Hello Sherlock. –JM
What do you want? –SH
You, of course. –JM
What do you want with me? –SH
Be with me Sherlock. –JM
Sherlock huffed and put down his phone, grabbing his gun and firing a few shots at the wall out of pure boredom. This had been going on for a few months now, ever since Jim had suddenly appeared and very much alive. After killing Magnussen, he was supposed to be shipped east when Moriarty sprung from the grave and they ordered Sherlock back.
Endless ideas and theories circled Moriarty's return and death itself. Almost everyone in London saw Moriarty's body dead on that building, but they also saw Sherlock. Both equally dead. It frustrated Sherlock how he managed to always be one step ahead somehow. He could still feel his warm blood splatter against his pale complexion that day on top of that building. It was so real to see the whites of the consulting criminal's eyes. It was so real to see the blood pool around him like a lake, touching his shoes.
"Sherlock!" Ms. Hudson exclaimed, "I just got the wall fixed!"
"I'm going out. Tell John I'll be back soon." He said, ignoring her qualms and grabbed his scarf and coat. He had to shake that memory from his brain and focus on Moriarty. If the man was going to harass him, he might as well get useful information from him.
"Where are you going?" his landlady called after him but, he didn't answer and simply walked swiftly out the door, walking with purpose so she knew not to bug him again on the subject. Sherlock attempted to hail down a cabbie, standing there for close to ten minutes as cab after cab drove by without stopping. His cellular had eerily got quiet in the meantime and it was disconcerting, he always answered back instantly. He rolled his eyes in annoyance, not having the patience to wait much longer, and began to walk down the rain soaked sidewalk.
Baker Street was empty besides an occasional car or two. The sky was cloudy and promised rain so he hurried down the street as to not get caught in the down pour. He walked to an old abandoned train station out of town, he had a feeling he would find Moriarty there, having received information that there was movement there a few days prior from one of the women in his homeless network who slept near the station. Moriarty had a flare for the dark and shady he soon came to realize. It was very obvious, so much so that it was believed he was obviously smarter than that.
It didn't take long to get there, the cold seeping through his coat and to his bones, grateful he always wore his scarf. It took a bit longer to even locate a door that wasn't rusted shut or without a handle, but after a few minutes he was successful in his findings.
Before he could open the door, his phone buzzes with a text from John.
Where are you? –JW
Out where? –JW
Sherlock didn't answer, prying open the old rusty doors, made to look like no one has been in recently but they couldn't trick Sherlock's observing eyes. This handle was actually intact compared to others. If Moriarty wanted him so bad, he could at least make the door easier to open.
Once inside, the lights were on and the empty train station was in definitely a better shape than the outside. The floor looked swept and there was minimal mold on the walls despite the many years it had not been in use.
"Oh Sherlock, you found me," Moriarty spoke, stepping out of the shadows. He looked the same as Sherlock remembered, always put together which he found ironic. A man that looked so calm and collected but he knew James was anything but. He hadn't seen him since the day on top of the roof and with examination in the dim lighting, he saw no significant scar on his head anywhere, no sign that he was once dead.
"Wasn't that difficult," Sherlock said blankly, wanting to get right to the point and some answers, feeling his phone buzz impatiently in his coat pocket.
"What do you want me for?" he demanded when Moriarty didn't answer and only smiled deviously.
"Myself," Jim answered, his smile never leaving his pale features. But that didn't stop the surprise that arose on his own.
"I have John." Sherlock scoffed, but of course Moriarty always knew that, he knew better than to underestimate him.
"You can't 'love' Sherlock," Moriarty's smile faded seriously.
"That makes you think I would ever 'love' you?"
"You won't. Rule the world with me Sherlock." He proposed as if it was the most casual sentence a man can speak to another.
"No one can rule the world."
"I didn't want to have to do this but…" he said and pressed a button he held deep in his pocket.
"The game has begun Sherlock. Time to choose. John's life, or all of England." Moriarty said before the room goes black, the lights shutting off in a blink.
"MORIARTY!" Sherlock yelled after him. The lights turned back on and the room is empty, vanished like a magic trick. It infuriated him. He cursed under his breath and ran out, shooting a text to John as his feet thudded against the slick walk, ignoring the previous texts from his companion.
Are you okay? –SH
Yes why? And where the hell are you? –JW
Stay where you are. –SH
What's happening! –JW
He answered simply and put it back in his jacket pocket. When he reached Bakers Street and his flat he spotted John outside, leaning against the building.
"Sherlock! What is happening!" John demanded, his hand buried deep in his coat to keep out the cold.
"We have to find him." Sherlock stated, ignoring his question and walking past him to the edge of the sidewalk.
"What is going on for Christ sakes!"
"We have to find Moriarty." He repeated, calling for a cab. It was there in under five minutes, thankfully unlike earlier that day, and by then John had given up trying to get information out of the taller man. Sherlock's phone buzzes.
Have you decided yet Sherlock? –JM
I don't need to. –SH
He answered and put the phone away, his face blank.
"Where are we going Sherlock?" John asked, annoyed.
"You have to get out of here."
"Why? What's wrong?"
"Moriarty is playing a game I don't think I can win." He stated and John fell silent.