Sherlock Fic
(ah, my first fic posted here! eep! here goes!)
Title: It was always going to end this way.
Fandom: Sherlock
Pairing: Sherlock Holmes/John Watson, Jim Moriarty/Sebastian Moran
Rating: PG?
Warnings: uhm, character death? It's a Reichenbach thing, so... spoilers for that? If perhaps you have seen the filming pics from The Reichenbach Fall, it seems to be Jim and Sherlock on top of a building, and not on a waterfall. Not knowing the context of that, I just sortof ran with it.
Note: This is totally out of canon, basically. You'll see why. Just... go with it?
Summary: This is the only way for it to end. All or nothing. Both or none. Sherlock is willing to do whatever it takes to stop Moriarty. Jim wouldn't have it any other way than to die with Sherlock Holmes by his side.
It's windy up here, Sherlock thinks.
He's not hugely pleased that Moriarty insisted they meet here-- at the top of the Reichenbach Hotel. It's windy and cold; both of them are wearing heavy wool coats. There aren't any guard-rails, unlike the rest of the buildings in this area. This is a purposeful touch, a specific choice. Added danger. Just the sort of dramatic flair that Jim Moriarty so obviously enjoys. But then, Sherlock enjoys theatrics too. He knows where all this is heading. This building is a logical choice.
It's cold. He pulls his coat more tightly around himself. He wishes John was with him.
Just as he thinks that, there's the sound of a door slamming open across the way. Sherlock and Jim both turn to look, and across the way, on the opposite roof-top, two blonde soldiers come tumbling out of the door.
Sebastian Moran has a height advantage, and he pushes past John Watson with a long leg out the door first and a well placed hand on John's throat. John gives a gagging cough but keeps running. He tackles Moran for no reason Sherlock can figure, and the pair of them are out of sight for a moment. John pops back up first with a newly split lip and Sebastian follows, sporting a quickly blackening eye. In a second the pair of them are at the edge of the building, leaning over and panting and both with matching looks of distress on their faces.
"Jim!"
"Sherlock!"
They're ignoring each other now, mainly-- their entire focus is on the building across from them. Sherlock can see the thoughts running through their minds: Could I jump the gap? Would I make it?
Jim glances at Sherlock with a warm, amused look. But there's something else under that half smile and tilted head. Something... sad, perhaps? Bittersweet? "Isn't that sweet," Jim says. "Our little pets, come to rescue us."
"John's not my pet."
"No, of course not," Jim trills, waving across the way. Moran punches the railing he is leaning against, and even at this distance, it's clear that he curses. "And Seb's not my boyfriend."
"Boyfriend?" Interest peaked, Sherlock turns his attention to Jim-- and away from John. If he keeps looking at John's distraught expression, he won't be able to do what needs to be done. And he's known how this encounter was going to end from the moment Moriarty suggested meeting. Jim knows too. Sherlock has accepted it, he's ready for it, resigned to it. He feels empty. This is their arrangement. It was always going to come to this.
"Jim! Get down from there!"
"He's like my mother sometimes, honestly." Jim says, rolling his eyes. But Sherlock detects something soft in his tone. Jim turns to him, leaning his hip against the low edge of the building. For a moment, he and Sherlock just look at each other. They make eye contact and Sherlock tries to read something in those warm brown eyes. He wonders what Moriarty sees in his face. Sherlock sees hesitation, fondness, and a shaving cut from two days ago and a nearly faded bruise on the left side of his chin. Perhaps, he imagines, Jim sees that Sherlock would rather be across the way with John. He would rather this game continue indefinitely. He wonders if Jim can see that eight hours ago John kissed him for the first (and last, he forcibly reminds himself) time. He wonders if Jim can see how sorry he is that they've come to this so soon.
Moran's voice comes across the gap in the buildings along with a gust of wind, pulling them out of their staring and their thoughts: "You'll fall, you piece of shit!"
Jim laughs. "He's so straight-forward. I just love him for that, I really do." His manic smile falters into something more honest. "I don't have much of a heart, Sherlock. But what little I have belongs to him," he says, sadness seeping into the quirk of his mouth.
Sherlock looks across the way to John, who is staring at him tragically while simultaneously looking hopeful and elbowing Moran in the ribs.
"Yes," Sherlock says, "I think I know what you mean."
"Well," Jim sighs after giving Sebastian one last, lingering look and blowing him a kiss. "Shall we?" He reaches out, offering his hand.
"I suppose so," Sherlock replies, feeling something other than emptiness in his heart. He looks over to John. This has to happen, he reminds himself. This is the best of all possible solutions. It must be. It is.
He takes Jim's hand.
"I'd give you a kiss good-bye, my dear, but I think Seb would be jealous." He squeezes Sherlock's hand so tightly it hurts. They walk to the other end of the building, hand in hand, ignoring the desperate screams coming from John and Sebastian. Jim's grip gets tighter and tighter.
They stand at the edge, looking down sixteen stories.
"Well. Well, well." Jim's placid smile cracks and he lets out a short, miserable, barking laugh. "It's been fun, Sherlock Holmes."
The wind blows and they both adjust their stances to not fall over the edge right then. This is the only way for it to end. All or nothing. Both or none. Sherlock is willing to do whatever it takes to stop Moriarty. Jim wouldn't have it any other way than to die with Sherlock Holmes by his side.
"It has," Sherlock responds, and gives Jim's hand a squeeze back. "It should be quick."
"We'll see," Jim sounds less than convinced. He's seen people at the bottom of buildings. It might not be quick at all. It could be very slow, in fact. It could be very painful. Sebastian could have to scrape him off the sidewalk mewling and wretched and utterly broken. The idea turns his stomach. It will be quick, he decides, willing the universe to comply.
"Ready?"
"Not really, no." They laugh. Sherlock takes a deep breath. He's not ready yet, either. He'd always imagined that he'd grow old and finally get to raise bees. All that studying he's done will now go to waste. But that was before he knew anything about Jim Moriarty. Similarly, Jim Moriarty never exactly planned to go out over the edge of a hotel on the outskirts of London. Rather, Jim always imagined that he would retire to the sea-side to study wasps and do theoretical math for fun on the weekends, with Sebastian at his side, constantly complaining about stings and sand and-- But then, it's not like he ever told anyone that, so what does it matter?
"Are you frightened?" Jim looks out at the sky and then looks at him for a long moment before answering. For once, Sherlock knows precisely what's going through Moriarty's mind-- And he sees the decision that Jim comes to. Why not be honest, here at the end of it all? What's the harm?
"Yes," he says, quietly, eventually. "I am."
Sherlock looks down at the ground, so far beneath them. He thinks about Jim's hand, soft and warm in his own, and about John, still screaming for him. This is it. He has to be stopped. This is it. This is the only way. This is it. At least he's not alone. Three, two, one.
"Me too," Sherlock whispers to the wind, and then they step off the edge together.
John's scream follows them down.
"Sherlock!"
Title: It was always going to end this way.
Fandom: Sherlock
Pairing: Sherlock Holmes/John Watson, Jim Moriarty/Sebastian Moran
Rating: PG?
Warnings: uhm, character death? It's a Reichenbach thing, so... spoilers for that? If perhaps you have seen the filming pics from The Reichenbach Fall, it seems to be Jim and Sherlock on top of a building, and not on a waterfall. Not knowing the context of that, I just sortof ran with it.
Note: This is totally out of canon, basically. You'll see why. Just... go with it?
Summary: This is the only way for it to end. All or nothing. Both or none. Sherlock is willing to do whatever it takes to stop Moriarty. Jim wouldn't have it any other way than to die with Sherlock Holmes by his side.
It's windy up here, Sherlock thinks.
He's not hugely pleased that Moriarty insisted they meet here-- at the top of the Reichenbach Hotel. It's windy and cold; both of them are wearing heavy wool coats. There aren't any guard-rails, unlike the rest of the buildings in this area. This is a purposeful touch, a specific choice. Added danger. Just the sort of dramatic flair that Jim Moriarty so obviously enjoys. But then, Sherlock enjoys theatrics too. He knows where all this is heading. This building is a logical choice.
It's cold. He pulls his coat more tightly around himself. He wishes John was with him.
Just as he thinks that, there's the sound of a door slamming open across the way. Sherlock and Jim both turn to look, and across the way, on the opposite roof-top, two blonde soldiers come tumbling out of the door.
Sebastian Moran has a height advantage, and he pushes past John Watson with a long leg out the door first and a well placed hand on John's throat. John gives a gagging cough but keeps running. He tackles Moran for no reason Sherlock can figure, and the pair of them are out of sight for a moment. John pops back up first with a newly split lip and Sebastian follows, sporting a quickly blackening eye. In a second the pair of them are at the edge of the building, leaning over and panting and both with matching looks of distress on their faces.
"Jim!"
"Sherlock!"
They're ignoring each other now, mainly-- their entire focus is on the building across from them. Sherlock can see the thoughts running through their minds: Could I jump the gap? Would I make it?
Jim glances at Sherlock with a warm, amused look. But there's something else under that half smile and tilted head. Something... sad, perhaps? Bittersweet? "Isn't that sweet," Jim says. "Our little pets, come to rescue us."
"John's not my pet."
"No, of course not," Jim trills, waving across the way. Moran punches the railing he is leaning against, and even at this distance, it's clear that he curses. "And Seb's not my boyfriend."
"Boyfriend?" Interest peaked, Sherlock turns his attention to Jim-- and away from John. If he keeps looking at John's distraught expression, he won't be able to do what needs to be done. And he's known how this encounter was going to end from the moment Moriarty suggested meeting. Jim knows too. Sherlock has accepted it, he's ready for it, resigned to it. He feels empty. This is their arrangement. It was always going to come to this.
"Jim! Get down from there!"
"He's like my mother sometimes, honestly." Jim says, rolling his eyes. But Sherlock detects something soft in his tone. Jim turns to him, leaning his hip against the low edge of the building. For a moment, he and Sherlock just look at each other. They make eye contact and Sherlock tries to read something in those warm brown eyes. He wonders what Moriarty sees in his face. Sherlock sees hesitation, fondness, and a shaving cut from two days ago and a nearly faded bruise on the left side of his chin. Perhaps, he imagines, Jim sees that Sherlock would rather be across the way with John. He would rather this game continue indefinitely. He wonders if Jim can see that eight hours ago John kissed him for the first (and last, he forcibly reminds himself) time. He wonders if Jim can see how sorry he is that they've come to this so soon.
Moran's voice comes across the gap in the buildings along with a gust of wind, pulling them out of their staring and their thoughts: "You'll fall, you piece of shit!"
Jim laughs. "He's so straight-forward. I just love him for that, I really do." His manic smile falters into something more honest. "I don't have much of a heart, Sherlock. But what little I have belongs to him," he says, sadness seeping into the quirk of his mouth.
Sherlock looks across the way to John, who is staring at him tragically while simultaneously looking hopeful and elbowing Moran in the ribs.
"Yes," Sherlock says, "I think I know what you mean."
"Well," Jim sighs after giving Sebastian one last, lingering look and blowing him a kiss. "Shall we?" He reaches out, offering his hand.
"I suppose so," Sherlock replies, feeling something other than emptiness in his heart. He looks over to John. This has to happen, he reminds himself. This is the best of all possible solutions. It must be. It is.
He takes Jim's hand.
"I'd give you a kiss good-bye, my dear, but I think Seb would be jealous." He squeezes Sherlock's hand so tightly it hurts. They walk to the other end of the building, hand in hand, ignoring the desperate screams coming from John and Sebastian. Jim's grip gets tighter and tighter.
They stand at the edge, looking down sixteen stories.
"Well. Well, well." Jim's placid smile cracks and he lets out a short, miserable, barking laugh. "It's been fun, Sherlock Holmes."
The wind blows and they both adjust their stances to not fall over the edge right then. This is the only way for it to end. All or nothing. Both or none. Sherlock is willing to do whatever it takes to stop Moriarty. Jim wouldn't have it any other way than to die with Sherlock Holmes by his side.
"It has," Sherlock responds, and gives Jim's hand a squeeze back. "It should be quick."
"We'll see," Jim sounds less than convinced. He's seen people at the bottom of buildings. It might not be quick at all. It could be very slow, in fact. It could be very painful. Sebastian could have to scrape him off the sidewalk mewling and wretched and utterly broken. The idea turns his stomach. It will be quick, he decides, willing the universe to comply.
"Ready?"
"Not really, no." They laugh. Sherlock takes a deep breath. He's not ready yet, either. He'd always imagined that he'd grow old and finally get to raise bees. All that studying he's done will now go to waste. But that was before he knew anything about Jim Moriarty. Similarly, Jim Moriarty never exactly planned to go out over the edge of a hotel on the outskirts of London. Rather, Jim always imagined that he would retire to the sea-side to study wasps and do theoretical math for fun on the weekends, with Sebastian at his side, constantly complaining about stings and sand and-- But then, it's not like he ever told anyone that, so what does it matter?
"Are you frightened?" Jim looks out at the sky and then looks at him for a long moment before answering. For once, Sherlock knows precisely what's going through Moriarty's mind-- And he sees the decision that Jim comes to. Why not be honest, here at the end of it all? What's the harm?
"Yes," he says, quietly, eventually. "I am."
Sherlock looks down at the ground, so far beneath them. He thinks about Jim's hand, soft and warm in his own, and about John, still screaming for him. This is it. He has to be stopped. This is it. This is the only way. This is it. At least he's not alone. Three, two, one.
"Me too," Sherlock whispers to the wind, and then they step off the edge together.
John's scream follows them down.
"Sherlock!"