Nutrisco & exstinguo - Chapter ΑΩ - Moriarty tribute (part two - end)
Illustration by Questionablewhimsy
Jim was a criminal, and Sherlock a detective, but that was accessory: what mattered was that they didn't really take sides. Jim wasn't officially a criminal, he only helped criminals achieve their deeds. He never dirtied his hands. All he did was the thinking, his clients were the real criminals. He'd tried it, and killing wasn't thrilling enough. He never wanted anybody's death after Carl Powers anyway, because it didn't satiate him. Being the puppet master, on the other hand, never bored him. He loved it when people got indebted to him. Especially powerful people - fallen Angels, he thought, smarter than average, but still idiotic enough to be after money, power, contacts... and so on. Moriarty could provide the contacts. He was more brilliant than anyone, and so could master them all. With communication and globalization as it was nowadays, the job he invented for himself was marvellous, he thought. It allowed him to be feared by Mafia leaders, to have quite powerful people dancing on the palm of his hand. At the apex of his career, he created IOU.
Those were the fallen angels who owed him. They had key positions, whether in the government, secret services, army, and so on. They were apparently on the side of the Law, but in fact were not. He created their network, and he was at the very centre of the web - his web, only fully known to himself. Even IOU people were mere dots on the web, although bigger dots than the others who were only clients. Those fake angels who acted as if they were on the side of the Law, and who could be called the Corrupts, were not really clients. Not associates either, mind you, because Moriarty was much above any of them. But they were his debtors, and he could have them where he wanted when he wanted doing exactly as he wanted. Yes, consulting criminal was the perfect job, and he never, ever thought anyone would be similar enough to him to create the pendant job: consulting detective. He was thrilled when he found out. Sherlock wasn't the smartest man in the world, but to Moriarty, he was more interesting than even Mycroft because just like Jim himself, he was neither an Angel, nor a Devil. It was only contingent, so to speak, that he ended up being on the "good" side, and Moriarty on the side of the "villains". Other than that, they were the same, exactly the same.
Except they were on different sides technically, and so they could play the game against each other. It would have been too bad if they'd have the exact same job. They would have been mere rivals, but as they were, they were archenemies. Each other's pendant and nemesis. So Jim played, and enjoyed himself greatly. Until he realized that the balance had been disturbed by the arrival of one John Watson. He realized he'd been wrong about something. They weren't exactly the same: Sherlock had friends. He cared. What an idiot. He tried to show him at the Pool, but was surprised by the doctor's reaction.
That dull, ordinary man was actually smart enough to realize Sherlock's life was worth a thousand times his! Except that wasn't all there was, was it? By that time he knew. Sherlock wasn't after power and didn't aim to be a puppet master on a global scale. He didn't have to hide and lead a double life (or more like hundred different lives). He didn't suffer from high-functioning sociopathy: he suffered from high-functioning autism. Many people made fun of him, but he never killed any. He didn't want to be the manipulator in the shadows, like his brother Mycroft: he wanted to be under the spotlight and get some recognition from someone. More like a lost puppy than anything, really. As Moriarty was getting bored with his criminal empire, his nemesis Sherlock Holmes was falling in love. Valiant, proud and righteous John Watson was turning Sherlock Holmes into a dull, ordinary Angel. It was so pathetic Moriarty thought he'd give Sherlock another kind of fall before leaving the stage himself.
Well, you can tell by the way I use my walk,
I'm a woman's man: no time to talk
Music loud and women warm,
I've been kicked around since I was born
And now it's all right. It's OK.
And you can look the other way
Or we can try to understand
The New York Times' effect on man
So he set up a final problem - their final problem: to Live or Not to Live? And if to Live, how?
Every hero needs a good old villain. Conversely, every villain needs a good old hero.
"Without me, you're nothing", he told Sherlock once he'd started becoming famous after the Reichenbach Falls case. Moriarty enjoyed playing with his nemesis - he liked to watch him dance. He knew for certain that even if Sherlock got the plan eventually, he wouldn't expect him to kill himself for good. He wouldn't understand until the very end of his ordeal (after he, Jim Moriarty, first of his kin, was dead), what the final problem truly was.
"Final": it meant the last problem, of course, the ultimate one ; but also the most important one, their most important one.
The one that should answer the question: What's the point?
The one whose answer should leave no doubt.
The most fundamental one, just like the final was the principal note in a mode.
To live, or not to live?
Whether you're a brother or whether you're a mother,
You're staying alive, staying alive.
Feel the city breaking and everybody shaking,
And we're staying alive, staying alive.
Ah, ha, ha, ha, staying alive, staying alive
Ah, ha, ha, ha, staying alive!
Jim's little pun to Mycroft with Irene Adler and the failed Coventry bis had enabled the Iceman to catch him - which had all been, naturally, part of the plan.
What Mycroft Holmes wanted was fairly simple: he didn't care about petty criminals, not even about the Chinese Mafia and whatnot. What he wanted was the complete list of the I.O.U. "members". Those who played Angels but were in fact on the side of the Devils, though not Devils themselves: they didn't get their hands dirty. Angels weren't really any better, if you thought about it. And Moriarty did, as he was lawfully tortured for weeks, months perhaps. Gewaltmonopol des Staates. The monopoly of legitimate violence that the State - whichever it was - always held. Jim Moriarty wasn't one who'd talk if he didn't want to, though. Especially when he could get something in exchange for the information Big Brother wanted from him. He accepted to give some, but only about his clients, not the IOU people - and only in exchange for information about Sherlock.
It was necessary to his scheme, and he also wanted to know everything, absolutely everything about his nemesis before he left this dull and boring world for good. Perhaps Sherlock Holmes, the one man in the world who invented the pendant job to his, was the most interesting thing he'd ever get, and he wanted to take everything he could about him to his grave. And to make him fall.
After weeks, or months, Moriarty finally told Mycroft his brilliant little scheme. "Release me, and let me play one last game with your dear little brother. Then you shall have all the names you want on a platter - and all the information you need to bring them down. Do we have a deal?" The Iceman refused categorically at first, but Jim knew he'd eventually come round. Perhaps he thought he and his brother were clever enough not to be outsmarted by the consulting criminal. Or perhaps he just thought the name list was worth the risk anyway. Moriarty was thrilled. They had a deal.
Sherlock Holmes had nothing such as a private life. Moriarty - or Mycroft, for that matter - were everywhere, and watched his every move. Mycroft wasn't the only one who heard the conversation he had over the phone with Sherlock, when the detective called him from Dartmoor.
"Hello, brother dear! How are you?"
Sherlock "negotiated" to have twenty-four hours in the top secret military base to do whatever he wanted (and oh how thrilled Jim had been to find out, much later, that he'd been experimenting on John; testing his own cruelty and indifference, too). And so the two brothers made a deal. A negotiation.
"Fine, Sherlock. I'll let you experiment all you want.
But you'll owe me a favour.
You'll owe me."
What Jim wasn't aware of was...
That Sherlock feared him greatly and became aware of it as he saw his nemesis' face while hallucinating in the fog on the moor.
That Sherlock tried to completely manipulate John to prove that he could control him - to reassure himself. He knew that Moriarty had sent the Woman, since she'd said it herself. He'd heard of his nickname, too. The Virgin. John wasn't his, and was free to leave whenever he wanted. John was another human being, one that had effect on him, and even several effects, but that was beyond his own power.
That Sherlock had felt more fear and doubt in two days in Baskerville than ever in his life.
That he'd doubted what he'd seen. And John hadn't understood. John had been angry with him and Sherlock had to explain. That he'd seen it, but couldn't believe it... just like John did not believe him.
And finally, neither Jim nor Sherlock was yet aware of the fact that this was exactly what the consulting detective was going to use on John in the final problem. Like the experiment he had performed on him in the lab, he would disorient him and manipulate him so he would believe that he truly had committed suicide.
"Fine, Sherlock. I'll let you experiment all you want.
But you'll owe me a favour.
You'll owe me."
Life going nowhere. Somebody help me
Somebody help me, yeah.
Life going nowhere. Somebody help me, yeah
I'm staying alive.
And so Moriarty could put his plan into action. Sherlock was becoming famous. Most IOU people didn't care at all, but some of them who knew about Moriarty's obvious interest in him thought of him as a threat. Moriarty told them he'd get rid of him, but wanted to do it their way: with a game. One Sherlock was bound to lose. Moriarty's master plan was to completely play the IOU people about whom he couldn't care less and who were boring, and have his fun with Sherlock as they cocked a snook at Holmes the elder. He wanted to leave the stage, but he wanted to do it most dramatically, doing his one-man show under the spotlight, and inviting Sherlock along. The end of the fairy tale was soon to come - and the beginning of Sherlock's quest.
He broke into the three most guarded places in Great Britain, wearing the Crown jewels - being the absolute King. He showed the world at his trial that no one would ever stop him if he didn't want to be stopped, and used the jury's hearts to manipulate them - a little clue intended for Sherlock. Careful my dear, you have one too, now~! But he still felt something was missing in the perfect balance of their enmity - something was missing on the board. Sherlock had John. Moriarty needed his own "pet", not as long as he was alive really, but most of all to complete the plan after his own (and very real) suicide. He picked Sebastian Moran, because he was devoted and not too stupid - also, he must admit, because of the name, like old Johann. He always liked little puns on words.
Life going nowhere. Somebody help me
Somebody help me, yeah.
Life going nowhere. Somebody help me, yeah
I'm staying alive.
Violin Sonata n°1 in G minor, BWV 1001, Adagio.
A step creaking. A pause. Resuming the playing.
The door screeching: the cue. Sherlock stops playing.
"Most people knock." He shrugs."But then you're not most people, I suppose. Kettle's just boiled"
Jim notices the red apples and picks one.
"Johann Sebastian would be appalled." Because you interrupted your piece for me, Sherlock... "May I?"
Sherlock finally turns to look at him.
"Please."
Of course, Jim muses. The pet's seat? No thank you. He goes to sit on Sherlock's chair and starts to cut into the apple with his penknife as Sherlock serves them some tea.
"You know when he was on his death bed, Bach, he heard his son at the piano playing one of his pieces. The boy stopped before he got to the end ..."
"... and the dying man jumped out of his bed, ran straight to the piano and finished it."
"Couldn't cope with an unfinished melody." Can't say it any more poetically, honey.
"Neither can you. That's why you've come." Oh, don't act so sure of yourself and so proud about it. Really...
"But be honest: you're just a tiny bit pleased."
"What, with the verdict?"
No, no, Sherly! Don't play dumb. We don't have time for that. Be clever, for once.
"With me ... back on the streets." He looks him in the eye, and smirks. "Every fairytale needs a good old-fashioned villain." The smirk turns into a grin, and Sherlock turns away, apparently to add some milk to his tea. Jim goes on.
"You need me, or you're nothing." He studies his face for a second, but Sherlock's traits remain blank. "Because we're just alike, you and I - except you're boring. You're on the side of the angels," he sighs in disappointment, shaking his head.
"Got to the jury, of course." Sherlock comments dully. Seriously... as if there were stupid people watching and who'd need all the explaining.
"I got into the Tower of London; you think I can't worm my way into twelve hotel rooms?" Jim retorts, tone more bored than offended.
"Cable network." Yes, dear, indeed...Why did you think of it for the jury and not for the Tower?
"Every hotel bedroom has a personalised TV screen... and every person has their pressure point; someone that they want to protect from harm." Well, you would know, wouldn't you now, Sherlock? "Easy-peasy." Jim looked up at the man facing him, a perfect mirror image in his posture and gestures. Oh, dear, I've been waiting for this.
"So how're you going to do it..." He blows softly on his tea, and if Jim didn't know better, he'd think he was flirting. Then again, when don't you? Flirt with fire... Sherlock.
" ... 'burn me'?"
"Oh, that's the problem - the final problem. Have you worked out what it is yet?" Sherlock looks up at him and they lock gazes. "What's the final problem?" Jim smiles. So you haven't, huh? He adopts his favourite sing-song voice but keeps it quiet so as not to break the ambiance... and the lingering threat. "I did tell you... but did you listen?" You're losing, Sherlock. You're falling already. Look at you. Just look at you, ingraining my drumming fingers into your memory... I can do everything I want with your mind, Sherlock. Anything at all. "How hard do you find it, having to say "I don't know"?"
"I don't know." Honey, that's how I love you. Jim chuckles.
"Oh, that's clever; that's very clever; awfully clever. Speaking of clever, have you told your little friends yet?"
"Told them what?"
"Why I broke into all those places and never took anything."
"No."
"But you understand." Come on, I want to hear all your stupid little theories... Because obviously, you didn't get it. Yet. You underestimate yourself, Sherly. You can't fathom that I'm doing all of this for YOU. For us.
"Obviously."
"Off you go, then."
"You want me to tell you what you already know?"
"No; I want you to prove that you know it." I want you to entertain me, Sherlock. Come on. It's all gonna happen so fast... don't make our last few weeks boring, dear.
"You didn't take anything because you don't need to."
"Good." I don't need anything. Anything but the thrill and the challenge, and there's none of that in the Tower of London, in Pentonville Prison or in the Bank of England. But you don't need anything either, do you, Sherlock? Nor anyone… or do you, dear?
"You'll never need to take anything ever again." Idiot. I never needed to take anything in the first place. I was wrong, Sherlock. You do need something. We both do.
"Very good. Because ...?" Recognition, my dear. Recognition... You've got your pet, dying of admiration at your feet. But be honest: I'm the only one who can give you proper recognition. Who can appreciate your talents for what they truly are... My little genius.
"Because nothing ... nothing in the Bank of England, the Tower of London or Pentonville Prison could possibly match the value of the key that could get you into all three."
You're a fool. But I'm not going to tell you yet. Why should I spoil the game. Let's have some fun, Sherly... I want to see the expression on your face once realization hits you. Jim should've admitted that he enjoyed the little teacher-student play greatly as well - as if he were making Sherlock recite his lesson. "I can open any door anywhere with a few tiny lines of computer code. No such thing as a private bank account now - they're all mine. No such thing as secrecy - I own secrecy. Nuclear codes - I could blow up NATO in alphabetical order. In a world of locked rooms, the man with the key is king; and honey, you should see me in a crown." Question is... which one? He smirks up at his pendant.
"You were advertising all the way through the trial. You were showing the world what you can do."
"And you were helping." Because you're getting famous too, Sherlock... "Big client list: rogue governments, intelligence communities ... terrorist cells. They all want me. Suddenly, I'm Mr. Sex."
"If you could break any bank, what do you care about the highest bidder?" Now you're asking the right questions.
"I don't. I just like to watch them all competing. "Daddy loves me the best!" Aren't ordinary people adorable? Well, you know: you've got John. I should get myself a live-in one." Well, that's an idea... in fact, I just might.
"Why are you doing all of this?"
"It'd be so funny." To have a live-in ordinary person, like you got yourself your pet soldier. Then we'd really be symmetric. Well, of course, until/
"You don't want money or power - not really." No. That's what those dull people who owe me want, Jim mused as he carved the letters into the apple.
"What is it all for?" Aw, come on, Sherly... have you even thought about it? Or have you been too busy having your own fun with your little cases, fame and the doctor?
"I want to solve the problem - our problem; the final problem." I'll tell you the truth, then, my dear. Just once. "It's gonna start very soon, Sherlock: the fall. But don't be scared." Because I know you are. You're weak, now. You've got something to lose. "Falling's just like flying, except there's a more permanent destination." I'll bring you hell on a platter.
Sherlock stands up nervously, somewhat unnerved as if he'd heard the thoughts, and readjusts his jacket.
"Never liked riddles."
"Learn to."
Mimicking him, Jim stands up as well and straightens his jacket. They stare at each other intensely.
"Because I owe you a fall, Sherlock. I ... owe ... you." And you won't have any more clues, dear. Me and Big Brother have given you enough already.
Daily Express
MORIARTY WALKS FREE
Shock verdict at Old Bailey trial
The Judge could only look on
dumbfounded as the Jury found
'Jimbo' Moriarty 'Not Guilty'.
Gasps were heard around
the courtroom as the Jury
declared their verdict.
The Guardian
Shock verdict at trial
In an unbelievable turn of events Moriarty
walked free today after putting up no defence
at all for what has been described as the Trial
of the Century. Star witness Sherlock Holmes
was not present for the verdict as in another
twist to the case was thrown out of court by
the Judge. Questions have been asked in
Parliament and the Prime Minister was quoted
as saying "This is a disgrace, a sign
if ever we needed one that broken
Britain is still broken..."
Daily Star
How was he ever acquitted
The Guardian
Moriarty vanishes
.
.
.
Under a cartoon caricature of Sherlock holding a crystal ball, the caption reads: What Next for the Reichenbach Hero?
Jim smirks.
Life going nowhere. Somebody help me.
Somebody help me, yeah
Life going nowhere. Somebody help me, yeah
I'm staying alive.
Come and play.
Bart's Hospital rooftop.
SH
PS. Got something
of yours you might
want back.
A gleeful grin spreads on Moriarty's features.
The grin widens some hours later as he observes John leave in a cabbie from Bart's rooftop. You lost, soldier. I win. But then again, you were never much more than a pawn. The losing one.
He types.
I'm waiting...
JM
Sherlock finally arrives as the day breaks.
"Ah. Here we are at last - you and me, Sherlock, and our problem - the final problem."
Jim holds up his phone, playing the Bee Gee's song.
"Stayin' alive! It's so boring, isn't it?" He abruptly switches the music off in annoyance.
"It's just... staying." But you didn't get bored, did you, Sherly? You found something to make boredom bearable... Dull.
"All my life I've been searching for distractions. You were the best distraction and now I don't even have you. Because I've beaten you."
Jim relishes the way Sherlock's head turns sharply at the words. Oh yes, Sherly... and we both know how much you hate losing, huh? "And you know what? In the end it was easy. It was easy. Now I've got to go back to playing with the ordinary people. And it turns out you're ordinary just like all of them!" He lowers his head in despair and rubs his face before dropping the act and adding, a smirk in his voice: "Ah well."
Standing, he walks up to his nemesis and starts pacing around him slowly in a predatory manner.
"Did you almost start to wonder if I was real? Did I nearly get you?"
"Richard Brook."
"Nobody seems to get the joke, but you do."
"Of course."
"Attaboy."
"Rich Brook in German is Reichen Bach - the case that made my name." Indeed, dear, indeed... But is that all? What's the true richness of Bach, Sherlock?
"Just tryin' to have some fun." For the last time.
As he notices Sherlock's fingers beating in his back, Jim's face lights up slightly. Maybe Sherlock did get it after all... Maybe they could finally play on the same stage, and for the same audience. Let's have the best final scene the world has ever seen, Sherlock. Let's give them all we've got...
"Good. You got that too."
"Beats like digits. Every beat is a one; every rest is a zero. Binary code. That's why all those assassins tried to save my life. It was hidden on me; hidden inside my head - a few simple lines of computer code that can break into any system."
"I told all my clients: last one to Sherlock is a sissy." Jim broke into laughter mentally. He could only picture his clients' faces as they heard the words - as those who owed him heard the words, at least, as they were surely watching. But God, it was worth it.
"Yes, but now that it's up here, I can use it to alter all the records. I can kill Rich Brook and bring back Jim Moriarty."
Jim stares at Sherlock for a few seconds, and for an instant he wonders if the detective truly got it. He shrugs it off. Maybe he does have incredible acting skills. Or maybe he still doubts, too. Oh, I see. You got it... but you hope you're wrong. You hope. How quaint.
He turns away in disappointment, burying his head in his hands. "No, no, no, no, no, this is too easy. This is too easy... There is no key, DOOFUS! Those digits are meaningless. They're utterly meaningless." But you know, don't you? Don't you? Doubt starts gnawing in Moriarty's chest as he sees the confusion on Sherlock's face. Tell me you're just a bloody good actor.
"You don't really think a couple of lines of computer code are gonna crash the world around our ears? I'm disappointed. I'm disappointed in you, ordinary Sherlock."
"But the rhythm..."
"Partita number one. Thank you, Johann Sebastian Bach."
"But then how did..."
"Then how did I break into the Bank, to the Tower, to the Prison? Daylight robbery. All it takes is some willing participants." I sent them a nice little text, Sherly. "It's show time!" And it is. You have realized, haven't you? You're me, Sherlock, you're me... you can't possible have not realized yet. Jim didn't realize he was, as ever, Sherlock's pendant: he too was doubting. He too was hoping.
"I knew you'd fall for it. That's your weakness - you always want everything to be clever." When will you get that half the things I do are caused by people's stupidity and me taking advantage of it? Something you do, too, Sherlock... "Now, shall we finish the game? One final act. Glad you chose a tall building - nice way to do it."
Sherlock stares blankly in the distance, and hope burns up again in Jim's chest.
"Do it? Do - do what?" He blinks. "Yes, of course. My suicide."
Now, Jim can truly revel in his expression. There's no hope left in it - and conversely hope bursts out inside of the consulting criminal and he gloats. Yes, Sherlock. You'll have to do it. You'll have to take my place and abandon all your friends... Take my place, and abandon your pet. I'm not too cruel, though. I left you another one.
"'Genius detective proved to be a fraud.' I read it in the paper, so it must be true. I love newspapers. Fairytales."
As Sherlock leans down, looking over the edge of the roof to the ground below, Jim keeps mimicking his moves and leans in too. "And pretty Grimm ones too." He turns to look at Sherlock's face, enjoying his own joke - and his triumph.
They face each other for a moment.
"I can still prove that you created an entirely false identity."
"Oh, just kill yourself. It's a lot less effort." He whines wearily, getting exasperated. But Sherlock turns away and paces, looking distracted rather than depressed. It annoys Jim to no end. "Go on. For me. Pleeeeeease?" He squeals. It's no fun if I'm the only one to kill myself. Come on. You can choose to die, or to fake your death, I don't care. But I can tell you something, Sherlock: you will jump.
Suddenly Sherlock grabs his archenemy by his collar and spins him around, shoving him near the edge. Ooh, interesting. You're losing it now.
"You're insane."
Jim blinks, disbelieving - and perhaps a teensy bit playful, too.
"You're just getting that now?"
Sherlock shoves him further back and Jim sighs, holding his hands out wide. "Okay, let me give you a little extra incentive." Just so you really look like a hero... my little Reichenbach hero. "Your friends will die if you don't." A grin spreads on Jim's face as fear creeps into Sherlock's.
"John." Ooh, now you're playing. But of course, he comes first.
"Not just John. Everyone."
"Mrs. Hudson."
"Everyone." Jim grins in delight.
"Lestrade." Here we go.
"Three bullets; three gunmen; three victims." That's what you wanted to know, isn't it? If you'd calculated correctly. If you hadn't missed one. Oh, now I know you're acting - but Sherly, Sherly, we're playing together! You don't have to play me now! "There's no stopping them now. Unless my people see you jump."
Jim admires Sherlock's acting for a while - his heavy breathing, the horror dawning on his face. The distress. Well, maybe you're not faking that as much as you wish you were. He smiles up at him ecstatically. "You can have me arrested; you can torture me; you can do anything you like with me; but nothing's gonna prevent them from pulling the trigger. Your only three friends in the world will die ... unless ..."
" ... unless I kill myself - complete your story."
Moriarty nods, his grin broadens. Our story, Sherlock.
"You've gotta admit that's sexier." Just like that lost look on your face. What are you thinking about, dear?
"And I die in disgrace."
"Of course. That's the point of this."
As he looks over the side, Jim studies the scene and his lips curve up.
"Oh, you've got an audience now. Off you pop." Whatever you're thinking... or rather, whoever you're thinking about. You have this all planned too. I'm glad, Sherly. I truly hope you got everything, though. If you take my place, you'll die, and never see your friends again. And if you don't take my place... Well, you'll live, and never see your friends again. Or see them and die, bringing them down with you. Your pick, honey. "Go on."
He keeps gloating as Sherlock steps onto the ledge. " I told you how this ends. Your death is the only thing that's gonna call off the killers. I'm certainly not gonna do it."
"Would you give me ... one moment, please; one moment of privacy?" Jim stares, basking for an instant in the anguish of his pendant's face. "Please?" Now, that is a bit overacted, dear... But deep down, he knows it isn't. Sherlock truly doesn't want to jump. He's still hoping. Hoping to find a way out, hoping that he won't have to "kill" himself in front of the one man who truly got to him - and who proved to be his downfall. You fool.
"Of course."
You've lost, Sherlock. You'll do just what I say, because you don't want them to die, and there's no way out. It's a vicious circle you've created here. You want to protect them, but you don't want to leave - and that's why it is so easy to... His train of thought is abruptly interrupted by Sherlock's vibrant laughter. He turns around abruptly - fury on his face, and hope, hope... Will you surprise me in the end?
"What? What is it?" His tone is angry. Expectant. "What did I miss?"
"You're not going to do it. So the killers can be called off, then - there's a recall code or a word or a number."
The roles are reversed, and now Sherlock is pacing around Jim, circling his prey. The consulting criminal is exulting inside. Now you are mirroring me... Oh, you'd better not be giving me false hope, Sherlock.
"I don't have to die… if I've got you." Jim feels delectation filling him as he hears Sherlock mimicking even his own sing-song voice. He allows the delight to reach his face.
"Oh!" He laughs in relief. So that's your hope? Ha ha! Sherlock, you got everything, all right... but there's one thing, one crucial thing you didn't guess... "You think you can make me stop the order? You think you can make me do that?"
"Yes. So do you." You're right. I do. We do. That's why I planned everything out consequently... that's why I brought the gun.
"Sherlock, your big brother and all the King's horses couldn't make me do a thing I didn't want to." Only you. There's only you.
"Yes, but I'm not my brother, remember? I am you - prepared to do anything; prepared to burn; prepared to do what ordinary people won't do. You want me to shake hands with you in hell? I shall not disappoint you."
Here it is again. Hope. But Jim shakes his head.
"Naah. You talk big. Naah. You're ordinary. You're ordinary - you're on the side of the Angels." That's why you don't want to jump, honey, you don't want to become me... Well, we shall see about that.
"Oh, I may be on the side of the angels, but don't think for one second that I am one of them."
Their eyes lock, and in that instant Jim can read everything - everything behind the burning pupils. His own eyes widen.
"No, you're not."
He blinks, then closes his eyes again briefly - and Sherlock mirrors his movement. Jim's smile becomes Cheshire cat-like: he's insanely happy. You couldn't have given me a better farewell gift, Sherlock.
"I see. You're not ordinary. No. You're me." He laughs, overwhelmed. His voice becomes high-pitched and he thinks this is the best possible way it could have ended - he only regrets that he won't be there to see the look on Sherlock's face once he's shot himself. "You're me! Thank you!"
At first he lifts his hand as if he were about to hug Sherlock, but on second thought lowers it and offers it to him. You wanna shake hands in hell? Well, patience, my dear... You'll be in hell very soon. "Sherlock Holmes." I am so glad to have met you. It was a fun game. You made it all better. But I'm tired of it now, you see? Our time has come to pass. The game is over, Sherlock. He nods gratefully as Sherlock takes his hand. "Thank you. Bless you." And it's all the blessings you'll get.
He blinks again. "As long as I'm alive, you can save your friends; you've got a way out." He keeps blinking, head lowered. The music was playing in his head, and he had Sherlock's gaze on him. Everything was perfect.
Jim Moriarty had planned everything in advance and was overjoyed when he saw Sherlock had finally understood: "You're me. You're me!" His emotion was a bit overacted, but his "Thank you" was sincere. This was perfect. Sherlock wasn't an Angel after all. He wasn't ordinary. He was just like him. He'd take his place in the centre of the web, and that would be his trial.
His final trial.
To live, or not to live? And if to live, how?
"Well... Good luck with that."
Life going nowhere. Somebody help me.
Somebody help me, yeah
Life going nowhere. Somebody help me, yeah
I'm staying alive!
BANG.
.
.
.
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