Sherlock sat in his chair with an angry scowl pulling at his features. The detective plucked a few high-shrilled chords on his beloved violin as he glared at the group of people in front of him. John rolled his eyes at his flatmate’s dramatic antics.
“Oh, come on, Sherlock. Don’t ruin the fun. You just told me you’re going to take some extremely potent truth serum you made yourself, and you didn’t expect me to call our friends to witness it, too?” The army doctor chuckled, shaking his head. The entire situation was just too funny to him.
Sherlock sneered at him and set his violin aside. “I don’t have friends. Besides, I had half-expected you to be decent enough about the situation to not call everyone the first chance you got.”
It was true that the consulting detective had created his own version of truth serum. He had been experimenting on a vial of Sodium Pentothal for a few weeks, wracking through his brain for a way to make the chemical even more potent. After a few tries he had finally come up with an interesting recipe. Very interesting indeed. His personal spin on the drug, if it worked correctly- oh, who was he kidding, he made it, of course it worked correctly- would loosen the tongue and mind’s inhibitions enough that whoever took it had no choice but to tell the truth. Of course, as a scientist, he had decided that the best course of action to test the formula would be to take it himself; that way he could be sure that it worked and that his test subject wasn’t just lying. Perhaps not the best decision, seeing as John had taken it upon himself to tell Molly, Lestrade, and Mrs. Hudson about the situation. As expected, they had rushed over immediately to witness the entire fiasco. And to take advantage of it , Sherlock thought bitterly. ‘This is what happens when you trust a goldfish, brother dear.’ His mind-palace version of Mycroft rang out condescendingly in his head.
“Fine,” the detective huffed indignantly, eyeing the vial of liquid in his hand. “Bottoms up.” He shrugged, feigning nonchalance as he uncapped the tube and brought it to his lips. Truth be told, Sherlock was terrified. There was no telling what the four would ask him, and he wasn’t looking forward to it. He turned the vial up, downing the translucent liquid quickly.
John stared expectantly from his own chair, shifting little Rosie in his lap. The baby stared at her father wide-eyed before making grabby hands at his chin. “So?”
At this, Sherlock rolled his eyes. “Oh, don’t be daft, John. I know you’re not all that smart, but even you should know that the properties of Sodium Pentothal, even of my own making, will take at least ten minutes to begin affecting the recipient.”
“How do we know when it’s started to work?” Lestrade questioned, his eyebrows raised. The silver-haired detective inspector was leaning against the wall between the sofa and the corner, his legs and arms crossed in his relaxed position.
“I’m pretty sure I will know when a drug I’ve just taken begins to work, Gavin.” The consulting detective scoffed, popping the ‘p’ on pretty to emphasize his point.
Greg shifted, looking mildly embarrassed. “Right. Of course.” He mumbled.
“Shall I fetch us some tea and biscuits while we wait, dears?” Mrs. Hudson chirped as she hopped up from her seat on the couch next to Molly.
She dusted herself off, fixing the wrinkles in her dress. The landlady bounded excitedly down the stairs to her own flat without waiting for a reply, always eager to feed guests. It would take the old lady only four minutes to gather the tea and biscuits for everyone, Sherlock deduced. As expected, Mrs. Hudson returned not long after his estimated time, carrying a platter full of mugs and snacks. She passed them around to the guests, receiving thanks as she did. When she got to Sherlock, he waved her off.
“Eating is boring.” He complained, opting instead to lean back and sprawl his long legs across the left arm of his chair.
The consultant was wearing his purple button-up shirt and a pair of tight black dress pants, along with a shiny pair of black dress shoes. He had been in a good mood this morning due to the discovery his experiment had yielded, and he had wanted to dress up in a way to celebrate. It was a silly notion- one he usually thought himself better of- but still. Sherlock acted indifferent as he observed the others while they ate, not missing the way Molly Hooper’s eyes would continue to flicker over to him and linger on his body, especially after he had sprawled out. Still hopelessly in love with me , he thought bitterly. Her advances were annoying, and he had hoped she would have given up on him by now. Other than a few flirts to get what he wanted, he had made it abundantly clear that he was not interested in her. She would likely ask him how he truly felt about her. That much wasn’t hard to deduce.
Sherlock could feel the process of the serum kicking in. His limbs began to feel heavier, and his mind started to become a bit fuzzy. His tongue sat heavy in his mouth. It wouldn’t be long now until he was subjected to their incessant questioning. “It’s time.” He hummed as he steepled his fingers over his chest.
Everyone stopped what they were doing immediately, all conversation dying down. The detective found it mildly disconcerting. John grinned widely. “You already know what we’re going to ask. How do you really feel about all of us, Mr. I-Have-No-Friends? Me first.” The army doctor needled.
“I’ve just taken a highly potent ‘truth serum,’ and you just want to ask me how I feel about you all? Boring!” Sherlock huffed, throwing his hands up in frustration. “Fine. John, you’re my best friend. You know that already. I’ve told you before.”
John rolled his eyes. “Yeah, I know that. I want to know what else you think about me. Spill it.”
“If you insist. I tire of everyone assuming we’re a couple. You’re obviously not gay, and I would never consider dating you myself. In addition, you may be my best friend, but sometimes you’re not a very good one. You’ve physically abused me in the past, you blamed me for the death of Mary when she jumped in front of the bullet to save me, you forbid me from seeing both you and Rosie for the longest, and you would have left me to die at the hands of Culverton Smith if not for the message Mary had left you. After all of that, I don’t think I can ever trust you as much as I once did.” The consulting detective was aware of what was coming out of his mouth, but he couldn’t stop it. Nor did he want to. It felt good to finally be able to say it all.
John shifted in his seat uncomfortably, and Sherlock could see the guilt and shame pulling at his features. The other adults in the room looked between the two anxiously. “I’m...sorry, Sherlock. I really haven’t been the best to you, have I? You didn’t deserve any of that. You just wanted to help. I know that now. I’m sorry.”
“Thank you.” Sherlock hummed, dismissing the awkward confrontation readily. “Next.”
Mrs. Hudson smiled mischievously. “Sherlock, honey. I’ve been putting up with your tantrums and your destruction of my flat for so long. I do believe I deserve to hear how you really feel about me.” Her eyes twinkled as she spoke.
“Easy. You care for me more than my own parents ever have. I’ve always been a disappointment to them. Their poor, junkie son that can’t seem to quit his drug addiction.” Sherlock furrowed his brows. “But you’ve never seen me that way. You’ve always been there for me, no matter what. If it weren’t for you, I’d probably never eat and be living on the streets.”
“Oh, Sherlock!” Mrs. Hudson cried, flinging herself into his arms for a tight hug.
“Mrs. Hudson, you’re choking me.” The curly-haired man wheezed. Despite his complaint, he smiled softly and wrapped his arms around her to return the hug.
Lestrade chuckled. “I knew you had a heart somewhere beneath all that cold exterior. I want to hear what you’ve got to say about me next.” The DI grinned expectantly.
Mrs. Hudson pulled away and reclaimed her seat on the sofa. She had a soft, happy smile on her face. Sherlock felt pride swell in his chest at having been the one to put it there. Maybe this won’t be so bad after all, he thought to himself before turning his attention to eye Lestrade. “Greg, you’re a great friend. If I...er...can call you that?” At this, Greg nodded eagerly. The inspector was beyond happy that the eccentric man considered him his friend. “You were one of the first people to ever be there for me. Don’t think I’ve forgotten. You were the first at Scotland Yard to ever trust me or give me a case. It was always you and Mycroft pulling me out of drug dens and sitting by my bedside in the hospital every time I overdosed. You’re like a father to me.”
“Sherlock that’s...wow. I didn’t even know you knew my actual name.” Lestrade said, wide eyed and touched.
The detective grinned. “I’m a highly intelligent sociopath. Of course I remember your name. I just like messing with you.”
“Oh, you bastard!” Greg bellowed with a laugh.
Sherlock, however, had become suddenly quiet. He pursed his lips, thinking. “Mycroft...” The detective’s hand slipped into his pants pocket and he fingered at his phone. Hesitating briefly, he pulled out the device and rifled through his contacts. He pressed the name he was looking for and put it on speaker phone, waiting as it rang. One, two rings...
“...yes?” His brother’s voice came through the grainy speaker. Mycroft always picked up on the third ring when it was Sherlock calling.
“Brother, dear! So nice to hear your voice. You know I love you, right?” Sherlock drawled, and everyone else in 221B looked on in awe and surprise.
Mycroft sighed heavily, and Sherlock could see the exasperated face he always made when he did. “Oh no...Sherlock what did you do ? It can’t be drugs. I’ve been monitoring your apartment for the past week, and you haven’t given any indication of relapse.”
The detective huffed petulantly, rolling his eyes. “Don’t worry, big brother. I didn’t cause your precious Queen any trouble. And I’m not on any drugs! I told you I quit.” Sherlock snapped. “You put cameras in my apartment again.” It wasn’t a question; it was an accusation. John let out an indignant squawk, having not known the apartment was bugged all the time.
“Yes, of course. You knew they were there already. I wouldn’t have to keep replacing them if you simply stopped destroying them, brother dearest.” Mycroft shot back.
“Where’s the fun in that?” Sherlock grinned, getting more comfortable in his chair. “You didn’t answer my question, though. You do know I love you, yes?”
Oh, the detective could just hear the eyeroll his brother was giving him at this point. “Obviously, I know. Is...something wrong? These sentiments are most unlike you.” The older Holmes sounded a tad worried now.
“Nothing at all. Sodium Pentothal is most enlightening. Who would have thought the goldfish managed to do something right? Then again, I did alter the recipe a bit to make it better.” Sherlock hummed, ignoring the insulted looks his friends shot him at having been called goldfish.
“Yes, who would have thought.” Mycroft’s smooth voice drawled in agreement. “You’ve taken a truth serum?” He sounded amused now.
The younger Holmes chuckled and averted his gaze to the ceiling, tracing the patterns. “I did. Can’t trust anyone else for the results. I opted to do it myself. It’s surprisingly...nice. You should try it sometime, brother.”
Mycroft actually snorted at that. “I do believe I’ll pass. I suppose you have some things you would like to get off your chest, so to speak, seeing as you called me.”
“Mm...yes. I love you very much, Mycie. You’ve always been there for me, even when no one else was. You’ve only ever wanted what was best for me, and I’m very thankful for your protection. I know I act like I don’t care, what with the insults and all, but I never mean them. I hope you know that. You’re...” Sherlock hesitated, fidgeting in his seat. “You’re the best big brother anyone can ask for.”
The line was silent. For a minute, the detective worried that he had broken his brother with all the sentiment he seemed to loathe so much. “...you haven’t called me Mycie since we were younger. I like it. You should keep calling me that. I love you too, Sher.” Sherlock smiled at the old nickname. “ Of course I do. More than anything. You know I never mean my insults either, right? You’re not stupid. You’re my brother.”
The consultant laughed happily, a foreign noise for him. He hardly ever laughed these days. His friends smiled. “Let’s get dinner this weekend. My treat. We can even get that chocolate mousse you’re so fond of. I know you always have Sundays off.”
“I would like that, brother dear. I’ll pick you up at 7:00?” The British Government sounded happier than ever.
“That works. See you, Mycie.” Sherlock nodded in agreement, even though his brother would be unable to see it.
“See you, Sher.” The line went dead as Mycroft ended the call.
Sherlock felt lighter than he had in years. It felt like a big weight had been lifted from his shoulders now that he no longer had to carry the burden of his hidden feelings. It really did feel good to be able to voice everything out loud. He took a deep breath in, raking his eyes over his friends. “You’re the last one, Molly.”
Molly shifted in her seat, a light blush covering her cheeks. “I guess so.” She nodded.
“You’re a good friend, Molly Hooper. But...I can’t return your feelings. I don’t love you the way that you love me. Women aren’t really my area. I prefer men.” The genius told her softly, offering her a small smile.
Her eyes widened. “I didn’t know you were gay. I’m sorry too...if my attention made you uncomfortable.” She smiled sadly. “Now that I know I’ll never have a chance, it should be easier to move on...”
“You’re gay?!” John shouted in shock, leaning forward in his seat.
Sherlock furrowed his brows in confusion. “Yes. I told you that when you asked me at Angelo’s.”
The army doctor let out a small huff of laughter. “I thought you didn’t do romance. Honestly, I thought you were completely asexual.”
“Asexual? What made you think that ?” The detective asked in disbelief.
John just shrugged, patting Rosie’s head as she cooed. “So have you ever, you know, had sex?”
Sherlock paused, staring dubiously at his friend. “No.”
“Never?” Lestrade sputtered.
The detective glared at him. “No. Never. Why is that such a big deal?”
“It’s not. Not a...uh...big deal at all. Just surprising is all. Not many people are virgins at your age.” John hurried to defend, and Greg nodded along. “Ever been in love?”
Oh, the detective really did not want to answer that question. He glared at his best friend, and the man didn’t even have the decency to look apologetic. “...yes, I have.” Sherlock mumbled quietly, turning his head to pout at the wall.
“Are you, you know, still in love?” Molly questioned shyly.
“I’m your best friend, and I never even knew!” John threw the hand that wasn’t holding his daughter in the air. “Okay...is it Irene?” His flatmate asked, eyeing Sherlock curiously.
The consultant scowled. “What part of gay do you not understand? No! It’s not Irene Adler. I only admired her because of her mind, nothing else.”
“So who is it then? Spit it out, dearie! You know how much I love the gossip!” Mrs. Hudson giggled encouragingly.
“I don’t want to tell you.”
“Because it’s...” Sherlock paused. He had just heard the front door open, and they weren’t expecting any visitors. None of the others seemed aware of the noise. A familiar pair of footsteps echoed through the hallway and up the stairs. A pause on the middle stair that always creaked. The detective’s heart leapt to his throat. It sounded like... “ Oh god.” Sherlock fought back a sob as tears sprang to his eyes. His friends quickly became worried.
“Sherlock, what’s wrong?”
“What is it?”
The consulting detective tuned them all out. They were nothing but background noise compared to the footsteps that were closing in. Sherlock stared at the doorway with wide eyes, scared. Scared that he had miscalculated his formula. Scared that this was just a hallucination. The footsteps stopped, and James Moriarty appeared in the entrance. He looked as good as he always had, wearing an expensive Westwood suit with a crisp, blood red tie. His dark hair was slicked back in its usual style, absolutely no sign of a bullet having blown his brains out. “Honey, I’m home~” He said in his usual sing-song Irish drawl.
Molly, Lestrade, Mrs. Hudson, and John immediately stopped their fussing over Sherlock. Their heads snapped over to the intruder. They all paled in fear. “No...you’re dead! You’re supposed to be dead!” John snapped angrily, sneering at the criminal. Lestrade drew his gun, pointing it at the man.
“You...you...” Molly was at a loss for words.
“Me.” Moriarty crooned in retaliation, turning his attention to the gun pointed at his head. “Oh, please. Do you really think I came here without... proper precautions ? I planted a particularly nasty bomb in this building a few days ago. I have a man watching. One wrong move and we all go boom!” The consulting criminal cackled, mimicking an explosion with his mouth and hands.
That was a lie. There was no bomb at all, at least not in their building. Sherlock could tell, but he wasn’t about to let the others know that. That would be boring. “Do as he says. Greg, put the gun away.”
“But-“ John tried to argue.
“John, your daughter is here. Are you sure you want to put her at risk? Let Moriarty do whatever he came here for.” The detective barked before returning his attention to the criminal mastermind before him. The soldier sighed begrudgingly and sat back, glaring at Moriarty. Lestrade followed his example and holstered his gun.
“Let me do what I came here for? Ooh, please do. I came here for Sherlock. It would be my pleasure to do him.” Jim purred, causing the others to stare at him in disgust. A shiver ran down Sherlock’s spine, but it certainly wasn’t from disgust. Moriarty seemed to catch the action, and his eyes twinkled with mirth. “Did you miss me, darling? I missed you.”
Sherlock’s eyes never once left Moriarty’s as the criminal prowled confidently to where he was seated, leaning in close with no regards to personal space. Sherlock closed his eyes, remembering the anguish he had felt when he had watched Moriarty blow his own brains out on the rooftop all those years ago. “Oh god, yes. I’ve missed you so much.” The detective choked out as he opened his eyes, sitting upright in his chair. His fingers wrapped around the other man’s tie before he was even aware that he was doing it, and he tugged the consulting criminal into his lap. Jim was happy to oblige, resting a knee on either side of Sherlock’s hips and pressing their foreheads together, breathing in each other’s air.
“What the fuck, Sherlock?! You can’t actually be serious?! He tried to kill us all! He’s a psychopath, for god’s sake! Are you really so selfish that-“ John screamed in outrage, only stopping his tirade once his baby began to cry. He bounced her on his knee, shushing her as he continued to glare daggers at Moriarty.
“Careful there, Johnny boy. Wouldn’t want something terrible to happen to your little offspring now, would we?” Jim tittered dangerously from his spot on top of his rival.
“I am indeed very serious, John. I have, in fact, taken truth serum, as you recall. Jim is the only person other than Mycroft who can match my intelligence. He’s the only one that truly understands me.” Sherlock told his friend, his tone flat and indicating just how serious he was.
Moriarty leaned back to stare at the consulting detective, his cold eyes calculating. “You’ve taken Sodium Pentothal. Interesting. Very interesting. Tell me, pet, are you in love with me?”
“I know you’re insane, but are you really so crazy that you think Sherlock would love you of all people? He isn’t-“
“Yes.” Sherlock cut Molly off immediately.
Jim raised a perfectly trimmed eyebrow, smirking victoriously. “Say it, Sherlock. Say it!” The consulting criminal hissed, burying a hand in his curly hair and pulling hard.
“I love you, Jim. I love you so much, and it hurts.” Sherlock cried, bucking up into the man on top of him.
Moriarty moaned, rutting his hips down against the detective’s, rubbing their erections together. Sherlock’s hands flew up to grip the criminal’s arse. The delicious friction made them both shudder with delight. “Oh, Sherlock. You’re so good. So good. My love; my dearest. I love you too, Sherly.”
Sherlock groaned loudly, the noise reverberated through his chest. “Jim. Jim, please...” the detective wasn’t even sure what he was pleading for. He was just so desperate for the man on top of him. “I need you.” Sherlock whined, pressing his lips against the psychopath’s in a desperate, heated kiss.
“Oh my god! Sherlock!” John snapped, covering Rosie’s eyes hastily.
Moriarty laughed into his mouth, and Sherlock swallowed the noise greedily. One of the detective’s hands came up to grip Jim’s hair, and the other wrapped around his waist, pulling him down and increasing the friction between them. Sherlock groaned needily, rutting up against his rival. Jim didn’t hesitate once, more than willing to give Sherlock exactly what he needed.
“We’re still here, you know.” Lestrade coughed, looking as if he would rather be anywhere else at the moment. Molly was flushed a bright red, and she dodged their eyes as they turned to look at the group.
“You two stop that. It’s indecent.” Mrs. Hudson scolded without any heat behind her words. She looked amused, the crazy old woman. Of course she’d love the drama.
“Bloody hell. Please stop.” John pleaded, extremely uncomfortable.
Moriarty tutted, pouting down at Sherlock. “I don’t think they liked our little show, sexy. What a shame.” The psychopath jutted his bottom lip out before shrugging. “Then again, you’re mine. No one is allowed to see you so debauched but me.” He hissed threateningly. Leaning back and reaching over to the table, he snatched up a biscuit and popped it into his mouth, chewing the snack as he slipped off of the man below him and stood in front of the chair instead.
“In that case, I could say the same about you.” Sherlock drawled lazily, his eyes raking over the criminal, stopping hungrily on the prominent bulge in those expensive trousers. The detective licked his lips, sending a salacious wink at the man before him.
Jim grinned, blowing a kiss at his new lover. “Take a picture. It’ll last longer.” He purred, striking an entirely too excessive pose.
“No need. I have already stored the image away in my mind palace.”
“Oooh. Do you have a version of me in that pretty little head of yours?”
“Quite so. My mind palace version of you is chained up in an asylum and sporting a straight jacket.”
Moriarty snorted. “How fitting.”
“Indeed. Although, you were the one who brought me back as I was dying from a gunshot wound.”
“Is that so? How romantic.”
“And you? I suppose you have a version of me in your own mind palace?” Sherlock questioned.
“ Fortress. I have a mind fortress, darling.” Moriarty corrected idly. “Of course my own version of you is in there. He’s very naughty.” The criminal snickered. “You’ve only imagined me once? I’m hurt, Sherly. Truly.”
The detective rolled his eyes. “Oh no. You’re always there, lingering in the shadows of my mind. Always appearing when I’m desperate or in pain. My imago of you was always by my side in Serbia- teasing, taunting, keeping me alive.”
“Serbia?” John asked.
At the mention of Sherlock’s time in Serbia, Jim’s eyes darkened considerably. When he had been told by his associates what had happened to his detective in Serbia he had been furious- absolutely simmering with rage. “Show me.” The consulting criminal ordered sharply, jerking his head in a motion for the other man to stand.
“What’s he talking about, Sherlock?” Molly scrunched her face in confusion, eyes flitting between the two of them.
Never one to back down from a challenge- and it was a challenge, everything regarding Jim Moriarty was- Sherlock stood and stretched his slender, feline form. He didn’t miss the way Jim’s eyes roved approvingly over his outfit of choice, drinking in the curves of his body and committing them to memory. The detective’s long, violinist fingers came up to fondle with the button of his shirt collar, slipping it through the slit. He worked his way through the buttons tantalizingly slow, his mouth twitching into a smirk as his rival’s breathing quickened, his dark eyes dilating considerably.
“Oh, you tease.” Moriarty moaned, his fingers twitching by his sides in his eagerness to touch. “You evil little thing...”
“I do believe that between the two of us, you’re the one that’s evil.” Sherlock pointed out with a playful grin.
“You call me such sweet things, my dear.”
“My life. My love.” The criminal murmured, stepping forward and gripping Sherlock’s waist once his shirt was fully unbuttoned. He leaned forward, pressing a chaste kiss against the detective’s bare chest, right above his heart. “Let’s get this off of you.” His hands trailed up, up, up and over his lover’s shoulders, slipping the shirt all the way off, revealing more of the delicious, pale body before him.
“ Jim.” Sherlock shivered at the ghosting touch, his nerve endings screaming in pleasure at the proximity of his enemy. He had missed this; missed him.
Moriarty delighted at the way the deep baritone of his rival’s voice whispered his name so desperately. “You’re so sexy. Just you wait until I get you alone. The things I’m going to do to you. I can’t wait to worship every inch of you.” The criminal praised.
Sherlock visibly preened at the attention he was receiving from the shorter man, biting back an elated moan. A thrill shot up his spine at the promise behind those words. “I look forward to it.” He purred ecstatically.
“You should.” Moriarty muttered, snaking a hand around the detective’s neck and pulling him in for a filthy kiss. Their tongues danced against each other in a heated struggle for dominance. As expected, Jim won easily, and Sherlock was more than willing to submit, secretly delighted at the power and confidence the criminal always maintained about him. They pulled away only when their lungs screamed for more oxygen, eyes locked in a fierce battle; the space between them thrummed with tension, static singing in the air. “Turn around.”
Sherlock did as he was told, spinning on his heels and allowing the criminal access to his back. There were gasps from his friends, whom he had momentarily forgot were in the room, no doubt seeing the mangled mess of scars that littered the expanse of flesh. Goosebumps prickled at his skin as a manicured finger trailed down the curve of his spine; he shuddered, his hairs standing on end. A sharp intake of breath pushed past Moriarty’s slightly parted lips as he stored every scar away in his memory- he would map them all with his tongue later, he decided. “I slaughtered them all. I made them all suffer for touching my property. You. Are. Mine.” The criminal mastermind growled with barely concealed fury.
Sherlock couldn’t see his face, but it didn’t take a genius like him to know that Jim’s teeth were bared in a feral snarl, betraying his displeasure. “Yes. Yours. And you’re mine.”
John cleared his throat, once again effectively ruining the moment shared between the two consultants. “Sherlock, how did you get all those scars? What happened in Serbia? Why were you in Serbia?!” The veteran was in hysterics now.
“Please, you didn’t really think I was just lounging around in paradise for those two years after I faked my death, did you?”The detective rolled his eyes. “I assure you I kept myself busy. I was dismantling Jim’s web.”
“My network, Sherly. Contrary to what you like to believe, I’m not actually a spider.”
“-anyways, as I was saying...I was dismantling his web. Serbia was the last piece of the puzzle, so I allowed myself to get caught-“
A snort from Moriarty. “ Allowed , he says. Oh, please. You know you didn’t really mean to get caught.”
“Will you let me tell my story?! I allowed myself to get caught, and they chained me up in some dingy basement and tortured me. Whips, knives, all that jazz. They lacked imagination. It was all so dreadfully boring. End of story.” Sherlock finished.
“Boo! That was a terrible story. You were lacking the dramatic flair you usually have.” Moriarty sulked childishly, shaking his head in disappointment.
“Tortured?!” The other four adults exclaimed in unison, gaping.
“Yes, I just said that. Do keep up.”
Moriarty snickered at Sherlock’s words, wrapping a possessive hand around the detective’s waist and pulling him closer against his body. They basked in the warmth of each other’s body heat contently. “Not that you were any help to him once he returned to London.” The criminal snapped harshly at John Watson, glaring. “I mean, really. I’ve seen the way you treated him, attacking him when he just wanted to surprise you with his return. Not to mention the way you beat him in front of that nasty little man Culverton Smith. My poor pet, trying to catch the big bad serial killer only to get beat down by his own ‘friend.’”
“He was armed and a danger to everyone in the room.” The doctor defended.
“He was going through drug withdrawals. He had a scalpel, for fuckssake!” Moriarty hurled a knife- where did he get a knife from?!- at the blonde man, who hastily dodged it, the blade just barely nicking his shoulder. “You’re a soldier. You could have easily just taken it away, but you wanted to make him suffer. All for your dead, assassin wife. I watched the video feed. They had to pull you off of him.” This time, it was a pistol the criminal mastermind pointed at John, clicking the safety off audibly. “Give me one reason I shouldn’t kill you now. You hurt what’s mine.”
“I’d rather you not, Jim.” Sherlock voiced his opinion behind the criminal. “He is still my friend. Put the gun away.”
“Don’t tell me what to do!” Moriarty sneered, his eyes wild. The man was dangerous and unhinged. There was no changing or forgetting that, not that the detective would ever want to. It would be crazy to trust the criminal with his life, but Sherlock did. More than anything. This was James Moriarty, master criminal. His enemy, his rival, his lover. They were two sides of the same, demented coin; one unable to exist without the other.
“If you kill anyone in this room, I will no longer speak to you.”
“ Fine. ” Jim conceded reluctantly, switching his gun back onto safety and returning it to his holster, making it clear in his body language and tone of voice how unhappy he was.
“Wait, let me get this straight.You-“ Lestrade pointed at Sherlock. “-destroyed Moriarty’s entire criminal network, and you-“ this time he pointed at Moriarty, who raised an eyebrow. “-aren’t angry about it?”
“Why would I be? On the contrary...I’m extremely proud of him.”
“That makes no sense!” The DI huffed in disbelief, throwing his hands in the air incredulously.
“Making sense is so boooring.” Jim complained in a sing-song voice before tilting his head to face Sherlock. “Daddy’s very proud of you.” He purred, much to the displeasure of their audience. “You were very thorough in tearing apart the empire I made myself. Congratulations. I would have come back to you sooner, but I had to clean up the little mess you made. Took me a while to rebuild it, so to speak.” The criminal complimented.
Sherlock furrowed his brows in thought. “You’ve been keeping tabs on me. I thought you were dead, but it really was you that sent out that video after I killed Magnussen. You saved me from the suicide mission the government had sentenced me to.”
“Of course. Don’t be obvious. I can’t have my favorite distraction dying on me, now can I?” Moriarty cajoled, rolling his eyes. “I’m pleased you managed to survive the East Wind. I had worried your dear little sister would kill you with her games. How did you manage to survive that?” His tone was light, but Sherlock could tell he really had worried extensively about it.
“You don’t know?” Sherlock needled, raising his brows. Moriarty frowned in displeasure, glaring at the man. “Funny story, that. I’ll tell you all about it later if you tell me how you also survived our suicide pact.”
“You don’t know?” Jim mimicked immaturely, and the detective had to fight back a smile. “You’re not the only one who knows how to fake their own death. You didn’t really think I’d leave my favorite toy to die of boredom without me, did you? You’re nothing without me, just as I’m nothing without you. We can’t exist without one another.”
Molly pursed her lips and shook her head, unsatisfied with the criminal’s presence. “That isn’t true. You say that as if you really know Sherlock. You don’t know anything about him.”
Moriarty leveled his cold, reptilian gaze on her, and she twitched as fear crept inside her. “You’re wrong. Can’t you see?! I know everything about Sherlock. He’s me, he’s me.” His voice hitched dangerously as he began to pace. “Normal people are all such idiots. So ordinary...” The criminal ranted in disgust. His head snapped over to his lover as he came to an abrupt halt and whirled on his feet. “ You’re me. ”
Sherlock inclined his head in acknowledgement. “I am you, and you are me.” The detective agreed, remembering the similar occurrence that had happened on the rooftop of St. Bart’s hospital all this years ago. Jim had said it back then, too, before he stuck that pistol in his mouth and pulled the trigger. Nausea tugged at the detective’s stomach as he recalled the vivid image of Moriarty hitting the concrete, a gaping hole in the back of his head pouring blood onto the pavement around his corpse, painting everything in crimson, his wide eyes open but unseeing. So very dead. Sherlock closed his eyes in an attempt to chase away the painful memory.
Moriarty, seemingly able to read what was happening on the detective’s face, pressed a firm hand against Sherlock’s cheek as he grounded him back into reality. “Shh, darling. I’m here now. Oh, how I’ve missed you so. Imagine all the fun we can have now that I’m back.” He comforted in a crooning lilt.
“I must admit, the world is far more interesting with you in it.” Sherlock attempted to joke weakly, but it fell short as his voice cracked. He faltered before pressing his body against Jim’s own and swooping down to reclaim the criminal’s soft lips in another kiss. This one was slow and sweet, conveying all the grief and longing they had felt during their separation. It was beautifully desperate. John, Lestrade, and Molly looked on unfavorably. It was uncomfortable how much love and respect the two geniuses seemed to hold for one another.
Mrs. Hudson, on the other hand, sent them an encouraging smile once they pulled apart. “It’s so nice to see my boy so happy.” She sniffled. “I’ll always support you no matter what, Sherlock.”
“You can’t be serious!”
Sherlock ignored John’s cry of outrage in favor of returning the smile. “Thank you, Mrs. Hudson.”
“Ooh. Now her I like! Jim Moriarty. It’s sooo nice to meet you.” The criminal greeted playfully, walking over to her and offering his hand.
Mrs. Hudson didn’t hesitate to shake it. “Martha Hudson. Likewise, dear.”
Moriarty grinned, making his way back over to his detective. “I really must run, now. Places to be, people to see. You know how it is. Being at the top of the world is sooo busy.” He sung, yanking Sherlock down for one last kiss, moaning as he pressed their bodies close. “See ya, sexy.” He purred before sauntering out of the room, his footsteps echoed down the stairs before the front door opened and closed, signaling his retreat.
Sherlock stared dazedly after his retreating form, snorting in amusement at the extra sway of his hips he threw into his walk, knowing the detective’s eyes were on him. He missed him already.
“What the hell was that, Sherlock?!”
“You’re not going to do anything about the fact that Jim Moriarty is still alive? Shouldn’t we call the police?!”
“He needs to be stopped, Sherlock! He’s a psychopath!”
Sherlock glared at them. “Yes, he is a psychopath. Way to state the obvious, John. And I’m a high functioning sociopath. Don’t be boring.” A text pinged on his phone.
Come and play with me. I’m waiting outside your window. -JM
A wide grin split his face, and he rushed over to his window, opening it and poking his head out to look down at the street. Moriarty waved up at him. The detective fished his phone back out, shooting off his own text.
Catch me? -SH
Jim’s eyes diverted to his own phone, his eyebrows shooting up. The criminal gazed back up at him with extremely amused eyes before typing out a response.
Always, my dear. Xoxo -JM
Sherlock laughed delightedly, spinning on his heels so his back was facing the window. He looked at his friends. “It’s been so fun, but I really must dash.”
“Wait, Sherlock! Where are you going? What about the bomb?!” John screeched.
“There never was a bomb. Moriarty was bluffing. I knew that from the start. Bye bye!” The detective threw his arms out and leaned back, slipping out the window.
Sherlock fell, just like he had fallen all those years ago. Fallen to protect his friends, fallen in love. He would always fall for Jim.
Jim, standing below him with open, waiting arms caught him. He would always catch him.