Re: fill - Help from the dark side 1/?
anonymous
November 30 2010, 07:09:34 UTC
John felt as if his heart had melted. It was as if it was sliding down pass his stomach taking all his energy, joy and hope with it. He had built himself up for this moment. This confession. Thinking "It's ok, he must like me somewhat. He wouldn't be with me for this long for nothing. And he would at least be honest with me."
Oh he was honest alright.
His laugh had sliced and diced with the skill of his deductions. He had noticed the attraction. He wasn't just slightly socially unobservant, like not knowing the solar system. No,he had noticed. He had used it. Like he was a servant, a dog.
He had just walked out the flat, which he had invested his life in for the last year. The one thing he had trusted. After all the gunshots and shell shock, the one that seemed ok, was now associated with dead comrades.
He kept walking along the streets. He kept walking and walking. He knew at the back at his mind that the solder's legs could walk after long days for hundreds of miles. So it wasn't a surprise when he was out of london. Not that anything would have been a surprise in his state. The whole world had turned to grey. As if his emotions had run out of battery. He kept walking. He didn't know for how long. He didn't notice the increased stares at a stange man walking at what became at all hours. From 12am to 12pm and back through all the hours all over again. Only the vague last point of reason to make sure he asked a confused retail person or worried parents (hiding there children) for water. The only thing that made him turn was when he couldn't walk no more. He had reached the coast. He sat down on the beach torn between what silence the water could bring. He simple sat and waited to see what would happen.
Sorry it gets a bit rambley at the end. What do you think? Please be kind first time.
Re: fill - Help from the dark side 2/?
anonymous
November 30 2010, 07:55:53 UTC
Moriarty had men everywhere. Absolutely EVERYWHERE. And all of them one after the other called in the sighting of John Watson. At first it had been nothing. Moriarty didn't have Sherlock dancing for him, so he was only keeping security tabs and an eye out for opportunities. Some big, some small. The most simple of recent amusements being the chance to steel every single left sock from Mrs Hudson's laundry.
The first message was about John leaving the house in a slightly weaken state. He knew that this wasn't uncommon. The man may be devoted to sherlock, but not even a saint would be able to stay sane around sherlock all the time. John was a great pining love of Moriaty. Such loyalty, such that you could never get in the criminal world. No matter how many favors were forever owed. No, all of it wasted on an asexual psychopath. Sherlock would never have the empathy to notice John. He would never be grateful. But Moriarty still loved as John did, to watch the almighty Sherlock weave his magic. He thought he would simply have to watch Johns beauty with it.
Hence curiousity did come with looking at the photos sent in text, but nothing more. Just a slight pine and a mental command to himself to consider it no more. But as soon as he put his phone down another image text came, and another, and another. It all together showed the progressing of John past all his men. He got more and more weak and more and more desheveled, but he kept walking none the less. Moriarty put on a different messaging system, differant, higher priority and soon he had a weeks worth of pictures flicking like a film showing john traveling across the towns and coutry side until he got to the coast. To which John in his his bewilderment, as if he had been teleported there, sat down.
He was sitting there for an hour, now on live feed. Moriaty staring at him on the screen. Trying to figure him out. He looked at his face. It was almost as if he was waiting for something. A thought with almost violent thrust jumped into Moriarty's head. He was waiting for someone. Someone like his beloved Sherlock. Moriaty was like Sherlock. In fact Moriaty believed he could surpass Sherlock.
Moriaty saw with excitement an opportunaty. An opportunity to show John what sherlock should have been like. What so much more John could have. He grabbed his coat and ran out the door shouting orders.
Like hell he was going to miss his chance to be John
ok part two. Hope it's on track. Will now type on protective romance that follows : )
Re: fill - Help from the dark side 3/?
anonymous
November 30 2010, 10:08:20 UTC
Something that should be noted; I'm from Australia so if the geography is completely off SORRY.
John was still sitting and staring, as the water became more tempting. He didn't really notice Moriarty who in the most subtle way, as if he didn't have aproximately ten men behind him waiting for any requests, walked down to john and sat apon the pebble beach. He looked at john, the closest he had ever been to him without a death threat between them. To the gentle John he lifted a cautious hand softly to his fellow man's face. At first touch John seemed to flinch. With slight hesitation he started to softly stroke Johns tired face. At first John seemed some what tense, that concept of danger from Sherlock's gallivents not leaving him, till he confronted what was left of his reason to find he no longer cared for his life and rested into the stranger's comfort with closed eyes.
Moriarty gained more confidence with this and started to do as he had dreamed and ran with gently firm fingers through Johns hair. John took this as some form of acceptance and seemed to lean to the side and was caught by Moriarty's body as Moriarty caught him in an embrace. Gently, ever so gently, Moriarty rocked john as a tear ran down the broken man's face. Moriarty whispering in his voice at it's softest "It's ok, I'm not him, I'll always notice when my solder's in trouble. I'll look after a comrade. I'll love you"
John kind of recognized the voice, the body, in the back of his mind. The body of a man fighting against Sherlock. But he stopped following Sherlock's command. After all Sherlock wasn't there for him. Moriarty was.
Moriarty Kissed John's forehead and with his seemingly limited strength he lifted John up and his men separated to let their master through. They didn't really know what was going on. But if it was important to Moriarty then it was important to them.
One opened the door of the long black car for them, and Moriarty carried in an drained John. In the black car he laid john across the seats with Johns head on his lap. He had already informed the driver to drive softly. Still stroking John's face he said "sleep my dear, sleep". In the car's conforting warmth john fell almost instantaneously unconscious.
Less then a minute after Moriarty's car had driven away, another car pulled up rather frantically. Before it had stopped a man Called Mycroft jumped out and ran to the shore. In his first time in a panic state he ran down to the beach and looked around desparately at the now deserted beach. With a look of shere horror at his own short coming he said "I'm too late, He's gone!"
Re: fill - Help from the dark side one and two with corrected spelling,hopefully more to come
anonymous
November 30 2010, 10:18:12 UTC
I don't think I have quite figured out the spelling correction. It's my first time. So I ran it through word so this is all three with better spelling and grammer. Tried to post them all a once but it was two many charectors
John felt as if his heart had melted. It was as if it was sliding down pass his stomach taking all his energy, joy and hope with it. He had built himself up for this moment. This confession. Thinking "its ok, he must like me somewhat. He wouldn't be with me for this long for nothing. And he would at least be honest with me."
Oh he was honest alright.
His laugh had sliced and diced with the skill of his deductions. He had noticed the attraction. He wasn't just slightly socially unobservant, like not knowing the solar system. No, he had noticed. He had used it, like he was a servant, a dog.
He had just walked out the flat, which he had invested his life in for the last year. The one thing he had trusted. After all the gunshots and shell shock, the one that seemed ok, was now associated with dead comrades.
He kept walking along the streets. He kept walking and walking. He knew at the back at his mind that the solder's legs could walk after long days for hundreds of miles. So it wasn't a surprise when he was out of London. Not that anything would have been a surprise in his state. The whole world had turned to grey. As if his emotions had run out of battery. He kept walking. He didn't know for how long. He didn't notice the increased stares at a strange man walking at what became at all hours. From 12am to 12pm and back through all the hours all over again. Only the vague last point of reason to make sure he asked a confused retail person or worried parents (hiding their children) for water. The only thing that made him turn was when he couldn't walk no more. He had reached the coast. He sat down on the beach torn between what silence the water could bring. He simple sat and waited to see what would happen.
Re: fill - Help from the dark side two and three with corrected spelling,hopefully more to come
anonymous
November 30 2010, 10:20:52 UTC
Moriarty had men everywhere, absolutely EVERYWHERE. And all of them one after the other called in the sighting of John Watson. At first it had been nothing. Moriarty didn't have Sherlock dancing for him, so he was only keeping security tabs and an eye out for opportunities. Some big, some small, the most simple of recent amusements being the chance to steel every single left sock from Mrs Hudson's laundry.
The first message was about John leaving the house in a slightly weaken state. He knew that this wasn't uncommon. The man may be devoted to Sherlock, but not even a saint would be able to stay sane around Sherlock all the time. John was a great pining love of Moriarty, such loyalty, such that you could never get in the criminal world. No matter how many favours were forever owed. No, all of it wasted on an asexual psychopath. Sherlock would never have the empathy to notice John. He would never be grateful. But Moriarty still loved as John did, to watch the almighty Sherlock weave his magic. He thought he would simply have to watch John’s beauty with it.
Hence curiosity did come with looking at the photos sent in text, but nothing more, just a slight pine and a mental command to himself to consider it no more. But as soon as he put his phone down another image text came, and another, and another. It all together showed the progressing of John past all his men. He got more and more weak and more and more dishevelled, but he kept walking none the less. Moriarty put on a different messaging system, different, higher priority and soon he had a week’s worth of pictures flicking like a film showing john traveling across the towns and country side until he got to the coast. To which John in his bewilderment, as if he had been teleported there, sat down.
He was sitting there for an hour, now on live feed, Moriarty staring at him on the screen, trying to figure him out. He looked at his face. It was almost as if he was waiting for something. A thought with almost violent thrust jumped into Moriarty's head. He was waiting for someone, someone like his beloved Sherlock. Moriarty was like Sherlock. In fact Moriarty believed he could surpass Sherlock.
Moriarty saw with excitement an opportunity. An opportunity to show John what Sherlock should have been like. What so much more John could have. He grabbed his coat and ran out the door shouting orders.
Like hell he was going to miss his chance to be John
John was still sitting and staring, as the water became more tempting. He didn't really notice Moriarty who in the most subtle way, as if he didn't have approximately ten men behind him waiting for any requests, walked down to john and sat apon the pebble beach. He looked at john, the closest he had ever been to him without a death threat between them. To the gentle John he lifted a cautious hand softly to his fellow man's face. At first touch John seemed to flinch. With slight hesitation he started to softly stroke John’s tired face. At first John seemed somewhat tense, that concept of danger from Sherlock's gallivants not leaving him, till he confronted what was left of his reason to find he no longer cared for his life and rested into the stranger's comfort with closed eyes.
Moriarty gained more confidence with this and started to do as he had dreamed and ran with gently firm fingers through John’s hair. John took this as some form of acceptance and seemed to lean to the side and was caught by Moriarty's body as Moriarty caught him in an embrace. Gently, ever so gently, Moriarty rocked john as a tear ran down the broken man's face. Moriarty whispering in his voice at its softest "It's ok, I'm not him, I'll always notice when my solder's in trouble. I'll look after a comrade. I'll love you"
John kind of recognized the voice, the body, in the back of his mind. The body of a man fighting against Sherlock. But he stopped following Sherlock's command. After all Sherlock wasn't there for him. Moriarty was.
Moriarty Kissed John's forehead and with his seemingly limited strength he lifted John up and his men separated to let their master through. They didn't really know what was going on. But if it was important to Moriarty then it was important to them.
Re: fill - Help from the dark side two and three with corrected spelling,hopefully more to come
anonymous
November 30 2010, 10:24:12 UTC
bbbbbbbbbbbbbaaaaaaaaaaaa still heaps of mistakes. Oh well. Going to bed so I write the next bit in english :) Please leave comments. I know I've said this but first time, and I wanna make sure I'm doing the prompt justice :)
Re: fill - Help from the dark side two and three with corrected spelling,hopefully more to come
anonymous
November 30 2010, 10:29:12 UTC
sorry some how missed end
One opened the door of the long black car for them, and Moriarty carried in and drained John. In the black car he laid john across the seats with Johns head on his lap. He had already informed the driver to drive softly. Still stroking John's face he said "sleep my dear, sleep". In the car's comforting warmth john fell almost instantaneously unconscious.
Less than a minute after Moriarty's car had driven away, another car pulled up rather frantically. Before it had stopped a man Called Mycroft jumped out and ran to the shore. In his first time in a panic state he ran down to the beach and looked around desperately at the now deserted beach. With a look of sheer horror at his own short coming he said "I'm too late, He's gone!"
Re: fill - Help from the dark side two and three with corrected spelling,hopefully more to cometrillsabellsDecember 10 2010, 11:11:20 UTC
The geography is... interesting
But the image of John being so tired and so broken he just leans into the first stranger he finds. And Moriarty picking him up and carrying him into the car then almost cradling him in his lap... ...that was so beautiful (beautifully tragic or tragically beautiful I can't decide) that it's going to stick with me for a long while.
Re: fill - Help from the dark side two and three with corrected spelling,hopefully more to come
anonymous
December 11 2010, 03:16:45 UTC
OMG REPLYS : ) THANK YOU will probably continue tonight, although looking at the other fill (which is pretty cool) I'm probably not able to write as much, but I will continue :)
Re: fill - Help from the dark side 4/?
anonymous
December 11 2010, 08:49:29 UTC
ok part 4. still going over past events, this time from Mycroft's view, going to do more john and moriarty next
Athena had gotten a ping on her mobile. John had left Baker St. Well that wasn’t an uncommon thing. The surveillance team stayed on the flat. She vaguely notified Mycroft who wasn’t paying attention, the Korean assassin...well the election was being … executed so to speak. It wasn’t until the fourth day that the surveillance team texted Athena, it read
"John hasn’t returned. Sherlock hasn’t left the flat. Lots of clattering recently. NOTIFIY MYCROFT!"
Athena’s hands froze from their previous Olympic level texting. She quickly walked in a way she hoped appeared industrial not panic stricken and strode into Mycroft’s meeting.
“Athena!” Exclaimed Mycroft turning, in irritation, from the muttering business men. “Can’t you see I’m in a meeting!?” “I’m sorry sir” she said almost stuttering, “I’ve just received a message about Sherlock, John hasn’t returned.”
The colour seemed to drain from his face, as his eyes widened and his shoulders sunk, he barely gasped “call the car.”
As he leant and grabbed his umbrella she wasted no time in texting as she strutted, with Mycroft soon leaping to her side, so her text made it that by the time they had walked down the three corridors to the street the car of purest black was waiting.
They both slide in and the car hurtled towards Baker St. Athena wasn’t completely sure why Mycroft had put on emphasise to her that John shouldn’t leave, but upon arriving in front of the flat, she knew that Mycroft had predicted something that she hadn’t. They left the car and walked to the stairs to the sound of vigorously moving object. Mrs Hudson when seeing the car opened the door, not saying a word but showing a look of concern.
The door to the flat was open, why would Sherlock worry about security, if they had asked him he would have violently argued the down sides to televisions. However they didn’t, in fact the first minute was spent speechless. Glass covered areas which was vaguely controlled, but not well enough for there not to be blood on the floor. There were body parts in the sink, and the most heart wrenching to Mycroft, drug needles which Sherlock hadn’t bothered to conceal. Sherlock had argued and reasoned away all the things john did, away all the things he had advised, with catastrophic results.
Sherlock stumbled in down the stairs, into the room and simply said “no Mycroft I don’t need him” before collapsing from starvation.
Mycroft turned to Athena. “Get the agents to find John, tell them surveillance from this house won’t be needed. Get the ambulance for the MI5 here and book Sherlock into the private hospital, advise them he is low on nourishment, he is on a drug detox, and they are completely permitted to use restraints and he must not leave the hospital. Also get me an éclair, screw my diet I need something smoothed in chocolate.”
The agents scrambled from their past position, although they moved fast the still didn’t spot john, they merely ran after the rumour. They were an hour behind and they would have caught up, if they hadn’t mistaken Moriarty’s car for Mycroft.
Re: fill - Help from the dark side 5/?
anonymous
December 11 2010, 11:59:53 UTC
I think this next bits better. Involes food carestment : )
John stirred; he wiggled, smiling unknowingly at the smoothness of the bed sheets. He woke to find he was in a foreign place. Though he felt no need to panic, he had no need to either. When he looked at his surroundings he found that he was in a cottage bedroom. The style was of late Victorian colours that were pale and pastel, and all the furniture was of delicate weaving and twirling detail. The place seemed to radiate softness but with a slight modern turn to avoid a grandmother’s houses feel.
John looked down with still blinking eyes to see had been changed into grey loose pyjamas, which consisted of a soft cotton shirt and silky boxer shorts. Although he had a new change of clothes they almost could have been put on magically for he had been touched in no other way, Moriarty was a gentlemen after all.
He didn’t know how long he had been asleep. It had been about sixteen hours; his body had decided to make him wake to find food. He steadied himself as he got up to explore the room. On the round grand wooden table there were plates of all fried food considered for a grand breakfast of the English type. They had been heated or replaced on the half hour following the command of Moriarty since five am, it was now nine o’clock. There were all forms of things, piles of sausages and bacon, and stacks of bacon and pancakes and toast (raisin, French and plain with an assortment of condiments), along with every possible way to cook an egg. John when stumbling to the table, had no form of warning or reason left in his mind to make him consider the possible dangers of this food to prevent him from shoving the nearest edible item into his mouth. It was convenient that this item was two bits of French toast and not the variety of jams next to it (although he might not have noticed the difference). The French toast was gloriously subtly warm and hits john’s mouth with a moisture that sweeps through his taste buds with a crisp fondling. He proceeded to grab more and more food exploring the table and maximizing his intake with various sand witching techniques. He then with surprising skill and both hands full managed to sit down on a lovely squishy chair.
Moriarty had been watching john sleep on the monitor; he had fallen asleep hugging the small television. He had woken at five am and sent the cooks to work, his recipes surprisingly detail, based on his observations of the doctor’s diet, an incredible English array of food, understandable for a soldier who was always missing home. He then returned with some bacon to his monitor, and smiled as he munched at the still snoozing john. He had eaten his bacon and licked his fingers and sat for another two hours smiling over his tea at a dozing John.
As Moriarty was tranced by this john’s stirring made him sit up. John wriggle and the feel of the sheets made him moan, moans Moriarty wished he had caused more directly, but still, the images his mind brought seemed to be satisfactory in mentally fulfilling his wish, making his joys more visible. This joy was not helped by John taking such delight in shoving things into his mouth. Once he had calmed down, Moriarty thought it was time for a proper introduction, and maybe some seducing to follow it.
Re: fill - Help from the dark side 5/?madammortusDecember 13 2010, 11:38:19 UTC
Just leaving a message because as of now I have an account and a place of my own. So I thought I'd just say hey, I been writing this. So I've put the fanfic so far on the account (http://madammortus.livejournal.com/955.html) mainly because I don't have anything up yet and it looked kindof empty. Also a few pictures (or one doodle). I think I know were I'm taking this and I'll write some more tomorrow. So hello live journal comunity, hope to be friends with you all soon : )
Re: fill - Help from the dark side 6/?madammortusDecember 15 2010, 11:47:20 UTC
sorry it's a bit late coming but here's the next bit, John being wooed to follower
John had calmed down and was now consuming the small amount of French toast that was left which he had smoothed in a mixture of cream and strawberry jam. Vaguely tidied unlike the floor beneath him, he was completely settled into his unknown surroundings. As he leaned back into his comfortable chair he began to survey and wonder. Such effort went into this place, what possible agenda could they have? This creeping thought of suspicious motives lead him to jump at the door carefully opening.
In walked a slow and persistently smiling Moriarty walked in. Moriarty hadn’t really thought this through. He didn’t really think on the weirdness of his kindness, but there are few eccentrics left in the world and he knows the few ones left recently broke John’s heart. So he really didn’t want to stuff this up.
“Hi” Moriarty said shyly, more shyly then he had before murders.
“Hi?” said a somewhat confused john.
“Well, I’m, um, guessing this is all a bit, hmmn, you know, but, um, it’s just, well, I’ve, I’ve always admired you john, and I don’t know how you feel about that, and feel free to decide against me, but I, I want a chance to, well I guess seduce you, but, but more show you, in no way euphemistically, although then again, no, but just to start with, I’d like to show you, well, I guess, how special you really are. Does that make sense?”
John paused in this whirl of hesitation, after a while he thought he better check past niggling feelings. ”I know you from somewhere.” Moriarty giggled in some relieve that john wasn’t seemingly appalled and put out his hand “Let me introduce myself to you afresh. I’m Moriarty, and if you’ll let me, John Watson, I’d like to woe you.”
John smiled and stood up to meet the man eye to eye and shook his hand. “Pleased to meet you, Moriarty. I think I would like to be wooed for once, Moriarty, I think I would like that very much.”
Oh he was honest alright.
His laugh had sliced and diced with the skill of his deductions. He had noticed the attraction. He wasn't just slightly socially unobservant, like not knowing the solar system. No,he had noticed. He had used it. Like he was a servant, a dog.
He had just walked out the flat, which he had invested his life in for the last year. The one thing he had trusted. After all the gunshots and shell shock, the one that seemed ok, was now associated with dead comrades.
He kept walking along the streets. He kept walking and walking. He knew at the back at his mind that the solder's legs could walk after long days for hundreds of miles. So it wasn't a surprise when he was out of london. Not that anything would have been a surprise in his state. The whole world had turned to grey. As if his emotions had run out of battery. He kept walking. He didn't know for how long. He didn't notice the increased stares at a stange man walking at what became at all hours. From 12am to 12pm and back through all the hours all over again. Only the vague last point of reason to make sure he asked a confused retail person or worried parents (hiding there children) for water. The only thing that made him turn was when he couldn't walk no more. He had reached the coast. He sat down on the beach torn between what silence the water could bring. He simple sat and waited to see what would happen.
Sorry it gets a bit rambley at the end. What do you think? Please be kind first time.
Reply
The first message was about John leaving the house in a slightly weaken state. He knew that this wasn't uncommon. The man may be devoted to sherlock, but not even a saint would be able to stay sane around sherlock all the time. John was a great pining love of Moriaty. Such loyalty, such that you could never get in the criminal world. No matter how many favors were forever owed. No, all of it wasted on an asexual psychopath. Sherlock would never have the empathy to notice John. He would never be grateful. But Moriarty still loved as John did, to watch the almighty Sherlock weave his magic. He thought he would simply have to watch Johns beauty with it.
Hence curiousity did come with looking at the photos sent in text, but nothing more. Just a slight pine and a mental command to himself to consider it no more. But as soon as he put his phone down another image text came, and another, and another. It all together showed the progressing of John past all his men. He got more and more weak and more and more desheveled, but he kept walking none the less. Moriarty put on a different messaging system, differant, higher priority and soon he had a weeks worth of pictures flicking like a film showing john traveling across the towns and coutry side until he got to the coast. To which John in his his bewilderment, as if he had been teleported there, sat down.
He was sitting there for an hour, now on live feed. Moriaty staring at him on the screen. Trying to figure him out. He looked at his face. It was almost as if he was waiting for something. A thought with almost violent thrust jumped into Moriarty's head. He was waiting for someone. Someone like his beloved Sherlock. Moriaty was like Sherlock. In fact Moriaty believed he could surpass Sherlock.
Moriaty saw with excitement an opportunaty. An opportunity to show John what sherlock should have been like. What so much more John could have. He grabbed his coat and ran out the door shouting orders.
Like hell he was going to miss his chance to be John
ok part two. Hope it's on track. Will now type on protective romance that follows : )
Reply
Reply
John was still sitting and staring, as the water became more tempting. He didn't really notice Moriarty who in the most subtle way, as if he didn't have aproximately ten men behind him waiting for any requests, walked down to john and sat apon the pebble beach. He looked at john, the closest he had ever been to him without a death threat between them. To the gentle John he lifted a cautious hand softly to his fellow man's face. At first touch John seemed to flinch. With slight hesitation he started to softly stroke Johns tired face. At first John seemed some what tense, that concept of danger from Sherlock's gallivents not leaving him, till he confronted what was left of his reason to find he no longer cared for his life and rested into the stranger's comfort with closed eyes.
Moriarty gained more confidence with this and started to do as he had dreamed and ran with gently firm fingers through Johns hair. John took this as some form of acceptance and seemed to lean to the side and was caught by Moriarty's body as Moriarty caught him in an embrace. Gently, ever so gently, Moriarty rocked john as a tear ran down the broken man's face. Moriarty whispering in his voice at it's softest "It's ok, I'm not him, I'll always notice when my solder's in trouble. I'll look after a comrade. I'll love you"
John kind of recognized the voice, the body, in the back of his mind. The body of a man fighting against Sherlock. But he stopped following Sherlock's command. After all Sherlock wasn't there for him. Moriarty was.
Moriarty Kissed John's forehead and with his seemingly limited strength he lifted John up and his men separated to let their master through. They didn't really know what was going on. But if it was important to Moriarty then it was important to them.
One opened the door of the long black car for them, and Moriarty carried in an drained John. In the black car he laid john across the seats with Johns head on his lap. He had already informed the driver to drive softly. Still stroking John's face he said "sleep my dear, sleep". In the car's conforting warmth john fell almost instantaneously unconscious.
Less then a minute after Moriarty's car had driven away, another car pulled up rather frantically. Before it had stopped a man Called Mycroft jumped out and ran to the shore. In his first time in a panic state he ran down to the beach and looked around desparately at the now deserted beach. With a look of shere horror at his own short coming he said "I'm too late, He's gone!"
Reply
John felt as if his heart had melted. It was as if it was sliding down pass his stomach taking all his energy, joy and hope with it. He had built himself up for this moment. This confession. Thinking "its ok, he must like me somewhat. He wouldn't be with me for this long for nothing. And he would at least be honest with me."
Oh he was honest alright.
His laugh had sliced and diced with the skill of his deductions. He had noticed the attraction. He wasn't just slightly socially unobservant, like not knowing the solar system. No, he had noticed. He had used it, like he was a servant, a dog.
He had just walked out the flat, which he had invested his life in for the last year. The one thing he had trusted. After all the gunshots and shell shock, the one that seemed ok, was now associated with dead comrades.
He kept walking along the streets. He kept walking and walking. He knew at the back at his mind that the solder's legs could walk after long days for hundreds of miles. So it wasn't a surprise when he was out of London. Not that anything would have been a surprise in his state. The whole world had turned to grey. As if his emotions had run out of battery. He kept walking. He didn't know for how long. He didn't notice the increased stares at a strange man walking at what became at all hours. From 12am to 12pm and back through all the hours all over again. Only the vague last point of reason to make sure he asked a confused retail person or worried parents (hiding their children) for water. The only thing that made him turn was when he couldn't walk no more. He had reached the coast. He sat down on the beach torn between what silence the water could bring. He simple sat and waited to see what would happen.
Reply
The first message was about John leaving the house in a slightly weaken state. He knew that this wasn't uncommon. The man may be devoted to Sherlock, but not even a saint would be able to stay sane around Sherlock all the time. John was a great pining love of Moriarty, such loyalty, such that you could never get in the criminal world. No matter how many favours were forever owed. No, all of it wasted on an asexual psychopath. Sherlock would never have the empathy to notice John. He would never be grateful. But Moriarty still loved as John did, to watch the almighty Sherlock weave his magic. He thought he would simply have to watch John’s beauty with it.
Hence curiosity did come with looking at the photos sent in text, but nothing more, just a slight pine and a mental command to himself to consider it no more. But as soon as he put his phone down another image text came, and another, and another. It all together showed the progressing of John past all his men. He got more and more weak and more and more dishevelled, but he kept walking none the less. Moriarty put on a different messaging system, different, higher priority and soon he had a week’s worth of pictures flicking like a film showing john traveling across the towns and country side until he got to the coast. To which John in his bewilderment, as if he had been teleported there, sat down.
He was sitting there for an hour, now on live feed, Moriarty staring at him on the screen, trying to figure him out. He looked at his face. It was almost as if he was waiting for something. A thought with almost violent thrust jumped into Moriarty's head. He was waiting for someone, someone like his beloved Sherlock. Moriarty was like Sherlock. In fact Moriarty believed he could surpass Sherlock.
Moriarty saw with excitement an opportunity. An opportunity to show John what Sherlock should have been like. What so much more John could have. He grabbed his coat and ran out the door shouting orders.
Like hell he was going to miss his chance to be John
John was still sitting and staring, as the water became more tempting. He didn't really notice Moriarty who in the most subtle way, as if he didn't have approximately ten men behind him waiting for any requests, walked down to john and sat apon the pebble beach. He looked at john, the closest he had ever been to him without a death threat between them. To the gentle John he lifted a cautious hand softly to his fellow man's face. At first touch John seemed to flinch. With slight hesitation he started to softly stroke John’s tired face. At first John seemed somewhat tense, that concept of danger from Sherlock's gallivants not leaving him, till he confronted what was left of his reason to find he no longer cared for his life and rested into the stranger's comfort with closed eyes.
Moriarty gained more confidence with this and started to do as he had dreamed and ran with gently firm fingers through John’s hair. John took this as some form of acceptance and seemed to lean to the side and was caught by Moriarty's body as Moriarty caught him in an embrace. Gently, ever so gently, Moriarty rocked john as a tear ran down the broken man's face. Moriarty whispering in his voice at its softest "It's ok, I'm not him, I'll always notice when my solder's in trouble. I'll look after a comrade. I'll love you"
John kind of recognized the voice, the body, in the back of his mind. The body of a man fighting against Sherlock. But he stopped following Sherlock's command. After all Sherlock wasn't there for him. Moriarty was.
Moriarty Kissed John's forehead and with his seemingly limited strength he lifted John up and his men separated to let their master through. They didn't really know what was going on. But if it was important to Moriarty then it was important to them.
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One opened the door of the long black car for them, and Moriarty carried in and drained John. In the black car he laid john across the seats with Johns head on his lap. He had already informed the driver to drive softly. Still stroking John's face he said "sleep my dear, sleep". In the car's comforting warmth john fell almost instantaneously unconscious.
Less than a minute after Moriarty's car had driven away, another car pulled up rather frantically. Before it had stopped a man Called Mycroft jumped out and ran to the shore. In his first time in a panic state he ran down to the beach and looked around desperately at the now deserted beach. With a look of sheer horror at his own short coming he said "I'm too late, He's gone!"
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But the image of John being so tired and so broken he just leans into the first stranger he finds. And Moriarty picking him up and carrying him into the car then almost cradling him in his lap...
...that was so beautiful (beautifully tragic or tragically beautiful I can't decide) that it's going to stick with me for a long while.
Really hope you continue.
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Athena had gotten a ping on her mobile. John had left Baker St. Well that wasn’t an uncommon thing. The surveillance team stayed on the flat. She vaguely notified Mycroft who wasn’t paying attention, the Korean assassin...well the election was being … executed so to speak. It wasn’t until the fourth day that the surveillance team texted Athena, it read
"John hasn’t returned. Sherlock hasn’t left the flat. Lots of clattering recently. NOTIFIY MYCROFT!"
Athena’s hands froze from their previous Olympic level texting. She quickly walked in a way she hoped appeared industrial not panic stricken and strode into Mycroft’s meeting.
“Athena!” Exclaimed Mycroft turning, in irritation, from the muttering business men. “Can’t you see I’m in a meeting!?” “I’m sorry sir” she said almost stuttering, “I’ve just received a message about Sherlock, John hasn’t returned.”
The colour seemed to drain from his face, as his eyes widened and his shoulders sunk, he barely gasped “call the car.”
As he leant and grabbed his umbrella she wasted no time in texting as she strutted, with Mycroft soon leaping to her side, so her text made it that by the time they had walked down the three corridors to the street the car of purest black was waiting.
They both slide in and the car hurtled towards Baker St. Athena wasn’t completely sure why Mycroft had put on emphasise to her that John shouldn’t leave, but upon arriving in front of the flat, she knew that Mycroft had predicted something that she hadn’t. They left the car and walked to the stairs to the sound of vigorously moving object. Mrs Hudson when seeing the car opened the door, not saying a word but showing a look of concern.
The door to the flat was open, why would Sherlock worry about security, if they had asked him he would have violently argued the down sides to televisions. However they didn’t, in fact the first minute was spent speechless. Glass covered areas which was vaguely controlled, but not well enough for there not to be blood on the floor. There were body parts in the sink, and the most heart wrenching to Mycroft, drug needles which Sherlock hadn’t bothered to conceal. Sherlock had argued and reasoned away all the things john did, away all the things he had advised, with catastrophic results.
Sherlock stumbled in down the stairs, into the room and simply said “no Mycroft I don’t need him” before collapsing from starvation.
Mycroft turned to Athena. “Get the agents to find John, tell them surveillance from this house won’t be needed. Get the ambulance for the MI5 here and book Sherlock into the private hospital, advise them he is low on nourishment, he is on a drug detox, and they are completely permitted to use restraints and he must not leave the hospital. Also get me an éclair, screw my diet I need something smoothed in chocolate.”
The agents scrambled from their past position, although they moved fast the still didn’t spot john, they merely ran after the rumour. They were an hour behind and they would have caught up, if they hadn’t mistaken Moriarty’s car for Mycroft.
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John stirred; he wiggled, smiling unknowingly at the smoothness of the bed sheets. He woke to find he was in a foreign place. Though he felt no need to panic, he had no need to either. When he looked at his surroundings he found that he was in a cottage bedroom. The style was of late Victorian colours that were pale and pastel, and all the furniture was of delicate weaving and twirling detail. The place seemed to radiate softness but with a slight modern turn to avoid a grandmother’s houses feel.
John looked down with still blinking eyes to see had been changed into grey loose pyjamas, which consisted of a soft cotton shirt and silky boxer shorts. Although he had a new change of clothes they almost could have been put on magically for he had been touched in no other way, Moriarty was a gentlemen after all.
He didn’t know how long he had been asleep. It had been about sixteen hours; his body had decided to make him wake to find food. He steadied himself as he got up to explore the room. On the round grand wooden table there were plates of all fried food considered for a grand breakfast of the English type. They had been heated or replaced on the half hour following the command of Moriarty since five am, it was now nine o’clock. There were all forms of things, piles of sausages and bacon, and stacks of bacon and pancakes and toast (raisin, French and plain with an assortment of condiments), along with every possible way to cook an egg. John when stumbling to the table, had no form of warning or reason left in his mind to make him consider the possible dangers of this food to prevent him from shoving the nearest edible item into his mouth. It was convenient that this item was two bits of French toast and not the variety of jams next to it (although he might not have noticed the difference). The French toast was gloriously subtly warm and hits john’s mouth with a moisture that sweeps through his taste buds with a crisp fondling. He proceeded to grab more and more food exploring the table and maximizing his intake with various sand witching techniques. He then with surprising skill and both hands full managed to sit down on a lovely squishy chair.
Moriarty had been watching john sleep on the monitor; he had fallen asleep hugging the small television. He had woken at five am and sent the cooks to work, his recipes surprisingly detail, based on his observations of the doctor’s diet, an incredible English array of food, understandable for a soldier who was always missing home. He then returned with some bacon to his monitor, and smiled as he munched at the still snoozing john. He had eaten his bacon and licked his fingers and sat for another two hours smiling over his tea at a dozing John.
As Moriarty was tranced by this john’s stirring made him sit up. John wriggle and the feel of the sheets made him moan, moans Moriarty wished he had caused more directly, but still, the images his mind brought seemed to be satisfactory in mentally fulfilling his wish, making his joys more visible. This joy was not helped by John taking such delight in shoving things into his mouth. Once he had calmed down, Moriarty thought it was time for a proper introduction, and maybe some seducing to follow it.
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(So glad you continued!)
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John had calmed down and was now consuming the small amount of French toast that was left which he had smoothed in a mixture of cream and strawberry jam. Vaguely tidied unlike the floor beneath him, he was completely settled into his unknown surroundings. As he leaned back into his comfortable chair he began to survey and wonder. Such effort went into this place, what possible agenda could they have? This creeping thought of suspicious motives lead him to jump at the door carefully opening.
In walked a slow and persistently smiling Moriarty walked in. Moriarty hadn’t really thought this through. He didn’t really think on the weirdness of his kindness, but there are few eccentrics left in the world and he knows the few ones left recently broke John’s heart. So he really didn’t want to stuff this up.
“Hi” Moriarty said shyly, more shyly then he had before murders.
“Hi?” said a somewhat confused john.
“Well, I’m, um, guessing this is all a bit, hmmn, you know, but, um, it’s just, well, I’ve, I’ve always admired you john, and I don’t know how you feel about that, and feel free to decide against me, but I, I want a chance to, well I guess seduce you, but, but more show you, in no way euphemistically, although then again, no, but just to start with, I’d like to show you, well, I guess, how special you really are. Does that make sense?”
John paused in this whirl of hesitation, after a while he thought he better check past niggling feelings. ”I know you from somewhere.” Moriarty giggled
in some relieve that john wasn’t seemingly appalled and put out his hand “Let me introduce myself to you afresh. I’m Moriarty, and if you’ll let me, John Watson, I’d like to woe you.”
John smiled and stood up to meet the man eye to eye and shook his hand. “Pleased to meet you, Moriarty. I think I would like to be wooed for once, Moriarty, I think I would like that very much.”
let me know what you think :)
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