Sherlock Ficlet: Kansas City Shuffle
Just posting my latest entry to 
thegameison_sh... which placed third in the 'Undercover' challenge! So, needless to say, I'm pretty happy about that :D
Title: Kansas City Shuffle
Rating: PG - 13, if that.
Warnings: Don't think there are any...
Summary: John's never been good at subterfuge.
Fandom: Sherlock BBC
Pairings: John/Sherlock
Disclaimer: I own nothing to do with Sherlock, unfortunately :’(
Notes: unbeta'd
Moriarty’s smile’s wide and frankly terrifying, and John fights not to lean back and away from it. He clenches his hands under the desk where Moriarty can’t see, instead.
“So, Booth,” Moriarty says, voice pleasant as he opens the file lying on the pristine desk. John sees lines of text on paper and a picture of his changed face before Moriarty flicks it closed again. “This is your six month performance review, so just make yourself comfortable as you explain to me exactly how long you thought you could keep up this ridiculous charade.” His voice doesn’t change, still light-hearted and easy as though they’re discussing the weather, but John can see the sparkle of violence in his eyes, feel the dangerous tension that always surrounds him.
It’s no surprise he’s been found out; he’s been waiting for this meeting. “Honestly?” John replies, glad his voice sounds unconcerned, “only a couple of months.” He shrugs. “This six month review is something of a surprise.”
“I found you out after three weeks. The rest of the time I’ve just enjoyed watching you.” His grin is indulgent, as though speaking to a child who just learnt to spell; a dog who just learnt a new trick. “Who gave you this identity? Sherlock’s magic brother? Because I’ll have to admit, he did a good job,” Moriarty demurs, waving the folder in the air for a moment. “Oh, on paper, you’d be a wonderful addition to my happy little team. The reality, however, falls somewhat short.”
John shrugs. He was never going to fool Moriarty for long. “I never was great at subterfuge.”
“It shows,” Moriarty laughs, and he looks almost delighted at John’s failure. Unsurprising. “What exactly did you hope to gain here, Doctor Watson? Revenge for your dear, darling Sherlock?” He laughs and John’s fists clench so tightly that his nails dig into his skin. “I’ll admit it’s been a bit dull since he blew himself up, but that doesn’t mean I’ll deign to play with the animals.”
“Not quite,” John replies, and Moriarty’s smile makes him look like a shark.
“Oh no?” he says, voice soft. “Then do tell, darling John. What was your big plan?” He flings his arms out to his side, his suit jacket tightening over his chest with the motion. A clear shot John wishes he could take. “Are you here to kill me?”
One of the two men guarding the door shifts behind him, a subtle movement of foot against floor; a reminder of their presence. John shakes his head. “No.”
Moriarty sighs, as though let down. He opens his mouth to reply when suddenly there’s a gunshot behind John. He doesn’t flinch; doesn’t move at all. In contrast, Moriarty leaps from his chair, face distorted into a hideous mask of fury and disbelief as it crashes to the floor behind him.
John’s never seen him so uncontrolled. Maybe the rumours about him and Moran are true after all.
“What the fuck d’you think you’re doing, Sigerson?” Moriarty demands, voice low, the facade of the unthreatening businessman melting off his face into something dark and dangerous. “You just killed Moran.” He’s around the desk now, level with John’s side as he stands in front of the only guard left at the door. If John wanted to he could strike now, stop Moriarty forever.
He doesn’t move.
“Wrong,” the guard replies, and Moriarty laughs, unhinged.
“I’m not fucking blind, Sigerson,” he yells. “You shot Moran, and if you don’t have a reason for me in less than five seconds, a really, really good reason, then it’ll be you next.”
“Not that, you imbecile,” the guard replies, and his voice is changing, becoming deeper and increasingly well-spoken with every word. “Wrong about John. Of course he isn’t here to kill you; he’s worse than useless when placed undercover. He was a distraction.” Another gunshot rings out and Moriarty slumps to the floor beside John, a single hole in his forehead. “I’m going to.”
John peers over his shoulder at Sherlock, features hidden underneath the disguise which has kept him hidden in Moriarty’s closest circle for the past nine months. “Good shot,” he says, and Sherlock smiles, familiar even in a strange face, after all these months apart.
“He was right,” he says as he moves closer. John looks up at him, questioningly, and Sherlock nods his head slightly towards Moriarty’s body. “I did cherish his look of surprise.”
thegameison_sh... which placed third in the 'Undercover' challenge! So, needless to say, I'm pretty happy about that :D
Title: Kansas City Shuffle
Rating: PG - 13, if that.
Warnings: Don't think there are any...
Summary: John's never been good at subterfuge.
Fandom: Sherlock BBC
Pairings: John/Sherlock
Disclaimer: I own nothing to do with Sherlock, unfortunately :’(
Notes: unbeta'd
Moriarty’s smile’s wide and frankly terrifying, and John fights not to lean back and away from it. He clenches his hands under the desk where Moriarty can’t see, instead.
“So, Booth,” Moriarty says, voice pleasant as he opens the file lying on the pristine desk. John sees lines of text on paper and a picture of his changed face before Moriarty flicks it closed again. “This is your six month performance review, so just make yourself comfortable as you explain to me exactly how long you thought you could keep up this ridiculous charade.” His voice doesn’t change, still light-hearted and easy as though they’re discussing the weather, but John can see the sparkle of violence in his eyes, feel the dangerous tension that always surrounds him.
It’s no surprise he’s been found out; he’s been waiting for this meeting. “Honestly?” John replies, glad his voice sounds unconcerned, “only a couple of months.” He shrugs. “This six month review is something of a surprise.”
“I found you out after three weeks. The rest of the time I’ve just enjoyed watching you.” His grin is indulgent, as though speaking to a child who just learnt to spell; a dog who just learnt a new trick. “Who gave you this identity? Sherlock’s magic brother? Because I’ll have to admit, he did a good job,” Moriarty demurs, waving the folder in the air for a moment. “Oh, on paper, you’d be a wonderful addition to my happy little team. The reality, however, falls somewhat short.”
John shrugs. He was never going to fool Moriarty for long. “I never was great at subterfuge.”
“It shows,” Moriarty laughs, and he looks almost delighted at John’s failure. Unsurprising. “What exactly did you hope to gain here, Doctor Watson? Revenge for your dear, darling Sherlock?” He laughs and John’s fists clench so tightly that his nails dig into his skin. “I’ll admit it’s been a bit dull since he blew himself up, but that doesn’t mean I’ll deign to play with the animals.”
“Not quite,” John replies, and Moriarty’s smile makes him look like a shark.
“Oh no?” he says, voice soft. “Then do tell, darling John. What was your big plan?” He flings his arms out to his side, his suit jacket tightening over his chest with the motion. A clear shot John wishes he could take. “Are you here to kill me?”
One of the two men guarding the door shifts behind him, a subtle movement of foot against floor; a reminder of their presence. John shakes his head. “No.”
Moriarty sighs, as though let down. He opens his mouth to reply when suddenly there’s a gunshot behind John. He doesn’t flinch; doesn’t move at all. In contrast, Moriarty leaps from his chair, face distorted into a hideous mask of fury and disbelief as it crashes to the floor behind him.
John’s never seen him so uncontrolled. Maybe the rumours about him and Moran are true after all.
“What the fuck d’you think you’re doing, Sigerson?” Moriarty demands, voice low, the facade of the unthreatening businessman melting off his face into something dark and dangerous. “You just killed Moran.” He’s around the desk now, level with John’s side as he stands in front of the only guard left at the door. If John wanted to he could strike now, stop Moriarty forever.
He doesn’t move.
“Wrong,” the guard replies, and Moriarty laughs, unhinged.
“I’m not fucking blind, Sigerson,” he yells. “You shot Moran, and if you don’t have a reason for me in less than five seconds, a really, really good reason, then it’ll be you next.”
“Not that, you imbecile,” the guard replies, and his voice is changing, becoming deeper and increasingly well-spoken with every word. “Wrong about John. Of course he isn’t here to kill you; he’s worse than useless when placed undercover. He was a distraction.” Another gunshot rings out and Moriarty slumps to the floor beside John, a single hole in his forehead. “I’m going to.”
John peers over his shoulder at Sherlock, features hidden underneath the disguise which has kept him hidden in Moriarty’s closest circle for the past nine months. “Good shot,” he says, and Sherlock smiles, familiar even in a strange face, after all these months apart.
“He was right,” he says as he moves closer. John looks up at him, questioningly, and Sherlock nods his head slightly towards Moriarty’s body. “I did cherish his look of surprise.”