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The Stars Are Confused

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Barging into Moriarty's flat, Sherlock has a purpose. His entrance is somewhat less dramatized than he'd like, seeing as Jim wasn't sitting in the living room to witness his initial outburst. Poking his way through the rest of the apartment, he finds Jim in the office, seated behind his decoratively carved wooden desk.

"What am I supposed to make of this?" Sherlock asks, brandishing a notecard in Jim's face, ignoring the concentrated look he had been giving his laptop.

"Valentine's day was yesterday." Moriarty says matter-of-factly, not at all annoyed that Sherlock interrupted him while planning a new heist, "Didn't you get the flowers I sent with it?"

"Those aren't nearly as important as this code."

"What code?" Jim acts bored as he types up a few emails. 

"Your note! I can't seem to work it out." He waves the thick card stock around exasperatedly, "It's just dots." 

"Actually, Galileo, that's the constellation Gemini." Moriarty finally looks up, mildly amused, I suppose the doctor does make a few genuine observations… I'll need to read that blog more. 

"The what?" The detective states blankly. 

"Constellation? You know… configurations of stars in the sky?"

"Yes, yes, I know of that inane practice. What of… Gemini?"

"Oh there's this whole myth about it. Funny people, the ancient Greeks."

"I think Mycroft read me The Illiad once when we were boys."

"Well that's a start." Jim shuts his laptop, figuring Sherlock would be there for a while. 

"Obviously you want to tell me the significance." 

"I suppose a story is warranted." Jim sighs, "Otherwise, my clever reference might as well be meaningless spots." 

"Go on, but please spare me the poorly executed green screen effects, Richard."

Jim rolls his eyes, but proceeds, "The condensed version is that there were two boys, half-brothers. Castor was an ordinary human. The other brother, Pollux, was a demigod. Yet, despite their inherent difference, they were inseparable, and loved each other more than anything in the world. 

But alas, the human one died. So Pollux appealed to his father, the mighty Zeus. In some versions, Pollux asks to share his immortality. In others, he asks to die with his brother. In either tale, Zeus forever joins them into the constellation Gemini, the twins."

"Which is it you were implying, then?" Sherlock asks, unsure of whether or not to be touched, "Being together forever, or dying together?"

"I don't see much of a difference." Jim stands up and gently plays with the detective's curls, lost in a memory, "Sometimes dying is a far kinder gift than the grueling task of living. Especially if the one person that's worth anything disappeared."

"I'd agree to that, but I'm afraid of what you might do… again." 

"Oh, forget about my failed mutual suicide pact. That's in the past. Besides, I also meant to imply that we are star-crossed lovers."

"What?" Sherlock looks almost offended. 

"Oh, just because you don't understand a reference doesn't mean you should glare, my love." Jim entwines their fingers, "It's silly; basically means we're soul mates." 

"Ah." Sherlock bites his lip, "How so?"

Childishly, Jim enjoys being able to teach things to the detective, means that I'm still a mystery to him. Keeps him from getting bored, "Back when fate and astrology were hard sciences, people who were born under the 'same stars' were destined to be together." Jim takes a moment to enjoy the horror on Sherlock's face. 

"People actually believed that?" He scoffs, "For as little as I know about the universe, I know flaming balls of hydrogen don't exactly care what we do." 

"Most certainly, my dear." Moriarty beams, "But it was so common, that there's still a saying based on the idea: the stars are right."

"In our case, I'd say the stars are confused, bordering on sadistic."

"The curse of being us — only being able to love what should be unobtainable —it's something we can't escape, my Pollux."

"Here I thought you were the immortal one." 

"Unfortunately, I know I'll be the first to die. And that you will be the one to suffer alone in the aftermath, and not know what to do with yourself." Jim says it smugly, but he's actually afraid of how true it is. So is Sherlock. They let the moment hang, just holding each other. 

"Now," Moriarty tugs Sherlock toward the door, "I believe I owe you a late Valentine's date."