson, how I've missed you.'

Nothing about him has changed. Still amazing as always. Perhaps ten times more. It's been so long but of course he could never forget that face. He's memorized it. He's memorized every bit of John Watson that he can. Nothing could be more important.

John's memory would forever be buried inside his heart.
And it would never ever leave.

John looks up to meet his eyes. As he does the detective looks away and wishes the drugs hadn't worn off so quickly.

He can't see John. He doesn't want to see it, whatever it is in his eyes. Anger? Sadness? Pain?

'I've hurt you John.'

Sherlock closes his eyes and hears John let out great sigh.

"I see your back to old habits."

Disapointment. Sherlock's heart sinks.

"Yes." Sherlock mumbles. He knows he's let John down.

The sound of John setting something down on the floor gains his attention. Suitcase?

Sherlock turns his head and makes a brief deduction.

'Yes, suitcase. Old, few scratches from taxi ride, packed three hours ago, taxi ride about a hour to thirty minutes. Taxi driver was female, blond, rather tall. Tried to give John her number. Declined the offer?'

Sherlock scans over him.
'Been having nightmares for the past four weeks. Tired. Lonely. Hasn't been sleeping. Packed specifically for an over night stay. Intends to stay over night. Missed me?'

Sherlock gazes into John's eyes and almost melts.

Sherlock opens his mouth and tries to think of what to say. "So....um...."

John coughs and breaks eye contact.
Sherlock looks to the floor.

"You planning to stay long?"

"Hm?"

As John begins off his coat Sherlock's eyes venture back to him. He can't tell if John's pretending he didn't hear or if he actually didn't hear. But whatever it was, he'll say it again.

He wants John back. Desperately.

But apparently John has heard because he answers. "Oh yes. Um, I just...thought I'd drop by to visit. Couple days maybe?"

Sherlock shruggs.

"Who knows."

Then there the silence. Its the moment he's been dreading. They'll have to talk about it eventually.

"Why have you come back?" Sherlock asks. He hopes to avoid any arguments as much as he can.

"Because." John stops and goes quiet. "Because I know you miss me."

"And so have you." Sherlock notes. "Wheres Rosie?"

"Babysitter." John explains.

"Oh."

John walks over to the fire place and picks up a picture frame siting above it. Sherlock remembers the photo well and clear. Its of them on the day of the wedding.

Just him and John.

"This was the only one we took together." John smiles. "Thought you would've thrown it out."

Sherlock smiles as well. He knows he'd never.

"Care for some tea?" The detective offers.

But John chuckles and shakes his head. "No. You need to get cleaned up first."

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Stag night

2018-12-26T19:46:11Z

Frowning, John adjusts his shirt and looks into the mirror. He's not really looking forward to tonight. The stag night is tonight and that means tomorrow is the wedding.

Worst of all he'll be out partying with Sherlock all night. Just a painful reminder of his mistake in choosing Mary.

It took three years for him to recover from sherlock's death. Well, actually no, how could he recover? He'd always had feelings for Sherlock but now Sherlock would never know.

I love you. Those three little words, he'd never be able to tell him. Only had he whispered them at his grave, visiting nearly every week to drop by and say it, hoping each time he'd hear.

Every night started with a prayer for his return. And with each night, sleep became impossible. Even the slightest things reminded him of his presence. The smell of cigarettes, an empty chair, they were all memories.

Sherlock was everything. Without him, John had nothing. But now, Sherlock had returned. And John had Mary.

With a sigh, John unbuttons and puts on another shirt, deciding he didn't like the first one.

He knows he can't help but love Sherlock. But he's married to Mary now. Or will be soon. But at least he's got tonight. Maybe he can forget.

"Sherlock?!" He calls aloud as hes finally finished dressing and looks around his room. "You seen my phone anywhere?"

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The fall of Jim Moriarty

2018-12-26T19:40:18Z

Jim yawned and stretched from under the blankets of his bed. It was morning and he already knew what day it was. His suicide. He'd planned it for months.

He'd meet up somewhere with Sherlock and bring a gun. And then it'd all be over. Sherlock would be ruined and Jim Moriarty would be dead forever.

But of course that meant no Sebastian.

Jim opened his eyes and stared blankly at the ceiling.

He hadn't thought that part out throughly. If Sebastian was dead how could they be together? Sure they weren't together, but he still wanted to be with him.

Since the moment he laid eyes on him he'd been in love. But that was stupid. Sebastian was just like all the others, a dumb sniper who saw him as nothing more but a way to make money.

He had buried those feelings deep down inside and tried so hard to ignore them.

But he couldn't.

He wasn't going to tell him either.

Jim got up from the bed and headed in the direction of the kitchen, dragging a blanket along with him.

Today was the day. Might as well make the most of it.

"Sebastian are you awake yet?"

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Too much to tolerate

2018-12-26T04:39:25Z

It had been about two hours of driving. Two long hours of tired reckless driving. Jim knew he'd have to take care of the body.

Having just murdered a man who happened to pick him up from the side of the road, the body he stuffed in the trunk would get hard eventually and he wasn't going ride into town with a corpse in the back of his newly stolen vehicle.

Jim yawned and held his grip on the stirring wheel. Although tired, he focused on the wet road, determined not to let it leave his site. He couldn't fall asleep now. Rest was out of the question until he got into town.

Where ever town was. The map directions made no sense but hopefully town wasn't far away. The gas tank was getting low and there was no way he was going to walk in the middle of the storm. He was too sore to move.

It had been a awful week for the consulting criminal as he had barely escaped with his life from a violent gang of violent kidnappers. It was a deal with a client gone wrong that left him injured and exhausted and above all just wanting to forget it ever happened.

Yes. Forget the whole thing.

He'd have to figure out some way to get rid of the body, but at the moment he didn't really care. Pain was too much to tolerate.

To make matters worse the car had no warm air conditioning or anything. the onl thing that worked was the stupid radio and the only thing playing was a channel that screeched with loud static.

For now he would suffer in silence.

Jim gave a second yawn and blinked his tired eyes. He missed warmth. He missed home. He missed...anything but this.

Jim closed his eyes.

Moments later, the car crashed and he blacked out.

...

As Jim stumbled out of the car he slowly began to come to his senses.

He'd just crashed the car. It still wet outside and the dead body was still crammed inside the trunk.

Getting rid of it didn't matter now. Jim was bleeding and slowly limping his way along the road.

How greater could this day get?

Jim sighed and was about ready to collapse with exhaustion.

Then in the distance he saw a dirt road leading into the wood where he could clearly spot a house far past the trees.

Jim squinted his eyes and limped over in the houses direction. Someone lived there. Whoever they were, he was headed in their direction. It'd be getting dark soon and he'd have to stay somewhere.

When he approached the house, the first thing he noticed was the motorcycle sitting in the open garage. Its strange to think someone would leave a garage door open in the rain, especially with a good looking bike that anyone could steal. It'd be a good ride to get into town and with no one around to catch him he could easily snatch it.

Though he wouldn't pull that move. Most likely someone was home and it'd be stupid to assume otherwise.

He had to be alert. Had to be on guard.

Remembering the gun he'd left in the car Jim felt his pockets and looked around for something, a knife or a weapon or anything. Really.

What was the plan even? Knock at the front door and shoot them in the head?

Then he heard the sound of a car pull in from behind him and turned around just as the car went to park. He watched as the man stepped out of the car.

The guy was tall, big, and looked rather manly. Over all just attractive and good looking. Perhaps too good looking because as the man walked over Jim was still staring like a wide eyed gaping idiot.

But before either of them has the chance to speak, Jim hit the ground and passed out.

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