literature

Theme Prompt - Fairy Tale

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Sherlock looked up in the middle of his speech about thermonuclear dynamics and how it related to the current case and realized John was no longer there. The doctor had left a note on the coffee table next to Sherlock and he picked it up in annoyance.

Sherlock,
Went to get some milk. Sarah texted me so I'm going to be going on a date with her after. Try not to shoot the walls while I'm gone.
John


Rolling his eyes, Sherlock jumped up from the couch and grabbed his phone out of the pocket of his coat. Honestly, when was John going to realize that the dates were useless? He already had a full life here helping with the cases.

'Helping me,' Sherlock's active brain supplied treacherously. He shook his head and typed out a quick text to Lestrade, telling him the killer was actually the man's brother. He flopped back down on the couch, boredom already setting in. Usually, John was effulgent in his praise of Sherlock's deductions and the detective could preen a little bit under that adoring gaze. Now, he just stared at the ceiling and counted the hair-thin cracks again. His phone beeped an incoming text and Sherlock read it quickly.

Missing something, love? - JM

"JM? Who's JM and why are they texting me?" Sherlock wondered out loud, his interest peaked. He thought for a few moments about what he wanted to send back. Love was never a word that was applied to him, maybe this was a fan?

Not really. Who are you? - SH

Oh, you already know me. We had -such- fun together before. - JM

No one calls me "love". Therefore, I do not know you. - SH

And after the party we had at the pool. Really, Sherlock, I'm shocked and hurt. - JM

Moriarty? But you're dead. I saw you shoot yourself on that roof. - SH

You saw exactly what I wanted you to see, love. And I'm baaaaaack. - JM

Sherlock caught his breath at that. He had truly thought the consulting criminal was gone. He had dismantled the man's web, killed all the snipers, and finally come back to life. Everything was back to normal: he was working cases again, John was blogging about it, and Mycroft was trying to interfere. But that madman was back now? What could he possibly have that Sherlock was missing? His ears picked up the overwhelming silence in the flat and he closed his eyes. John.

Where is he? - SH

Nowhere you'll find him. Without my help, at least. Want to play a game, Sherlock? - JM

Not really. I just want John back. - SH

You won't get your pet without playing my game. So play or I will burn -him-. - JM

Fine. What game? - SH

A treasure hunt, love. You wanted to be a pirate when you were younger. This will be right up your alley. First clue is this: What runs without legs near the eyes that do not see? - JM

Sherlock glared at his phone, trying to piece the riddle together. His blood was boiling and foreign emotions were simmering just under the surface of his awareness. Taking a moment to evaluate what he was feeling, Sherlock was surprised to find anger and fear. Anger that Moriarty was back and had taken John and fear that he would never get his blogger back.

"What do you know?" Sherlock mused to himself. "Guess I'm not a sociopath after all. Oh, John, what have you done to me? The Work was easier without all these emotions getting in the way." He jumped up from the couch again and changed swiftly in his room. Going out in his dressing gown was not a good idea. He pocketed his phone and rushed outside but paused. Where was he going?

"Runs without legs? Eyes that don't see?" Sherlock repeated the text. "Well, water runs and there's the London Eye. That must be what he meant." Sherlock hailed a cab and rattled out the address of the London Eye. He hoped that he had figured out the clue in time, though he was sure this was not the only one. When the cab reached the boardwalk the eye was on, Sherlock threw the money at him and leaped out. A man came up to him and silently handed him a letter with a red magpie seal. Sherlock cracked the seal and read the letter on creamy parchment.

Excellent job figuring out my first clue. Let's add a fairy tale to the treasure hunt. Once upon a time, a man sat on a wall. He thought and he thought and he thought so hard that he pitched over the edge. He broke and all of God's horses and all of God's men couldn't put him back together again. Find the wall Sherlock and find the next clue.
Moriarty


"God's horses and men?" Sherlock said surprised. "In the story, its the king's horses and men. He means a hospital then, one named after a saint. Of course, St. Bart's. Very clever, Moriarty, but I will find you yet." Sherlock decided to walk to the hospital; he wasn't very far away. Once there, he found the stairs to the roof quickly and strode out to the spot he had jumped from. Another letter lay there, same seal and same creamy parchment when he opened it.

Better and better, Sherlock. Keep doing this well and you're pet will be back in your arms. Not that he really wants to be there, mind you. Why would he keep going on all those dates if he wanted to stay solving cases? Your next clue is this: In the home of my old girlfriend, I've left a memento of our time. Its square and gray and contains the next clue.
Moriarty.


Sherlock ran back downstairs and down into the morgue to find Molly Hooper. She was the only girlfriend that Moriarty had that connected to Sherlock. Everything connected back to him, always. Molly looked up, startled, as he burst into her office.

"Do you have anything from Jim?" Sherlock asked breathlessly. "Something square and gray, maybe a handkerchief or parchment?"

"What? No, I don't," Molly replied. "Why?"

"He has John and I need to get him back," Sherlock replied. He ignored Molly's sharp intake of breath and asked, "Can we go to your flat? He says he left the next clue there."

"In... in my flat?" Molly asked, nervously. "No one's been there, Sherlock. I'd know."

"He could be and he wouldn't lie," Sherlock snapped. "Let's go. He'll hurt John if I don't find him in time." Molly looked sharply at Sherlock's eyes and sighed. That's how it was then? She stood from the stool and grabbed her coat.

"Let's go," she said. "I'm coming up on my lunch break anyways." They exited the building, Sherlock hurrying Molly as much as she would allow him. They piled into Molly's car and drove the 15 minutes to her flat. Sherlock jumped out as soon as the car stopped and paced impatiently in front of Molly's door. She opened it and froze in shock. Laying across her couch was a square of gray linen with black embroidery all over it. Sherlock marched in and snatched it up, examining it closely.

"Oh, god, he... he really was here.... he's not... dead," Molly stuttered, her eyes flicking over the rest of her apartment. "I need to.... make sure nothing was... stolen.... change my locks... Oh my god."

"Relax, Molly," Sherlock said absently. "He did what he meant to do and nothing else. Changing your locks is a good idea though." He continued to study the handkerchief, trying to make sense of the black embroidery. Molly fidgeted as she continued to look around her flat, finally convincing herself everything was ok.

"I've got it!" Sherlock exclaimed, making her jump. "This is a map of London and he's highlighted where he and John are. Have to go." Without a backward glance, Sherlock ran out the door and Molly sighed. He was never going to look twice at her. She checked the time and realized she had to get back to work.

Sherlock hailed a cab and directed the driver to the school that John had shot the cabby at. Shot him for him. Sherlock let the memories of that night drift through his mind, especially John's face afterward. He had really grown attached to the stalwart doctor and tried not to let what Moriarty had deduced get to him. It didn't matter anyway; John still stayed, still helped him. The cab pulled up outside the school and Sherlock got out, paying him. He stalked through the corridors, back to the room the cabby had taken him to all those years ago. He stopped short when he saw Moriarty smiling at him, holding a gun on John. The doctor was tied to a chair and his eyes were unfocused.

"If you've hurt him...," Sherlock started to say before Moriarty interrupted him with a high-pitched giggle.

"Had to make sure he didn't make a fuss, love," Moriarty cooed at Sherlock. "He's fine other than the little rap to the head. Wonderful job at figuring out my clues, Sherlock. You never cease to amaze me."

"Yes, fine, that's wonderful," Sherlock snapped. "Now let John go."

"But why would I do that?" Moriarty asked, his lips turning down into a pout. "I have you both here, let's have some fun. How about 20 questions? Everytime you lie to me, I hurt him." Sherlock clenched his teeth and nodded tersely. If this was the only way to get John away from here, he'd do it.

"Lovely, now what should I ask first?" Moriarty singsonged at him. "I know. Something embarassing. What was your first kiss, Sherlock?" The detective gaped at him, surprised. What in all hells was the point of a question like that?

"Haven't had one," Sherlock finally replied, his gaze still locked on John. He missed the sudden hunger that crossed Moriarty's face.

"Really, love?" Moriarty asked. "We may have to change that. Next question, your first case?"

"Carl Powers," Sherlock muttered quietly, the words drawn from his lips unwillingly.

"Me? I was your first case, dear Sherlock?" Moriarty crowed. "We are even more connected than I thought. How marvelous! All right, how about something a little more thought-provoking. If you could have any wish right now, what would it be?"

"I don't need to think about it," Sherlock replied, his eyes flashing. "You dead and John safe." A feral grin crossed Moriarty's face and Sherlock panicked. What had he said wrong?

"Oh, my dear, that's two wishes," Moriarty said, sadness mocking in his voice. "Poor, poor John has to suffer the consequences now." He turned and aimed the gun high on John's right shoulder. Moriarty squeezed the trigger and the gun barked, a bullet penetrating John's right shoulder. The doctor screamed weakly, his eyes still unfocused. Blood trickled down his jumper, staining the warm, cream wool.

"Damn it!" Sherlock shouted. "You never said it couldn't be a segmented wish." Moriarty just giggled at him, a high, thready sound.

"And I never said it could," the madman replied. "I'm bored with this game anyways. I think it's time for my final revenge, don't you? You can have John back but how long you keep him is up to fate." With that, Moriarty winked at Sherlock and blew him a kiss. He turned back to John and shot him in the stomach, the doctor's eyes finally focusing a bit through the pain. More blood stained the jumper and the doctor tumbled from the chair, clutching his stomach.

"Now you have a choice, Sherlock love," Moriarty chuckled. "Chase me or save John. Which will you choose? Tick tock tick tock." Moriarty giggled one last time and darted through the second set of doors behind him. Sherlock stared after him, divided. Save John or take down Moriarty? What should he do?
I finally decided to force myself past my fear of getting into Moriarty's head and write him. It actually came out fairly well in my opinion. He's a lot easier to write than Sherlock. Fair warning now, there will be slash in later chapters. Enjoy and, as always, comments are :heart:


The whole story
Fairy Tale [link]
Multitasking [link]
Horror [link]
Traps [link]
Playing the Melody [link]
Hero [link]
Are You Challenging Me? [link]
Mirror [link]
Broken Pieces [link]
Starvation [link]
Give Up [link]
Solitude [link]
Laugh [link]
Judge [link]
Listen [link]
Tender [link]
Algebra [link]
Poison [link]
Obsession 2 [link]
Disappear [link]
Quest [link]
Rescue [link]
Sanctuary [link]
Overrated [link]
© 2012 - 2024 remanth
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EVIL!!!!
SAVE JOHN YOU IDIOT!!!!!!!