Beads of sweat dripped down your face and you gasped for air, trying desperately to get the oxygen you needed to stay alive. Blood pounded in your ears as you hurtled through the streets of London, completely blind to all those around you as your heart settled in the pit of your stomach.
Only minutes ago had you gotten an ominous text message directing you to go to St. Bart’s for a “final goodbye.” You always knew how dangerous this dance between the love of your life and the only man who could match his intelligence was. You had confronted him, spilling out your fears for his life and even lashed out, saying that this whole thing was ridiculous. He had only held you, explaining that the he could not go on while the other plagued London.
“He will find you unless I end him,” he had said, running a hand through your hair. “I cannot let that happen.” Before you could reply, he grasped the back of your head and pulled you towards him, crashing his lips against yours. At that point your arguments ceased.
Now you cursed yourself as you rounded a corner, readying yourself to see what would be on the other side.
Everyone was going about their business, contributing to the usual bustle of city life.
You hated them for it. Your hands were shaking while people were casually walking to work, only having to worry about getting there on time
Then, you heard a gunshot and you froze. “Oh, God…” you whimpered, looking up at the hospital. They were on top of the roof and one of them had been shot. A rapid pounding on the pavement to your right startled you. You turned to see John Watson hurtle himself towards you, a phone pressed to his ear.
“John?” you said meekly, barely able to get the word out. John hadn’t heard you. Instead, his eyes were glued to the roof, his face pained as he spoke into his phone desperately. You followed his eyes and saw Sherlock standing at the edge of the rooftop. Your hands flew over your mouth. “Oh, God, no!” At this point John briefly turned to you, a brief look of surprise on his face, but he quickly refocused on his best friend.
And then Sherlock was falling, and you were screaming.
You took off with John at your side. Tears were pouring down your face, thinking about how all of this was so pointless. He died to maintain his ego and nothing more; you didn’t care what he said. You could already picture his lifeless eyes staring up at you, eyes that had once been so intense and beautiful now snuffed out.
John turned to the crowd surrounding Sherlock while you veered to the left and sprinted to the fire escape on the side of the building. “I swear to God, you son of a bitch…” you muttered a slew of obscenities through your sobs as you climbed up the stairs. You finally reached the top and shielded your eyes. The sun was so bright and it made the sky so blue. It should have been reigning hellfire and ash.
James Moriarty was lying on his back, completely lifeless. You felt the bile rise in your throat as you stepped towards the body of your lover. “Jim,” you whispered, as if he were asleep. His limp hand lay palm up, a pistol resting a few inches away. As you had feared, those dark brown eyes, once able to induce fear into the world’s only consulting detective and send delicious shivers down your spine, were blank. His head was framed by a spray of blood, giving him a violent halo.
This must have been what Lucifer looked like when he had fallen from heaven.
“Jim,” you said again, kneeling down and shaking his arm. Your tears were falling freely now, although silently. You felt so damn stupid, but you just wanted him to wake up. You took a deep breath and stood up. Wiping your tears, you closed your eyes for a moment before letting out a scream.
“You fucking idiot!” you yelled, kicking a ventilation hood hard enough to leave a dent. “Were you really that fucking stupid to think that killing yourself would be what,” you made quotation marks with your fingers “’the ultimate move’ or something? You were supposed to be a criminal mastermind who made others look like fools. I had to watch that idiot jump off a building to know that you had to have been the one who was shot!" You looked down at him in disgust. "Now you just look like a coward."
You had begun to pace, too angry to stay in one place. “Honestly, you’re a goddamn drama queen.” You kicked his foot in frustration before crouching down next to him. You slowly leaned in, placing your lips right next to his ear. “Do you know what’s the most boring thing known to man, Jim?” you whispered, lips brushing against his skin. “Death.” You kissed his cheek. “Have fun.”
You slapped him as a final goodbye.
You stood up and walked away. Although you were still seething, you were dead inside. While he burned the heart out of Sherlock Holmes, Jim shattered yours to pieces.
You heard a commotion on the streets below and remembered that Holmes had smashed onto the pavement in front of his best friend. You had to try to compartmentalize Jim’s death and focus on this success.
You drew your arms around yourself as a breeze chilled the air. As you took a step onto the fire escape, you heard a voice.
“If I knew you were such a sadist I don’t think we would have ever left the bedroom,” James Moriarty purred as he stood up, lightly touching the red handprint on his cheek.
“Jim?” your voice cracked as you parroted your favorite word of the day. You felt something in your chest bloom.
“As I live and breathe, sweetheart!” he threw his arms out, grinning from ear to ear. “Do you get it? Because you thought I blew my fucking brains out?!” he pantomimed his head exploding with pure psychotic glee."KABOOM!" Suddenly his face hardened and his eyes bore into your own. “You really do have more cold-hearted, how do they say it? Spunk, than I thought you did.” He had started to walk towards you, putting one hand in his pocket and placing the other on his chest, “I absolutely loved it. All of it. Seeing someone you care about dead and bleeding, then physically assaulting and verbally abusing them is just…just so sexy.” He flashed a devilish smile, completely amused by himself.
“Buuuuuuuuut,” he popped the “t”. “I want to absolutely VOMIT now that I know you can become such a sniveling MESS!” he shouted, his eyes burning.
“I thought you were dead, Jim,” you spat. “If you want to vomit, try not to get it on my shoes.”
Moriarty’s mouth formed a small ‘o’ and his eyebrows shot up. “Now that,” he sang as he grabbed your shoulders, “is my girl!” He gave you a grin that went all the way to his eyes, the one that said, I can skin you in a moment’s notice.
“Do you want to know how I did it?” You nodded. Moriarty reached to the back of his head and pulled out what looked like a bloody piece of scalp. “Have you seen those Quentin Tarantino movies, love?” he asked.
“Excellent.” He wrapped an arm around your shoulders as he held the scalp object high above your faces. “As we both know, those beautiful, gory scenes are nothing but Hollywood magic. Now, I figured out that I could make a little magic of my own.” He glanced at you before continuing. “This little thing is a silicon patch covered in hair that looks exactly like my scalp.” He flipped the silicon over. Inside was what looked like a burnt wire, bits of plastic, all set against a metal plate. The whole contraption was covered in red. “Now, this,” Moriarty pointed to the wire, “is a bobcat firework. We also have a blood packet, igniters, and a few other fun things.”
“Oh my God, Jim…” you murmured. “this is incredible.”
Moriarty groaned. “You know how hot I get when you admit you love my monstrosities.” His hand slipped up your skirt. You gasped. “Now, that pistol over there that is not loaded. And I have my men sprinkled allllllllll over town.” he swept is arm in an arch. “I had one of them detonate the firework when I put the gun in my mouth. Then just like that,” he threw the scalp and snapped his finger, “I’m dead.”
“And Sherlock -?”
“Sherlock is unfortunately alive and it’s just ugh.” he rolled his head on his shoulders as if he was an annoyed teenager. Before you could reply, he started to kiss your chest. His lips lightly touched your collarbone as his other hand became more adventurous under your skirt, sliding up your upper thighs before tracing the junction that connected to your hip. “He can wait a few hours. His friends and family are breaking as we speak.” His voice was low and his face was intense.
He looked like a tiger about to catch its prey.
“I thought you were gone,” you said, not breaking his gaze. The anger that had filled your veins only moments ago came boiling back. “You let me stand there while my soul was ripped to shreds! What are you trying to pull?” you uttered between clenched teeth before you shoved him away. It was a bold move, but you were too livid to fear any consequences. Luckily, Moriarty seemed to be amused.
In a flash, he closed the distance between you. His warm breath tickled your face. You closed your eyes as he twirled a strand of your hair around his finger before gently tucking it behind your ear. Moriarty’s finger’s traced your jawline before capturing you in a long-awaited kiss. You felt the fury melt away as your muscles completely relaxed. “God damn you,” you murmured against his lips.
“He already did,” Moriarty broke the kiss to clutch your jaw. It hurt, but you were too smart to admit that you were in pain. You watched as his dark eyes searched your face. “Pretty little mouse…” he smiled before playfully poking your nose. If you were a fool, you would have thought it was out of love. “I thought it would be…” he bit his lip and pretended to look anxious as he feigned to come up with a word, " funny.”
You turned away, too proud to let him see the pain on your face. “Don’t leave me like that,” you said quietly.
Moriarty pouted. “Oh, no,” he crooned, placing a hand on your cheek. “I would never leave my little girl alone in this world, where other men can hurt her, look at her, and touch her.” You instinctively wrapped an arm around his waist and pulled his hair when his fingers found their way into your knickers.
“I love you,” you whispered without thought.
Moriarty started to snicker and you felt like an absolute idiot. How could you toss the word love around him? You felt yourself wilt as he lifted your chin and you were forced to see his grin.
“Oh, I thought you were so much better than that.” He pulled away and straightened his tie. “I’ll call you when this seems less pathetic.”
Before you knew it, you were alone.