Your Eyes Are Blue Again
Title: Your Eyes Are Blue Again
Fandom: BBC Sherlock
Characters/Pairing: Jim Moriarty, Detective Inspector Gregory Lestrade, Sherlock Holmes, John Watson, Sherlock/John
Summary: Moriarty finally figures out exactly what to do to break Sherlock.
Rating: PG-13 (for character death and language)
Contains: A bit of foul language, angst, character death, and love, luckily.
Word Count: 3,488 words.
Notes: I had this idea late one night, and I wrote it with the hopes of making people cry. That's not necessarily a bad thing. Also, this story will have flashbacks. Those flashbacks will be in bold. Enjoy!
John Watson should've known what he was getting into. The first time he met Sherlock Holmes, he should've known this life wouldn't be an easy one; the first time he went on a case with him, he should've known this life wouldn't be a long one. But, he ignored all that, instead turning to how alive it made him feel, more than anything had before, more than even war had. He focused on how much he enjoyed identifying bodies and solving cases and tailing Sherlock around London.
Maybe he should've paid more attention to the things that could've gone wrong. Then he maybe, just maybe, would not have been in this situation right now.
Well, no, I take that back. John thought, staring into the short, round glass in between his hands. Nothing could ever compare to his life with Sherlock, he wouldn't trade it for any other life he could've had. He looked up at Sherlock, seeing the back of his head as he bent over his glass.
Sherlock stared at the loose threads of the sofa cushion, curled up in a ball in his robe with his back to the room. John was typing furiously at his laptop, having already tried to ask Sherlock what he was thinking about now and failing. Sherlock just listened to the keys typing, he could identify each letter by the clack it made, and he had already heard his name typed out several times. It made him smile a little.
He heard the keys stop and the slight groan John made as he stretched his arms above his head in that way he did. Sherlock didn't even need to turn around to know he was doing that, know that he was now rubbing his left hand over his face, rubbing his eyes tiredly, and now looking at Sherlock's back, he could feel his eyes on him.
"Yes, John?" Sherlock asked, trying to make his tone sound exasperated. John hesitated, and Sherlock bit his lip to hold back a sigh. He knew John picked up on the fact that he was acting.
"Nothing, Sherlock." John must've been grinding his teeth, from the sound of his voice. Sherlock sat up and turned, putting his feet on the floor and his elbows on his knees. He ruffled his hair with his hands and looked up at John.
"What is it, John?" Sherlock asked again, and John clicked something on his laptop before shutting it.
"I was just looking up at you, is all." John told him, turning his face away. Was he blushing?
"Are you blushing?" Sherlock asked bluntly, and John looked up, his eyes slightly wider and his cheeks ruddy. "You are."
"You don't make me blush, Sherlock." John said firmly, and Sherlock cocked an eyebrow before flipping back around towards the sofa cushions.
John wished he had told him then that Sherlock has always made him blush, and he always will, until the end of his days, which is looking perceptibly closer and closer with every passing second. He let his hand twitch towards the cup, looking into the water inside. It looked clear. Sherlock was beside him, and he swiftly plucked the cup away from John and held it beside his own, holding the two small glasses up to the light.
"Certainly changes the game a bit when John's involved, doesn't it?" Jim asked in his high voice. "You're not so fast to decide, not so fast to choose, like you were with the pills."
John watched Sherlock analyze the two glasses. Jim had slid a glass to each of them and told them that one glass was poisoned and one wasn't, and Sherlock and John each had to drink one. Sherlock frowned at the glasses.
"John's life is infinitely more important than the cabbie's." Sherlock muttered, not looking away from the glasses. John looked down at his hands. He knew what he was going to do, no matter what.
"Oh, Sherlock, you can't wear your heart on your sleeve like that." Jim scolded him in his own weird way. John watched Jim's face as he smiled at Sherlock.
"You get some sort of perverse pleasure out of this, don't you, you sick bastard?" John spat at Jim. Jim turned his attention to John, grinning wider.
"I do, actually. It's fascinating to see his mind work." Jim went back to watching Sherlock, who was still thoroughly examining the water. John blinked.
"What happened here?" John asked as he and Sherlock entered the small room, the scene of a grisly murder. Buckets of water were constantly underfoot, full of drips from the ceiling.
"Young man murdered, no sign of any blood. Not even in the man." Lestrade explained as Sherlock asked a newer Yarder for a glass. The woman dashed downstairs and returned shortly with a small, clear glass for him, which he promptly filled with water from a bucket and began examining.
"What's he looking for?" Sherlock heard Lestrade ask John, and he heard the rustle of John's wet raincoat as he shrugged. "Probably an example of evidence of DNA in the water." John said quietly, trying not to distract Sherlock from his examination. Sherlock mentally applauded him for that one.
"John's right. And there might be something in here." Sherlock threw the glass to the floor, crossing to John. "Can you send a text for me?"
"Yes, Sherlock." John sighed, the barest hint of a smile at the corner of his mouth as he dug Sherlock's phone out of his jacket pocket. Sherlock hesitated before clapping his hand on John's shoulder.
"Thank you." he told John earnestly, and John looked up from his phone at him and smiled. Lestrade cleared his throat, and Sherlock spun around, narrating who to send the message to and what it was to read.
John couldn't help but smile slightly at the triumphant way Sherlock's face lit up. He put the two glasses down on the table and slid one of them to John.
"I know which one's poisoned." Sherlock said, a hint of pride in his voice, and a bit of solid fear underlying it, something Jim didn't pick up on, but John did. The look in his eyes, his expression, his tone, it told John everything he was feeling, but nobody else seemed to notice.
John pulled on all his ability that he'd picked up from Sherlock, all the acting and masquerading and everything, everything he'd learned, for what he had to do next. He looked up above Sherlock's head, changing everything from his expression to his posture to show that he thought there was some sort of danger there.
"Sherlock!" he exclaimed, gesturing towards the high wall. Sherlock immediately turned around, scanning the wall for the danger. John quickly switched the glasses quietly. John hesitated, thinking quickly.
He's a genius. He'd know I'd switch the glasses. John thought, switching them back before Sherlock turned around, and then caught Jim's eye. Jim just laughed, and Sherlock turned back around at the noise.
"What was there? What did you do?" he demanded, and Jim just shrugged.
"Just a little projection for Johnny." Jim smiled, and John felt a brief moment of gratitude for the man before remembering he was the reason for all this. Sherlock narrowed his eyes and looked down at his glass.
"It's now or never, then, I suppose." John said gently, calmly, picking up his glass just so that his hand was covering where the liquid inside was visible to Sherlock, in case he decided to check. Sherlock picked up his own glass, smiling at John, that fucking smile.
Sherlock smiled at John, John's closed eyes, his smiling lips, his light breathing as he slept. He ran his hand over John's cheeks, to his shoulder, down his chest. John blinked and looked at him, smiling sleepily. Sherlock cursed him for being so adorable in the morning.
"How long have you been up?" John asked, rubbing his eyes and stretching his arms above his head.
"I didn't fall asleep. I couldn't." Sherlock hoped that John wouldn't push, and he didn't. Sherlock smiled again, that fucking smile that he knew John melted at.
"Your eyes are blue again." John said off-handedly. Sherlock blinked and kissed John once.
"Thank you." Sherlock told him quietly, and John smiled.
"No, Sherlock. Thank you."
John watched as Sherlock drank his water, making sure he did drink it before drinking his own.
"But this...this tastes like water." Sherlock's voice was confused, so puzzled, and John sputtered as he coughed at the bitter taste of his own water. Sherlock's head snapped up.
"You didn't switch the glasses." Sherlock whispered. John shook his head.
"I did. But then I switched them back, I know you too well for that, far too well." John looked down into his empty glass, placing it on the table with a sigh.
"John, you...you..." Sherlock sputtered, knocking his chair over and standing up. John stood up, pushing his chair back.
"That was so touching, it's beautiful, honestly." Jim commented, smiling at Sherlock. Sherlock looked up, eyes blazing, and pulled his fist back before letting it snap forward, connecting with Jim's face with a sickening crack. John stepped back in surprise. Jim stumbled backwards, holding his hands against his face, blood pouring through the cracks in his fingers and down his wrists.
"Sherlock. Calm down." John's voice had enough of a broken tone that Sherlock turned to him.
"John, how could you?" Sherlock looked down at the glasses. "Don't you know how much you mean to me?"
"You mean so much to me, Sherlock." John whispered in that gentle way he had. Sherlock looked up from his phone.
"Thank you, John." Sherlock smiled slightly before returning his attention to the phone screen.
"I really mean it. You mean everything to me." John told him again, and this time Sherlock slid his phone shut and put it on the table.
"Is something bothering you?" Sherlock asked, scanning John's face and hands for signs of anxiety or nervousness. He could find none.
"Nothing's bothering me, I just wanted to make sure you knew." John smiled at him.
"I know, John." Sherlock smiled back at him. "I do."
John gripped the edge of the chair back tightly to keep himself upright as he felt his knees weakening. Jim leaned against the wall, plugging his nose with one hand.
"John, what can I do?" Sherlock's hands fluttered uselessly about John's body. Jim laughed bitterly.
"There's not a thing you can do, it's already in his system." Jim smiled. "Another half an hour and he'll be dead."
John turned to look at Jim, frowning. "Why?"
"I knew you'd never let Sherlock drink it. I want to break him." Jim's smile widened into a grin, and he gestured to John with his free hand. "You're the easiest way to do that."
John felt a sensation in his stomach like he was being stabbed. He gasped and doubled over, letting go of the chair and falling to his knees. Sherlock immediately dropped down beside him, trying to lift him back onto his feet.
"Come on, John, you'll be fine. Stand up!" Sherlock shouted, hefting him up. John wrapped his arm around his middle as the invisible dagger twisted, biting his lip to keep from shouting and upsetting Sherlock further.
"You're going to be fine, John, I promise. You'll be fine." Sherlock insisted, sitting John in the chair and turning to Jim. "You will fix this."
"'Fraid not, love." Jim smiled at Sherlock in a twisted kind of sympathy.
No, not sympathy, John decided. Excitement.
"Fix this!!" Sherlock shouted, his voice cracking. He turned back down to John. "John, you're going to be fine, I promise, okay?"
"Okay, Sherlock." John whispered, bringing his knees up to his chest in the chair and wrapping his arms around his shins. It hurt to see Sherlock falling apart like this.
"This is so unfortunate. I wish I was recording this." Jim's mouth popped open in faux surprise. "Oh, wait, I am!" Jim motioned up to the cameras in the corners of the high, white room. "This'll make for excellent footage. Ooh, maybe we could get a screencap for the Christmas card."
"Shut up, just shut up, you bastard!" Sherlock shouted, not taking his eyes off of John. "John, I promise, we'll get you to a hospital and you'll be okay, even if I have to give you my own blood to replace yours."
"Sherlock, can you do something for me?" John asked softly, and Sherlock nodded vigorously.
"Yes, John, anything, I'll do anything." Sherlock touched John's face, maybe trying to make sure he's still there.
"Don't forget yourself." John whispered, and Sherlock shook his head.
"I won't forget myself, you're a part of myself, you're still here, you'll stay here." Sherlock said furiously, as though he was trying to will it to be true be speaking it.
"You're forgetting now, this isn't you." John unfolded himself from the chair and stood up. "This is you panicking. You never panic."
"Sherlock, why are you so calm?" John asked from the other chair. He and Sherlock were tied to two chairs facing back-to-back in a cold, dark stone room. "You can hear them just as well as I can, and they're discussing how to kill us."
"I'm sure there's a way out of this." Sherlock muttered, mostly to himself, as he tried to dislocate his wrist to slip it out of the tightly-bound ropes.
"Sherlock, this is it. They're going to kill us, there is no way out." John sounded miserable. Sherlock had to remedy that if they were going to get anywhere.
"We are going to be fine, John. I know how to do this." Sherlock heard his wrist click and he finally slipped his hands out of the ropes, snapping it back into place.
"I love you." John whispered, and Sherlock's long fingers froze on the knot.
"There is no time for that, John, no need to make any proclamations." Sherlock told him sternly, undoing the tough knot before turning to unknot John's.
"I just need you to know, just in case." John's voice broke. "Please, Sherlock."
"We're going to be fine." Sherlock untied John's knots and slipped them off of him. "Here, see. There's loose stones." Sherlock kicked a stone at about John's shoulder height and it fell away into the wall, allowing sunlight to shoot into the room. John helped, pushing in ones around his height until there was enough space for them to pass through.
"See? Easy." Sherlock stepped through the opening, grabbing John and pulling him through after him. "We're fine."
"I still love you." John whispered quietly, and Sherlock pretended he didn't hear. He didn't need to have the guilt of love weighing on his conscience if he kept bringing John everywhere.
"I think he has every right to panic, John, dear." Jim lightly scolded him. Sherlock scowled.
"Don't call him dear, Moriarty." Sherlock growled, touching John's face. John's knees buckled under him, and he gasped aloud.
"Sherlock, don't let me die, please." he pleaded, and Sherlock eased him into the chair.
"Shh, John, I won't." Sherlock kissed his forehead and ran his fingers through John's hair. "It'll be okay."
"Uhm, actually, it won't be. He's got roughly ten minutes left." Jim clicked his teeth and shrugged. "Everybody has to go sometime, I suppose."
John's eyes were wide as he looked up at Sherlock. "I have ten minutes, Sherlock."
"You have so much more time, John. There has to be a way out of this, there's a way to fix this, you're going to be fine." Sherlock pressed two of his long fingers to John's neck. John wrapped his hand around Sherlock's wrist.
"Sherlock, no. I have ten--"
"Eight." Jim chipped in, and John glared at him. "Sorry, so sorry. Go on."
"--eight minutes left. That's it." John tightened his grip on Sherlock's wrist. "I don't regret it. The world needs you."
"The world needs you, too, John." Sherlock's eyes looked wet. John was surprised, he's never seen Sherlock honestly cry, not once. He's never even been legitimately teary.
"Not as much as it needs you." John bit his lip hard against the pain, feeling a coppery taste in his mouth from the slight trickle of blood.
"What hurts?" Sherlock asked softly, checking over his exposed skin.
"You're not going to find anything, it's just shutting down his organs from the inside." Jim commented, coming around to them. Sherlock stood up to his full height.
"Leave." he ordered, and Jim seemed genuinely surprised for just a moment before he regained his composure.
"I'll be watching you break, don't worry." he hissed to Sherlock before looking down at John. "Goodbye, John. It was nice to know you, love."
Sherlock balled his fists again, but John laid his hand on his arm, looking up at him pleadingly.
"Five minutes, Sherlock." Jim clasped Sherlock's shoulder and blew a kiss to John before leaving, slamming the door behind him. John looked up at Sherlock with wide eyes.
"I'm scared, Sherlock." John whispered before he gasped loudly, letting his head fall forward as he wrapped his arms around his torso.
"This isn't it, John, it's not." Sherlock insisted. John looked up at him, then down at the floor.
"I think I'll lie down." John stood shakily, clinging to the chair.
"No, hold on." Sherlock pushed everything off the table and picked John up, laying him down on the table gently. "Better?"
"Sure." John forced a smile onto his face as he clutched at his side. "Oh, god, that'll be a kidney, won't it." John laid his head down and closed his eyes. "It hurts, Sherlock."
"It won't anymore, John. It won't, I promise." Sherlock touched his face, kneeling beside the table. "Why?"
John opened his eyes to stare into Sherlock's. "Why what?" His voice was raspy, thin, almost gone. Sherlock closed his eyes and took a deep breath before answering, forcing his eyes open again. John's were duller than before.
"Why are you dying for me?" Sherlock whispered, and John reached for his hand. Sherlock grabbed it in both of his and squeezed.
"Because I love you, you idiot." John smiled. "Don't worry about that, though. Practically everyone is."
"An idiot?" Sherlock asked softly, and John squeezed his hands weakly.
"No. In love with you. It's hard not to be." John's face screwed up in pain, and Sherlock stared helplessly.
"I love you, John." Sherlock whispered, and John forced a smile on his face, staring into Sherlock's eyes.
"Your eyes are blue again." John whispered. "That's my favorite."
Sherlock watched as John shut his eyes.
"No." John's hand went limp in Sherlock's two, his fingers unclenching. Sherlock let go, standing up, tears streaming steadily down his face. This is what it feels like to die. The door swung open.
"Is it over?" Jim peeked at John's still body, unmoving chest. "Oh, good. That was dreadful to watch, you know. I almost wish I hadn't." He paused a moment. "Almost."
"You bastard." Sherlock crossed over to Jim in three long strides, leaning over him menacingly.
"What are you going to do, kill me?" Jim asked, smiling widely. He obviously was not afraid.
"No. I want you to kill me." Sherlock told him sincerely, the tears halting. He brushed the wetness off of his face.
"Oh, you're serious." Jim laughed. "You're completely serious. Hm...no, I don't think I will."
"Why not?" Sherlock demanded. "That's what you want, isn't it?" Spiraling. He'll be back with John soon, he never
believed in any kind of afterlife, but John has to be somewhere, doesn't he?
"No, what I want is to break you." Jim kept laughing. Sherlock just stared at him. "John's death did that better than your own." Jim turned and went back through the door. "Shout when you're ready for him to be collected. It's your decision, you put him there." The door shut loudly behind him.
Sherlock turned around slowly, and saw John's still body. And he broke.
"Sherlock?"
"Yes, John?" Sherlock turned away from his microscope at John's completely serious face.
"I love you." John whispered, and Sherlock smiled.
"I love you, too, John." Sherlock leaned over and gave him a quick kiss before returning to his microscope. He heard a rustle and John's shadow vanished. He turned back to see him kneeling on the ground. "John?"
"Marry me, Sherlock?" John asked, looking up at him with those wide eyes. Sherlock chuckled.
"You want me to marry you?" he asked, just to verify this wasn't some trick. John half-smiled.
"Yes, I do." He looked from Sherlock's legs at eye level up to his face. "God, you're tall."
"Yes." Sherlock crouched down beside him.
"Yes, you're tall?" John laughed, and Sherlock kissed him.
"Well, you're short. And I'll marry you." Sherlock smiled, and John beamed at him.
"I'm so excited to spend the rest of my life with you." John said giddily.
And he did.